mirror-mirror-part-2

A short time ago, I wanted to add to the pdf mini-stories on my website. I took my time, did the formatting, found pictures I liked, made simple covers with the microsoft paint tool, and e-mailed the packages to my kind webmistress.

When the time came to make the books, she sent me a blunt e-mail in return and asked, “Where is your NAME, woman?”

It was there, on the covers. Really it was. Just not very large.
(I might add that the final versions were beautifully done). :cloud9:

I remember someone once telling me that the measure of an author’s success was how much room their name took up on their covers. I remember laughing at the time. And I remember pausing afterward to think about that a bit.

The last few times I’ve browsed a couple of best-selling authors who shall remain nameless, the titles were not exceptionally large. That’s not to mention finding the author’s photo on the first turning of pages, then two pages of rave reviews, then two of the backlist, then the biography before finally getting to the blurb about the current work (and by that time I honestly didn’t much care).

When I first started trying to write professionally, I really wanted “Raine Weaver” to have very little to do with it. I thought the website was probably necessary for books, news, etc. Didn’t honestly want to blog, since I’m really not a chatty person and wouldn’t have much to say (ha!). Never really wanted minions to come knocking at my door, have never even posted a photo of myself online.

I wanted the work to speak for me. For itself. Period.

I’ll readily admit now that was probably naive. People want to ‘know’ the authors they really like, and it is difficult, I think, for the author to separate the work from the ego sometimes. We don’t just want to write, after all. We want to share. We want the work to be read.
And I suppose that means putting together little packages for display. They are important, as is a certain amount of ego.

I just have to wonder sometimes about letting that aspect of it take charge. Hate the idea of deluding myself, like an American Idol wannabee. I hate the idea that being published might become more important to me than what I’m writing. When I’m feeling tired or battered or bullet-ridden as an author, is it because the work isn’t as good as I’d like it to be—or is it because I have unrealistic expectations?

Shouldn’t it be mostly about the writing after all?
Or is that an illusion?