My friend Vicky Bingaman is a wildlife rehabber who takes in injured creatures, nurses them back to health, and pushes them back out into the wild. You can’t feed a Cooper’s hawk or a rat snake on cat kibble. So when I see a squirrel on the roadway who has succumbed to the death wish that seems to plague squirrels, I overcome my squeamishness and scoop him up. It’s not pleasant but I like to see the expression on her face when I hand her a bag full of dead squirrels and think of the good meals I’m providing.
This is somewhat like overcoming my natural squeamishness about self-promotion. Tweeting about my new book Payback just isn’t natural to me. Nor is making new connections with near strangers on LinkedIn.
But authors must do this. I know the arguments: you’re not touting your book, you’re sharing it. You’re not trying to get someone to buy your books, you get your name out there by sharing good news about other mystery authors.
Okay. I like the sound of that. Nobody is ever going to write the same book I did or appeal to exactly the same audience. The ruthlessness of today’s publishing climate hasn’t completely overcome the small generosity of spirit it takes for me to genuinely praise another mystery writer’s work.
When my fingers hesitate over the send button I grind my teeth and tell myself I’m not promoting Mar Preston. I’m offering a few good murder mysteries that take readers out of the grind of daily life for a time to enjoy a little dance on the dark side leavened with a bit of acid social commentary, a nice romance, and some thrills and chills.
In the scope of human endeavor, this is better than picking up dead squirrels.