Book writing and book business are both bane and boon. But, in this day and age, if you keep your expectations low, you can eek out some kind of living selling e-books under ones own steam, without even much trying. And if you’re lucking enough to have even a small following you can surely beef things up with promotion, advertising and clever ways to amass an audience.
I’m going to say I wrote the forgoing in early October. The subject actually was, in the previous posting, books. So I think I wanted to go somewhere different with this instead of sounding like a how-to manual to self publishing. Good grief. No wonder I stopped writing.
As those who’ve had success with print-published works from good publishing houses, I count myself lucky to say so and I hope to boast the same again some day soon, but the truth is we needed a break from traditional publishing. To test the waters ourselves with a Sextrology ebook then the H.A. books. Those two commodities alone are appealing and sell relatively well without any help from us. Because, truth be told, we not only backed off publishing but also from any self-promotion whatsoever, keeping a low profile and focusing on our private consultancy and clientele. And in so doing, the natural desire to write in us has again risen up. Writing the H.A. books is a great joy. And now I am turning my head to other ebook projects whilst I research for a hopefully next big one in print. I would actually like to serve as a conduit for rare and out-of-print books that fall under a larger umbrealla of esotericsm.
I know at this point that I need to be more interactive with audience, both in the flesh, starting with friends and intimates, to the far-flung reaches of the modest fame that we enjoy in bold-faced desire to beef up said audience, yes, but really to enjoy as part of the creative process. Otherwise, we wouldn’t do any of this. We must let the work pay off creatively first and financially second. There is no getting through. All must be savored, squeezed for all appreciation. Said the life experts. So there is an impetus to make this ever the more real, to be ever the more genuine examples of right living. Which makes one realize how far, and in which ways, one is from that objective.
Still, everything about what I do is appealing to me. I have always been crazy for metaphysics and enlightened beings and mystics and magi of all kinds. I’ve been a ridiculous myth-lete since aged ten when I sew curtains into ceremonial robes and incantated to Dionysus. Now I sometimes stay in a stateroom named for the god, whom I portrayed, quite convivially, in a murder mystery no less. You can’t make it up. And that’s the point—we get glimpses of grace because, well, that’s all we can probably handle, but more to the point: Grace is infinite, by nature. It belongs to the sign of the Water Bearer, that ruled by Uranus named for the god of the infinite Universe.
Typos happen—I don’t have time or an intern to edit.*
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