Thinkingdog Publishing

This morning, I opened my laptop with the kind of determination normally associated with heroic quests, tax audits, or people who genuinely believe they can clean out the garage “in one afternoon.” I had one thing on my list: I was going to write a brilliant marketing post for my books. Possibly several. Something clever and charming and irresistibly engaging that would make readers laugh warmly into their coffee while simultaneously rushing to buy cozy mysteries. Instead, I spent twenty minutes staring at Canva before accidentally resizing a photograph of Blueberry to the dimensions of a highway billboard. Then I opened Facebook, forgot why I was there, wandered into the kitchen for more coffee, remembered I already had coffee, reheated the original coffee, and returned to my desk only to discover I had somehow opened seventeen tabs and absolutely none of them contained a usable thought. This, unfortunately, is what many people do not tell you about being an indie author. People see t...