A few years ago I joined Twitter with the idea of marketing my books. All the “marketing books” told me to do that. After a couple of years I realized that ninety-eight percent of my followers were also authors with the same idea so I discontinued my account. I wasn’t there to buy books, I was there to sell them. I read another book on marketing that suggested I join Twitter to simply make friends—the kind of friends who might enjoy one of my novels. In other words: readers. Since my books are mostly about women and children I started friending mothers as well as avid readers. Soon I realized that the majority of my friends/followers were infertile women and I identified with them. Not because I was infertile but because I was childless. Somewhere in Twitterland I came across the memoir, BREEDING IN CAPTIVITY: One Woman’s Unusual Path to Motherhood. I decided to read it, mostly because it was written by a woman with my maiden surname, Stacy Bolt.
From page 12: [“So, pregnant yet?” Why in the name of all that’s socially appropriate would anyone ever ask a woman this question? No good can come of it. If I’m pregnant, and I want you to know, I’ll tell you when I’m ready. And if I’m not, this question is like getting a drink thrown in my face. It stings. It’s embarrassing. And it makes me want to crawl into a corner. Right after I slap you.]
This is a heartwrenching story written with humor, sarcasm, and anguish. I gave it 5 Stars not only for the impressive writing and fresh voice, but because I identified with Stacy’s disappointments.
I wanted my twitter followers/friends to become my fans, my audience. I actually expected them to make me famous. I put the responsibility on them to make me famous. So, after a year of suffering with so many infertile and childless women I really don’t want them to buy my books—they can’t afford them. They’ve spent millions of dollars, taken out second mortgages, borrowed from their relatives, gone without fine champagne in cafés on the Avenue des Champs-Elysees—that’s what their doctors do. The ones who have failed to give them the one thing they can’t live without, a baby.