Anne here, gearing up for the promo as my book, The Spring Bride finally goes on sale. Some authors adore the whirlwind of promo, the blitzing of social media channels, the public "look-at-me-and-buy-my-book." The rest of us go there reluctantly, channeling Lady Macbeth and muttering, "Screw your courage to the sticking point and we'll not fail."
I'm in the latter group. I do my best to embrace the world of social media, and most of the time I enjoy it. Not when it comes to telling everyone to to buy my book, though. My natural tendency is to do that from the bottom of a deep well, with a blanket over my head and wearing a gag. A natural salesperson I am not. And I know I'm not alone in that.
Mary Jo once told me writers' conferences are full of introverts pretending to be extroverts. Many writers on social media are much the same. It's a bit easier, because you can do it from the comfort of your cave, hiding behind the computer screen, doing what you do every day anyway, creating a world and characters — only the character you're bringing to life is you. Authorly you — the one who is interesting and glamorous and lives a fantastically exciting life. Not the one who lives in track pants and trainers, who never goes anywhere because, well, that's how you write books, dammit!
But it seems people —publishers — expect you to project some kind of image. And to this end, they require you to provide — horror of horrors!— an Author Photo!
The Author Photo is, pretty much, you naked. Only with clothes. But naked in a much more lasting way, not a mere flit from bathroom to bedroom, but you, exposed and leering from the back cover of a book, or the bowels of the internet, forever — yes, forever. Because nothing ever dies on the internet. The Author Photo, in its many ghastly incarnations, will always come back to haunt you.
Some people achieve The Author Photo with a mere click of a shutter, or perhaps three, and then it's, "Hmm, which of the three shall I use? They're all soooo good." Sadly that's not me.
For me it's a quest, a saga, a never-ending journey. Half of my family is extremely photogenic. The other half is not. Guess which half I belong to? I've never liked having my photo taken. For years I pulled faces at cameras or avoided the wretched things altogether.
But once you become An Author, there is this horrid — and completely unreasonable — expectation that you will provide An Author Photo. What difference does it make what I look like? Will it enhance anyone's reading pleasure to know what I look like while grinning wretchedly at the camera?
I think not.
But still the powers-that-be demand one.
The tendency at first is to look among your snapshots for A Nice Photo. You quickly discover there is no such thing. You discard all the ones with your tongue poking out, or your eyes bugging or squinting or popping. (That's me pulling a face as usual, while my friend Trish Morey smiles and looks lovely.)
What was left (in my case) is a snap someone took of me when I was in a band. In it I looked relatively normal, happy and was wearing a pink feather boa — all good for the romance writer look, don't you think? Ignore the fact I appeared to be doing unspeakable things to a big, black microphone — well, it is romance — it was the only picture I had.
After a number of rude comments about said photo on my website, I decided it should be replaced at the earliest opportunity. I got a friend to take some photos in her back yard — she's an artist, so I was sure the shots would be suitably artistic.
They were. The resulting photos could have been entitled "Variation on the Theme of Broken Capillaries," with a secondary series called "Waterfall of Chins."
Obviously I needed something more professional. I went along to a local suburban studio — let us call it Reservoir Brides. The photographer was elderly, dapper, and very sure he knew exactly what I wanted. "Just put yourself in my hands, young lady."
The "young lady" should have been a warning sign, but no. . .
He sat me on a high bar stool. "Cross your legs. Now, lean forward. Stick your neck out, yes, that's right, now chin down a little, head up, tilt your head, smile and ... look sexy!"
I looked like some cross-legged female quasimodo grinning maniacally while not falling off a stool.
My next attempt at The Author Photograph was in a very much more cool environment, at an inner suburban studio where a talented young photographer was starting his career. I should have walked out when he produced The Hat, but going to a photography studio, for me, is a bit like going to the dentist -- once you've got yourself there, you just need to endure until it's over.
I quite like hats, so I donned The Hat and proceeded to do all those things photographers tell you -- chin up, head down, look here, look there. I came away feeling almost positive. Like when the dentist hasn't hurt you.
And then I saw the proofs. The hat was lopsided. Severely so. I looked utterly and completely demented, like I'd dressed while drunk from a selection at the charity shop.
The next attempt was at a writers' conference where I knew heaps of authors get their photos done. It was the obvious choice. We met. She was jolly, very jolly. She cracked jokes and made me laugh and encouraged me to ham it up even more. No problem, there. I'm already on edge getting my photo taken. The photo shoot was a laugh from beginning to end.
The photos? Completely demented. Plus we were all laughing so much nobody noticed my blouse had popped open — and not in a good or sexy way.
Next was after a TV appearance where they'd done my make-up and hair. A friend rang me after the show — it was live — and said, "You look great. Go and get your photo taken." So I rang a photographic studio and made an appointment for a few hours hence. I had time to kill so I sat in front of my new computer and played with the Photo Booth program. Click click click. The photos came out pretty good, I thought.
I headed off to the professional photographer feeling confident. If my computer could make me look good, what could a professional do?
Make me orange, that's what. And highlight every wrinkle I had. I looked like a science project; "Close-up of Middle-Aged Decay."
I used the computer photo. That's it on the left. The only problem is, it's not high resolution enough for most purposes.
In my most recent attempt to scale Mount Author Photo, I tried another professional photographer, a woman who'd taken some gorgeous shots of an author friend. I showed her the computer photo and said "One like that, please."
"Oh, we can do better than that," she said. She did my makeup and hair. She posed me here and posed me there, all the time encouraging me to smile, and laugh, laugh, laugh! You guessed it. High resolution demented woman. But it's what I have, so it's what I use.
Meanwhile, the quest continues…
What about you? Are you photogenic or not? Do you hate having your photo taken? Or don't you mind one way or the other? Oh, and my book comes out this week, so if you're in the mood, please buy it.