As I’ve discussed here before, I’m looking at self-publishing my work. But is there a point where promotion of one’s work is counter-productive? This has been heavy on my mind recently.

I’ve been focusing on exactly how much I’m going to have to promote my work and build the branding around the name Jonathan C. Gillespie. I want people to hear that name and think of gripping fiction, tight story lines, amazing worlds and implacable characters. While looking into getting a better photo of myself done and also starting up a Facebook fan page — an act I am forcing myself to get over — I’ve found myself reluctant.

I’ve watched other writers before who bombard the web with self-promotion in an attempt to sell their work. I can’t say I blame them. This is a ridiculously-difficult industry to get a toehold in. Take short fiction, for example. One of the first things I learned submitting fiction around was that many markets who post “open to new authors” in their guidelines tend not to be. And who can really fault them? Put yourselves in the shoes of an editor of any number of prominent fiction magazines who is probably lucky to turn ten thousand subs a year at best. Would you rather publish Stephen Baxter or John Doe? Ben Bova or some random guy with zero credits and no fan base?

So people resort to what they can. In our age of burgeoning new media, the breadcrumbs are laden on social networking sites, micro-blogs, and guerilla advertising campaigns. Engaging in such pursuits is like trying to start a nuclear reaction. Writers press on as hard as they can, telling themselves that the next bit of promotion will be the one that puts them over the top, that starts and explosion of publicity and maybe, just possibly, the kind of success they are so desperate for.

It’s difficult for me to engage in the kind of promotion I need to do to really start getting the word out about my fiction. For one thing, I don’t want to turn into some ego-maniac, or be perceived as an ego-maniac. I have stopped following certain writers before simply because I got sick of what at the time I took to be arrogance and ego. Maybe it was, or it wasn’t, but if it was ice cream they were trying to hand out it still smelled like a garbage dump on a hot day. My cousin Kevin Gillespie, the famous chef, is a model of humility in the face of celebrity. He has struck the balance, and I have sworn that if I ever find similar fame, I’ll strive to embrace it the same way.

Secondly, I have a hard time wrapping this up and justifying it with my life as a Christian. How much is too much for the good book to agree with? I don’t have the answer yet.

Finally, I’m left with the concern over the signal-to-noise ratio. If there are a hundred thousand fiction writers out there trying to get noticed, a flock of migrating birds come to mind. We watch them all cut arcs through the sky, as one shapeless, tweeting mob. If I raise my voice amongst them, will someone notice my beak above the others?

Anyone have thoughts on this out there? Thanks as always.

Stay tuned.