Why I Don’t Use Social Media to Promote My Books

I have never believed that a book becomes worthwhile because it appears repeatedly in a scrolling feed. A novel or memoir asks for a different kind of attention: time, patience, imagination and a willingness to remain with an unfamiliar voice. Social media rewards speed, reaction and constant visibility, while books often work quietly, gradually and privately.

That distinction matters to me as the author of Gideon’s Children and An Irish Experience. One is a novel shaped by questions of race, civil rights and human responsibility; the other is a memoir-travelogue rooted in Ireland, memory and observation. Neither book can be reduced to a slogan, a promotional image or a few hurried lines beneath a photograph.

I have therefore chosen not to maintain a social media presence for book promotion. This is not a rejection of readers, booksellers or conversation. It is a decision to place my energy in the books themselves, in thoughtful writing about literature and life, and in a permanent author site where visitors can explore my work at their own pace.

A Quieter Kind Of Literary Presence

A book needs to be discoverable, but discoverability does not have to mean being everywhere at once. My author website provides information about my biography, publications, excerpts, reviews, interviews and related writing. It gives readers a stable place to learn what the books are about and where they may be found, without demanding that they follow a stream of daily updates.

That permanence has a special value for a writer. A social media post can disappear within hours, pushed down by newer announcements, advertisements and arguments. A page about Gideon’s Children or An Irish Experience can remain available for years. It can be read by someone researching a title in a library, browsing before visiting a bookshop, or looking for an author whose interests overlap with their own.

The distinction is also personal. Writing has always involved reflection for me. My blog posts about Ireland, literature, race, civil rights and personal experience belong to a broader record of thought. They are not simply sales messages. They allow readers to see the concerns behind the books and to encounter a mind in conversation with history, place and memory.

Why Constant Visibility Does Not Suit Every Book

Social media marketing often encourages an author to become a regular performer. There may be pressure to post a quotation on Monday, a personal photograph on Tuesday, a review on Wednesday and a reminder to buy by the weekend. This rhythm can be useful for some writers, especially those building a new commercial brand, but it can also turn literature into a sequence of promotional prompts.

I do not want readers to feel that they must respond immediately to my work. A novel may be put aside for a week, remembered during a conversation, borrowed from a library months later or discovered by a second-hand bookseller long after its release. A memoir may resonate differently when someone has travelled to Ireland, lost a family member or begun thinking seriously about migration and belonging.

There is also a cost in confusing personal visibility with literary value. The number of followers attached to an author’s name does not measure the seriousness of a book. Nor does a post that receives many likes tell us whether a reader has understood, questioned or carried a story into their own life. I would rather accept a modest public profile than reshape my work around the demands of an attention economy.

The Reader Matters More Than The Algorithm

Readers often arrive at books through trusted human routes. A friend recommends a title over coffee. A librarian places it on a display. A bookseller in a small independent shop notices that its themes may appeal to a particular customer. A reviewer writes carefully about the work. These encounters are slower than an automated recommendation, yet they can be more meaningful.

For Australian readers, this can happen in very ordinary settings. Someone might find a book through a local library in Geelong, browse a shelf at a Melbourne bookshop, or ask for an order at a suburban store in Brisbane or Perth. A reader in a regional town may rely on library networks and online booksellers because the nearest specialist shop is several hours away. None of these readers needs an author to post every day in order to make a considered choice.

Australian bookselling also involves practical realities. Freight, availability and delivery times can influence whether a reader buys locally, orders online or waits for a library copy. The national market is spread across large distances, from Sydney and Canberra to Darwin, Hobart and remote communities. Clear publication information and reliable purchase links can therefore be more useful than a burst of online excitement that reaches people unevenly.

The Australian way of speaking about books is often refreshingly direct. A reader may say, “I’ll have a look,” “That sounds like my sort of thing,” or offer a plain “Good on you” after a recommendation. Such responses do not need to become public engagement statistics. A quiet exchange between a reader and a bookseller can be enough to begin a lasting relationship with a book.

What I Choose To Do Instead

Avoiding social media does not mean avoiding communication. It means choosing forms of communication that have greater depth and a longer life. I can write an essay, share an excerpt, discuss an interview, or provide background to a book without asking readers to keep pace with an endless promotional calendar.

The work can also be approached through several doors. A visitor interested in Ireland may begin with An Irish Experience. Someone concerned with civil rights, race or moral conflict may be drawn to Gideon’s Children. Another reader may first encounter a review or interview and then follow that interest towards the books. These different paths respect the fact that readers do not all come to literature for the same reason.

The choices I make in place of social media promotion are straightforward:

• Maintain a clear, accessible author website with accurate information about the books.
• Offer excerpts, reviews and interviews that help readers judge whether a title suits them.
• Keep the blog focused on literature, Ireland, civil rights, race and personal reflection.
• Make publication details and bookseller information easy to locate.
• Allow recommendations from libraries, booksellers, reviewers and individual readers to develop naturally.

This approach may look old-fashioned beside targeted advertising and carefully measured campaigns. I see it differently. It preserves the distinction between making a book available and insisting that everyone pay attention to it at once.

Books Need Context As Well As Promotion

A title is easier to understand when readers can see the world surrounding it. The subjects that shaped my writing cannot be separated from questions of history, identity, justice and belonging. Context does not tell a reader what to think, but it can show why a subject matters and what experiences informed the work.

That is particularly important when writing touches on race and civil rights. Such subjects deserve more than a striking phrase designed to encourage clicks. They require care with language, an awareness of historical consequences and room for readers to consider difficult questions. A social media caption may direct attention, but it rarely provides enough space for serious engagement.

Ireland also deserves more than a collection of picturesque images. Travel writing can easily become a catalogue of scenery, pubs and familiar symbols. An Irish experience, however, includes memory, politics, family, language, landscape and the complicated relationship between place and personal identity. These themes benefit from sustained prose rather than a rapid succession of attractive snapshots.

For this reason, I value excerpts and longer reflections. They give readers a fairer sense of tone and purpose. They also allow the books to meet people who are not looking for them through an advertising campaign. Someone searching for writing on Irish history or American civil rights may come across an essay first, then discover a novel or memoir that speaks to those interests.

A Record That Can Outlast A Feed

There is a practical reason to favour a lasting website over social media. Platforms change their rules, formats and priorities. Accounts can become difficult to access, older posts can be buried, and a service that seems essential today may be marginal tomorrow. An author’s work should not depend entirely on a company’s business model or on the changing habits of an algorithm.

A stable website can preserve a body of work in a coherent way. It can hold biographical information, book descriptions, excerpts, reviews, media interviews and blog posts together. Readers can return to it when they are ready. Teachers, librarians, journalists and booksellers can use it as a reference without sorting through years of unrelated personal updates.

That continuity is especially significant because an author’s public record does not end with a publication date. My passing in 2016 is part of the history of this site and of the work it preserves. The books remain available for new readers, and the ideas explored in them can continue to prompt discussion. A permanent archive gives that possibility a better foundation than a stream of posts designed to vanish from view.

I would rather be remembered through the pages I wrote than through the frequency with which my name appeared online. The purpose of an author’s public presence should be to lead readers towards the work, not to replace the work. If a reader discovers a book, spends time with it and carries one of its questions into a conversation, that is promotion of the most valuable kind.

Read about Gideon’s Children and An Irish Experience, explore the excerpts and reflections, and use the available bookseller information to find the titles in the way that suits you. A book does not need to shout across every platform to be heard; it needs a reader willing to open it.