You know how you muse on a mishmash of thoughts when you go walking? And how sometimes all becomes clear?
On Friday morning, on a short walk from Mt Vic to Mt Cook, I caught my own mind in the act. Its hidden motive for self-sabotage was no sooner revealed than accepted, no sooner accepted than acted on. Or in this case, not acted on.
You see, I’d just released my second Udemy course after weeks of dithering and delay:
Write Haiku Love Poems and Thrill Someone you Love. It’s a quaint little course, in fact I love it, but I published it reluctantly. Why? Because I was dreading the next stage, which involves managing a vast array of mechanisms from mailing lists to YouTube, from coupons to blogging to webcasts and, oh all that fuss. You see, if you create an online course you have to market it.
Or do you?
(By the way this is exactly the same quandary every book author confronts.)
The epiphany: this time around, it would be fun to fail
Rachel said unto me: Listen to yourself! You love making these courses — it’s a buzz. You deliberately choose crazy obscure topics because you hope nobody will ever do them. You actually said that, out loud, several times; I have witnesses.
Then I said unto her-me: But I am counting on the income. I left my business last year as you well know.
Rachel: What income? Your two courses have so far earned the princely sum of $8.00 but look at you — hello, not starving! This imaginary income stream is never going to happen.
Me: OK, fair enough, you’re right, dammit. I will start making a really sensible course on how to edit a novel.
Rachel: No, darling. You are missing the point. Create another unique ridiculous course that nobody will want to do… say, A Boot Camp For The Bonus Years. And don’t publicise that one either.
Me: Eureka! That’s integrity. I’ll be the best non-self-publicist on Udemy.
Rachel: Never mind that. You’re seventy-seven: stick to the fun stuff.