Field Notes is where I post short, observational pieces about the week behind me—work, home, heritage, and whatever else insists on being noticed.
When it comes to promoting content—something that comes with the territory of independent writing—there’s inevitably some ego involved. Putting yourself out there and sharing personal stories inspired by real life feels like stepping into a spotlight you never wanted, but somehow asked for. At least for me, it’s a double-edged sword that stirs up vulnerability and often acts as a catalyst for anxiety.
I’m always in my head, so with the release of my latest book, I decided to take a different approach—one that might help me avoid the extra attention or that uncomfortable feeling of hawking something on a sidewalk. Instead of paying for a book tour or doing interviews, I started with the resources I already had: asking friends, family, and a few readers to review an ARC (advanced reader copy), while quietly announcing the book on social media and hoping for the best. No big reveal, no grand post asking for applause, no release party. Just putting it out there.
In that silence—waiting for reviews and hoping a few engaged readers might pick it up—not much happened. For the handful who did follow through, I’m genuinely grateful for their time and attention. It’s not easy, you know? Still, the experience reminded me how important it is to be intentional with book promotion.
Not everyone reads. Not everyone enjoys creative nonfiction. And not everyone has the time. As much as it matters to lean on your closest confidants when you need support, it doesn’t always unfold the way you imagine—and that’s something you can’t take personally. If anything, it reinforces the need to reach beyond your inner circle and find the audience that actually connects with your work.
Writing this out is helping me understand something else, too—my hesitation to share the book more widely. It’s rooted in fear. Fear of people who don’t care, or don’t understand. I don’t want to bother anyone or invite judgment. I imagine comments like “that poor guy” or “does anyone even read his stuff?” and it scares the hell out of me. And worse—thinking that someone might read it and say, “this sucks.” The idea of that kind of reaction feels crushing.
But the truth is, no one has actually said any of that. Aside from a steady flow of rejection letters politely advising they won’t publish a story, my mind just fills the silence with its own fortune telling.
The hardest part is how powerful those thoughts can be. They don’t just stay in my head—they ripple outward, affecting my body, my energy, even my health. It becomes a cycle. And I don’t want to quit, but I do want to get better at handling this.
I want to be a writer who reaches people—those who can genuinely connect with what I’m trying to say—but at the same time, I’d rather not be seen. That contradiction doesn’t fully make sense, but it’s real. Maybe I don’t have a clear answer yet. What I do know is that writing this down helps. It grounds me. And that alone feels like enough reason to keep going—for now, and hopefully for a long time.
I’m considering another digital book tour to find those readers, and I’ve agreed to appear on a few podcasts. Who knows—maybe some of those ARC readers will come through in time. But more importantly, I’m trying to stay grounded and find a space where I feel confident in my writing, where the fear of judgment starts to lose its grip.
Because at the end of the day, what really matters is that the work says something—anything—and that the act of writing it felt honest and cathartic. If that’s the case, then I should be my own biggest fan.
Photos From the Field.
Field Notes.
Fragments from a Portuguese descendant learning where he stands
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