The Hardest Product I've Ever Had to Market

Why I Can Champion Medical Innovations But Struggle to Promote My Own Books

I spent years standing in front of pathologists, explaining why new instrument platforms would transform their lab's workflow. I built launch strategies for innovative biopsy products, translating complex clinical benefits into compelling narratives for breast surgeons and radiologists about how these advances would result in better care for their breast cancer patients. I crafted messaging for clients' novel diagnostics that would open up new possibilities for clinicians to better treat their patients. I invested myself personally in every campaign, every product, every client success.

But here's what I couldn't have predicted: The hardest product I've ever had to market is my own work.

For three years now, I've been M. Jacqueline Murray, award-winning author of the Maddie & Nate series. Four International Firebird Book Awards. American Writing Awards finalist. Books selling in multiple countries. And yet, every time I need to post about my novels or share my success, I feel that familiar tightness in my chest that I never felt when promoting someone else's innovation.

The Paradox

In my medical device marketing career, I could walk into a pathology lab and passionately articulate why a new immunohistochemistry system would improve diagnostic accuracy. I believed in those products because I understood the science, trusted the data, and knew they would genuinely help clinicians serve their patients better.

I poured myself into those launches. Late nights perfecting presentations. Weekend work sessions refining messaging. The emotional investment was real because I believed in what we were bringing to market.

But when it came time to market my books? Complete paralysis.

The skills were all there. I knew how to identify target audiences. I understood differentiation in crowded markets. I could craft evidence-based messaging and build long-term brand strategies. My MBA gave me the frameworks. My years in B2B healthcare taught me patience with long sales cycles.

So why couldn't I apply any of it to myself?

What Should Have Translated (But Didn't)

I knew the theory. The marketing fundamentals I'd used for decades should have transferred seamlessly to book marketing. But knowing what to do and actually doing it for myself turned out to be completely different challenges.

Developing a detailed persona profile for a pathologist came as second nature. I could map their workflow, understand their lab's constraints, identify what kept them up at night worrying about diagnostic accuracy. I knew their professional journals, their conference schedules, their peer networks.

But identifying who my target reader would be? That was difficult because I hadn't written with one in mind.

I wrote the story that needed telling. I created characters I found compelling. I explored themes that fascinated me. The reader was theoretical, somewhere out there, someone who might stumble onto my work and connect with it.

In medical device marketing, the audience came first. We identified the clinical need, understood the user, then developed products and messaging to meet that need. My books flipped that entirely. The product existed. Now I had to figure out who it was for.

I could position medical devices in competitive landscapes with ease. "The only system with automated digital pathology integration." Clear, differentiated, compelling.

But how do I position a romance series with a 78-year-old protagonist, built on quantum physics concepts as metaphors for human relationships? Is that women's fiction? Literary fiction? Romance? Contemporary fantasy? I'd naively written without understanding genre conventions, which meant I'd also written without an obvious shelf to sit on.

The skills were there. The frameworks were familiar. But applying them to my own creative work meant reverse-engineering an audience for something I'd created from pure passion rather than market analysis.

And that felt completely backward from everything I'd done before.

What Doesn't Translate (The Hard Part)

But here's where it gets complicated.

When a medical device launch underperformed, I felt disappointed. I analyzed what went wrong, adjusted strategy, moved forward. The failure felt professional, contained, correctable.

When my book doesn't sell, it feels personal in a way product failures never did.

There was always a corporate buffer in medical marketing. I represented the company, the innovation, the clinical team. I was the messenger, the translator, the strategist. But I wasn't the product itself.

With my books, I am the product.

Every review is about my creative vision. Every sale (or lack thereof) reflects on my ability to connect with readers. Every marketing post feels less like "here's a solution to your problem" and more like "please validate my worth."

The Imposter Syndrome Twist

When the awards started coming in - four Firebird Book Awards, an American Writing Awards finalist designation, recognition from Author Shout and the New England Book Festival - I knew this was marketing gold. Third-party validation is powerful. In medical device marketing, I'd have leveraged this immediately. "Award-winning technology" opens doors.

But instead of making self-promotion easier, the awards amplified the imposter syndrome.

Posting about the awards felt like bragging. Sharing reader praise felt like I was fishing for compliments. Even mentioning my books to professional contacts felt like I was asking for something, imposing on relationships built around different work.

I could enthusiastically tell a breast surgeon about innovative biopsy products that would improve patient outcomes. But I couldn't tell that same colleague, "I wrote a novel about a 78-year-old engineer who falls in love, and it won awards."

The vulnerability is different. The stakes feel higher. The potential for rejection cuts deeper.

The Breakthrough (Still In Progress)

I'm not going to pretend I've completely overcome this. I'm still pushing through the discomfort with every post, every book launch, every reader outreach.

But here's what's helping:

Reframing the mission: I spent my medical marketing career connecting innovations with the people who needed them. That's exactly what I'm doing now. Readers who love character-driven romance with older protagonists using quantum physics as metaphors for destined connections exist. They're just hard to find. My job isn't to brag about my books. It's to help those readers discover stories they'll love.

Recognizing the service aspect: When I promoted medical devices, I never thought "I'm asking doctors to spend money." I thought "I'm offering them a tool that will make their work better." My books offer readers escape, reflection, connection, hope. That's valuable. Marketing isn't inflicting myself on people. It's making sure the right people know the option exists.

Applying the same rigor: I'm treating book marketing like I would a medical device launch. Market analysis. Competitive positioning. A/B testing ad copy. Tracking metrics. Iterating based on data. The scientific approach actually helps because it creates emotional distance from the personal vulnerability.

Accepting the discomfort: Maybe I'll never feel as comfortable marketing my own work as I did marketing someone else's innovation. And maybe that's okay. The discomfort means I care. It means I respect my readers enough to worry about imposing on them. That's not a bad quality for an author to have.

The Question for You

I'm sharing this because I suspect I'm not alone in this struggle.

How many people in my network are sitting on something they could be marketing but aren't? The consulting practice you haven't officially launched. The side business you downplay as "just a hobby." The career pivot you're not announcing because it feels like you're asking for something.

What would change if you gave yourself permission to champion your own work with the same passion you bring to your employer's products or your clients' projects?

For those of you who've navigated this transition from marketing others to marketing yourself, I'd genuinely love to hear how you did it. What mindset shift made the difference? What practical strategies helped?

Because here's what I'm learning: The skills translate. The strategy works. The only real obstacle is the voice in my head saying "who do you think you are?"

And I'm working on telling that voice what I'd tell a pathologist who doubted a solid diagnostic innovation: "The evidence supports this. Trust the data."

P.S. If you're curious about those award-winning books I struggled to mention, they explore what happens when two people destined to meet cross paths at radically different moments in time. Out of Time features a 78-year-old engineer, Next Time is set in 1970s Toronto, and Our Time (coming 2026) follows them in 1966 Japan. They're available wherever books are sold. And yes, I'm still working on saying that without feeling like I'm asking for something.