My drum, my beat, my ego?

Is it egotism when a writer attempts to get media coverage of his work through whatever means is possible? I'll admit I have tried everything that isn't illegal. If you are a first time novelist and trying to become established as a writer, it is about the only way. Unless you have the moola to pay a publicist to do it for you. Having written what I believe is a better than average book, but not having the bucks to spend in paying someone else to promote it, I have had no other options. My only reason for writing is to MAKE MONEY! Isn't that the reason most of us write? There are some altruists who believe they should write only for the art of it, but they are probably unknown, and in a very small minority. I am not looking to be a famous author, only a successful one. I definitely want fortune ($$). If I have to be a self salesman to get people to buy my work, so be it! I do not apologize for what I have had to do to get some recognition. I blow my own horn, and march to my own beat. That is who I am. That is what I do. If anybody doesn't like my methods, they can suck it up and move on. It is not egotism, it is business, and writing is a business just like any other. You're in it to make money, or you are wasting your time.

Lost friendship

Probably my biggest regret is letting people who have been friends to me slip out of my life. Sadly, there have been too many of them, but the one I miss the most is Mike Blachowicz. From about the age of nine until he entered college and moved away, Mike, Al Ousborne, and I were like the Three Musketeers, almost joined at the hip. We did all kinds of things together, and mostly all were fun. We did occasionally help a bit at Al's grandparents Chesapeake Bay shorefront home, and, normally, followed that up with speedboat rides, swimming and water skiing. Mike and Al both went to college, but I didn't. I got married and worked at Sears in their Parts and Service Department. Gradually, we lost contact and went our separate ways. Al did a stint in the Navy as a dentist, his chosen career, and Mike became an engineer and worked for DuPont living in Delaware. When Albert moved back to Baltimore after the Navy, he once again became my dentist (he had worked on me while in dental school). Neither of us had any kind of contact with Mike until about two years ago when during a dental visit, Al and I discussed how much we would like to get together after all these years. When I called Mike to set up a meeting, he was not interested. I was desolate. Maybe it was because of the way I put it when I talked to him about it, but I never made a second attempt. All I know, now, is there is a hole in my heart where Mike used to live.