When I was seven, my older brother and I found an
advertisement in a Grit magazine to
sell Christmas cards and earn prizes. We had our eyes on two bikes, but not
just any bikes. Mine was pink, with a pink banana seat, large spoked wheels
with lights and clickers, long handlebars with plastic fringe, a basket with
pink flowers and a sissy bar twice the height of the bike itself. Basically,
the Cadillac of little girls bikes, dripping in pink. Oh, I wanted it, and I
wanted it bad.
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| Imagine-ALL PINK |
We hawked Christmas cards. Our teachers, our neighbors, our relatives, our parents even took us to work with them to sell to their co-workers
(back in the day when parents didn't sell FOR the kids). We went door to door. We set up at grocery stores, on the street in front of our house, at a church picnic. We not only sold our cards, we figured out how to sell ourselves. He could
sing, and I thought I could dance, so if someone wasn't interested in our
cards, we'd offer them a 'performance' if they would consider our offer. And we
sold cards.
We may not have outsold Hallmark that year, but we sold
enough to buy two deluxe kids bicycles and a few smaller things for our baby
brother, who I'm sure we used at one time or another to sell cards. It didn't
end there--anytime we could find something to sell, we were on it. Lemonade
stands, flower seeds, cookies, I'm sure at one time or another I tried to sell
my brother. And we had no shame. None. Zero. What we did have was savings
accounts---and bicycles to get us to places to spend our money.
I hear authors use the phrase "shameless self
promotion" a lot, and personally, I hate the term, and believe it or not,
I don't particular like asking people to buy my book. Of course, I want them
to, but I often feel like friends, co-workers, even the unknown faces of the
internet must be rolling their eyes every time I say, "Buy my book!"
And rarely do I put it out there so bluntly; I give my little performances, I
make jokes, I share reviews, I write blog posts, I offer sales. But it always
feels "funny" to me. My publisher does a lot of the work, but as many
authors will tell you, if you aren't contributing to the effort, you're killing
yourself. So we do, and we try to find different ways to say "Buy my
book!" without just saying it. It's self promotion. And it's shameless.
And as writers, crafters of words, it bothers us to do it, so we feel like we
need to admit to our friends, readers, faceless potential customers that we
know how shameless it is.
It's time we stop thinking like this.
If I opened a restaurant, I'd have no problem advertising
it. If I were looking for a job, I'd make my resume shine, send it to however
many places I needed to, and show up to interviews in my spiffy business suit ready
to tell you how wonderful I am. If I wanted to de-junk my house, I'd put stuff
in the driveway and tell you what a great deal you are getting on a broken Atari
for $50. And yes, I would ask my friends to help me spread the word. Self
promotion is shameless, and it should be. We do it in every aspect of our lives.
So why not get over it, and sell some books?
I've written a book. It's a good product, something you can
hold in your hand and enjoy, or give as a gift. It's less expensive than a box
of Christmas cards. I'd like for people to buy it and try it. If you like it,
tell your friends. If not, tell me. Do you want me to tell you a joke? Fine. Do
my little dance? Maybe. Throw in my brother? That could possibly be arranged.
And if I sell enough books? Maybe I'll buy another pink bike.
When James Morrow, a social worker, first meets Kevin Flynn, he suspects
the teen is being abused. To learn more about Kevin’s home life, he
gets to know the boy’s father, Tucker, who’s a lobsterman. James is able
to put his suspicions to rest, and the two families begin to form a
friendship.
