Posted on 11/21/2017 2:40:53 AM PST by Berlin_Freeper
I’ve been doing this column thing for a while now, and it may be time to accept one of those offers from publishers who are eager to compile the columns into a best-selling book. And I might, as soon as the first offer rolls in.
Maybe they’re hesitant because they looked into the history of my first book, “Kids, Dogs and Other Pests,” which was released worldwide about seven years ago. It also happened to be a collection of columns that I had posted online for family and friends.
I remember when I checked with my publisher after the first week and she announced that we stood at No.1,550,295 on Amazon’s best-seller list.
“Is that good?” I innocently asked.
“We should move up the ladder fast,” she replied. “As soon as we sell a second copy.”
She didn’t seem all that excited that we had actually sold one copy. But neither was I, considering I was the one who bought it.
All I could think about was my father’s line, when someone asked him about the dismal sales of the many books he published over his career as an author. “Some people collect rare books,” he would say. “I write them.”
But he did sell more than one, so he was way ahead of me. Clearly, my publisher had dropped the ball. Where was the publicity? Where were the book tours? Where was the invitation to appear on the “Today” show?
“None of that came with the $800 self-publishing package we bought,” I remember my twentysomething daughter/publisher saying at the time. “The only thing we got was placement on Amazon.com.”
“WE NEED A PUBLICIST!” I demanded, giving her my best artist tantrum, which wasn’t much. “I’m drowning in inconsequence!”
So my publisher called my niece, who worked in marketing, and she sent out a press release. It was very well done, and I was delighted about all the nice things she said about me. However, I don’t know where she sent it, because sales remained at one.
My niece also wrote a nice review of the book on Amazon.com. Then my publisher’s boyfriend at the time wrote a review as well. Both of them gave the book the highest rating, 5 stars. And that’s without reading it, since I know they didn’t BUY IT because sales were still at one.
However, I upped my rating of my daughter’s boyfriend from 3 to 3½ stars, thanks to his efforts. If he had actually bought the book, I would have given him a 4.
“What are we going to do?” I asked. “I need to at least double sales in the next week.”
“How about Grandma?” asked my publisher. “I’m sure she’d buy one.”
My eyes lit up. My mother, who was alive and well when my book was published, would definitely come through for me. Unfortunately, she didn’t have Internet access. But she did have cash.
I had to buy her lunch, which cost me $30, but she forked over the $9.95 for the book, and I placed the order for her. Bingo. Sales doubled overnight.
I was on my way to the best-seller list. I just needed a few more outlets. A friend offered to throw a book party for me, where I sign copies for invited guests, but that sounded kind of desperate. I had already sold two copies — I didn’t need that much help.
Besides, I had my ace in the hole. In my real life, I happen to own a bunch of retail stores, which sell a variety of merchandise, including (heh, heh, heh) books.
“Order hundreds,” I instructed my publisher, who also happened to be in charge of purchasing for our stores. “Sales of my book could be just the ticket that will put us over the top for the year.”
My publisher rolled her eyes. “Do you really think they’ll sell in the stores?” she asked.
“Of course not,” I answered. “I’m out to increase sales in our retail stores — that’s my real job.”
“So how are you going to do that?” asked my publisher.
“It’s brilliant,” I replied. “We’ll place the books near the checkout counter, and we’ll do a promotion where if you make a $10 purchase in the store, you get a free copy of my book.”
My publisher looked skeptical, but I hadn’t yet told her the kicker. “And if you make a $20 purchase,” I added, “you don’t have to take it.”
Yep, brilliant.
When I was a teenager I painted the Dark Side Of The Moon album cover on one whole wall. My father entered when I had the wall painted black and yelled to my mother: Rita! He is now painting the walls black!
I already had a poster of Frank Zappa sitting on the toilet. LoL!
... I finished reading...
**SPOILER**
LoL! You know you are reading a pulp fiction from the 1970's when the solution against the big bad is paraquat...
"Idly Cliff opened his newspaper. Naturally the Welsh coast was still commanding front page space on most of the London dailies. WHERE ARE THE GIANT CRABS NOW? the leading headline ran. He skimmed through the article rapidly. The whereabouts of the crabs was certainly not going to be pin-pointed by Fleet Street. Pat was reading over his shoulder. 'Poor kiddy!' she muttered. 'What's that?' he grunted, being more concerned with the ridiculous views of some reporter who surmised that the crabs might be hiding out in the mountains. There, she said, pointing with her finger to a small paragraph at the foot of the page. CHILD DRINKS WEEDKILLER AND DIES, he read. 'An eight-year-old girl who drank a solution of paraquat weedkiller last week in her parents' garden in Surrey, died this morning. There is no known antidote. Parents are warned. He broke off and suddenly his hand gripped Pat's until she gasped in pain. 'Ouch!' She snatched her hand away. 'Whatever's up, Cliff?' If's a terrible thing to happen, I know, but there's no need to...' 'Paraquat.' He banged his fist into the palm of his other hand. 'Paraquat weedkiller. Deadly to all forms of life. Kills through the pores. Rots the lungs. I wonder...'" (from "Night of The Crabs (Crabs Series Book 1) (English Edition)" by Guy N. Smith)
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