I’m going to let my son develop my brilliant marketing plan

My daughter recently suggested I start promoting my book again. Seeing as how this suggestion came shortly on the heels of an email from an area library requesting I do an author “meet & greet,” her comments seemed like kismet.

Well, Fate can try to shove me around all it wants, but I’m not gonna do it.

For one thing, the book was published over four years ago; for another, I have only about 20 copies of the paperback left. Not enough to bother hawking them to an unsuspecting library ladies’ reading group.

I did some book signings back when the thing was first published, but my heart was never really in it. I get nervous speaking in front of crowds. Not that there were often groups large enough to be called “crowds” at my signings. Stephen King may generate crowds; I generate gatherings that could ride comfortably en masse in the backseat of a Yugo.

But even small, Yugo-sized groups give me the heebie-jeebies if I’m expected to speak to them. It’s a psychological block of some sort and I’m too old to bother sorting it all out now.

These days, when a reader expresses an interest in obtaining a copy of the paperback, I just send them a free one. At one time, I had some sort of system set up on PayPal where folks could purchase the book, but over time, I’ve forgotten how it works. Ditto the listing on Amazon.

I’ve actually sold quite a few copies of the eBook version on Amazon and the money’s just waiting for me there. But I don’t know how to get at it. It involves passwords I’ve long since forgotten, along with whatever user name I used to set up the account.

I think you can still buy the eBook there (wait a minute, lemme check) … yup, it’s still available there, at Apple iTunes and a few other online eBook retailers. I’m not trying to promo the book here, really. Because even if you do buy a copy, I’ll never see that money.

I could probably contact these retailers and try to get a live human being to set me up with new passwords and all that malarky, but frankly, I’d rather spend that time mowing my yard, grilling a steak or drinking a cold domestic beer. So I never seem to get around to it.

If you’re beginning to think I’m a lousy business person, well, duh. What tipped you off?

The Lovely Mrs. Taylor gets on me once in a while about trying to up the marketing efforts a little bit, but I think she knows she’s fighting a losing battle. I just can’t seem to get excited about self-promotion. I know some folks love that stuff, but for me? Yawn City.

That doesn’t mean, however, that I can’t still make a few bucks with the book. My oldest son, Jordan, has gone through several copies over the years. So far, I’ve given him the books for free. But if I start charging him, I could sit back and let the cash roll in.

I don’t know if he’s ever actually read the book, but he always takes a copy with him when he knows he’s going to be hanging out at the beach or a pool. He sits there in a chaise lounge pretending to read and when a girl asks him what he’s reading, he replies, “Oh, my dad’s book. He’s a writer.”

He counts heavily on the girl in question not knowing that I am, in reality, a nobody. The girl then says, “Oh, your dad’s a writer? What’s he written?”

And so the conversation begins, Jordan works his dubious charms – no doubt lying liberally about my fame and popularity – and in no time, he has a date for the evening. I can’t believe it works, but apparently, it does. According to the kid.

He usually winds up giving the girl my book, at which point he needs another copy. If I only had more amorous sons, I could rake in some serious scratch here. All without having to do any promotional stuff or remember any passwords.

OK, it’s not much of a marketing plan. But it’s a start.

Mtaylor325@gmail.com

(616) 745-9530

Read my book, or maybe you should wait for the next one

I made a terrible mistake the other day: I read my own book, the one published a few years ago, “Looking at the Pint Half Full.” (Lest you think I’m trying to hawk my book here, you should know there’s only a handful of copies left, or maybe none. The last few were available only at Robbins Book List in Greenville and it’s possible they’ve sold out by now, in which case I should stop by the store to pick up a check so I’ll have beer money this weekend.)

I had never read my book before. I mean, I read it as I was writing and editing it, obviously, but never after it came out in print. I’m not sure why; it just never occurred to me to do so.

I only read it the other day because it’s the only “print” book in my house. I had just finished my last unread Kindle novel and my Internet connection was down, so I couldn’t download another one.

I read my book because that’s all there was handy.

Now I wish I hadn’t.

Why? Well, first off, it’s not as good as I thought it was. The book is (mostly) a collection of my newspaper columns, some from 10 or 15 years ago. I’m a better writer now than I was then and some of the phrasing feels clunky to me. Also, there’s one chapter in which I discuss my old rotator cuff injury. For reasons I will never understand, I referred to my boo-boo, repeatedly, as a rotator “cup” injury. What’s a rotator cup injury, or for that matter, a rotator cup? I have no idea, but there it is in my book!

There’s also a typo in there somewhere. Only one, but it bugs me. How did that typo sneak past me? I’ll admit, I did most of my editing on the book while sitting in my favorite booth at Moose Winooski’s, a little pub in Clawson, where I was living at the time. It’s possible the 40-ounce, two-dollar drafts they serve there had something to do with that typo; I’ll never know for sure.

Also, there are too many chapters about my last divorce and all the horrifying dating experiences that followed. Some are funny, but a couple are just darn depressing. 

And why did I write about losing my job and my house? I have no idea, other than it seemed like a good idea at the time.

At least I had enough sense to include the column about hopping trains during summer vacations back when I was a kid; it’s my personal all-time favorite, although I’ve never had a reader mention it as being one of his or hers.

I guess the book’s OK, if a little uneven. If it was someone else’s book and I the reviewer, I’d probably give it 2.5 stars out of four.

They say a writer is his own worst critic.

I hope that’s true.

mtaylor325@gmail.com