Position This

Listen. We're so excited to have you on our team. We're all so excited about this novel! It's for a niche market for sure, but we're very confident we can position this. We're just now running your manuscript through Editmaster to get all your adverbs stripped out. So it's time to talk marketing.

Oh good--I was wondering where you were going to send me on the book tour.

We send you! We send you? Omigod, you're precious. Now, we certainly want to encourage you to do as many readings as you can. And keep in mind it doesn't have to be in a book store. It could be in a coffeehouse. It could be in the subway. Use your imagination. How's your platform coming along?

Platform?

You mentioned you started a blog. How's it tracking?

I haven't thought of anything to put in it yet.

Oh that's easy. Just break it down into thirds. You have a cat?

I do.

That's one-third right there. How easy is that? And then for the second third you can do rants, you know, things that happened to you in the parking lot, or the grocery store line, etc., etc., or you could take pictures of what you had for dinner--or both, you could divide the second third into two, and that would make it, what, fourths?

Not even. Evenly. Sorry for the adverb.

So then that leaves you the last third for building buzz for your book. You don't want to hit this too hard. You want to bring them in for the cat pictures and then make sure they know you have a book coming out. You want to make them yearn for that book. Little excerpts, or mini-stories featuring your main characters. You could even have a little weekly feature, "what would Mrs. Cartwright do?" You know, set up a scene, and then ask your readers what they'd do if they were in Mrs. Cartwright's sensible shoes. They're going to know Mrs. Cartwright. They're invested in Mrs. Cartwright.

I guess...

And then you'll need a twitter account. You're going to want to put in at least five tweets a day. I can see that look right over the phone, missy! Listen, you don't have to like it. You just have to do it. I'm going to ask you to grow up a little and do your part. It's easy peasy. You can set them up to fire off in advance.

I don't even get why anyone looks at twitter. I just don't get it.

Doesn't matter. It's easy peasy. One of your daily tweets could be linking to someone else's cat picture. That's 20% right there. 

I don't know.

Or, I know! You say you don't like twitter, so out-twitter them! The heck with 140 characters. You're a word person, right?

I guess.

You could do your favorite words.

You mean, verbs?

Verbs, sure! You like verbs, you get known for your verbs. Put in five tweets a day, all single verbs. Plummet. Honk. Wangle. Pretty soon, you've got people wondering, what is this girl up to? And then they start to figure it out. They're all verbs! Now you're the Verb Lady.

I am?

You are! And then with Facebook, that's easy. Just set aside a half hour a day to comment on other people's threads. Pretty soon their friends know your name even if they're not your friends. Start to work it into conversations. "Well, call me the verb lady--but that cat of yours sure knows how to sashay."

I don't know.

And ask everyone to like your book page.

Really?

Oh, honey. They don't have to like it, they just need to "like" it. Trust me, darling. Now. Can you dance?

Can I what?

Dance. Doesn't matter. Even if you can't dance, it can be cute. In fact, it's even cuter. There you are, dancing kind of wacky, and people start to notice. I mean, lots of people have videos of themselves dancing. But bad dancing? Those are the ones that get shared.

Where am I dancing?

Oh, use your imagination. Manhole cover? City Hall? Mt. Rushmore? There you are, just hopping in circles on one foot, flapping your arms. It's your signature. People will wonder where you'll show up next. Ooo! You said you have a cat. Can you hold your cat up in the air and hop around on one foot?

Maybe once.

No, we need consistency. Think. What else?

I have chickens.

Yes! You're a creative genius, that's why we love you! Hopping around on one foot holding a chicken above your head! Omigod, that's perfect. You'll be the chicken lady. The Chicken Verb Lady.

I don't see what this has to do with my novel.

It has to do with buzz, my darling girl. You're building buzz. Before long, people are wondering, where is the Chicken Verb Lady going to dance next? Can we get a picture of the two of us together and put it on Facebook?

But my novel has nothing to do with chickens.

It has nothing to do with vampires, either, darling, but we're publishing it anyway. We're going out on a total limb for you, sweet cheeks, don't forget that. Try to work with us here.

I'm sorry. I'll try. But my novel is about two sisters who grow apart and then realize that their differences are just two sides of the same coin of contending with their difficult mother, and they come to an uneasy truce over her long-term care.

[silence]

And at the end there is some intimation that their own daughters are falling into the same patterns. Are you still there?

Okay, we don't want to stress all that. We're trying to build buzz for your book, not put people to sleep! All right. I think this market plan is shaping up. We've got six months before the book comes out, plenty of time to get this show on the road. Whenever anyone Googles "dancing chicken verb lady" they'll get sent right to your book page. Your blurbs, we'll have a bit of flash animation of you dancing with the chicken across the top. Oh! And we'll send you to the World Series.

I love baseball! You're sending me to the World Series?

There's nothing in the marketing budget for airfare or tickets or anything. So you get to the World Series somehow and you make your way down to the first base line and hop around on one foot with your chicken in front of the dugout. Everyone in America will see you. I think we can get Publicity to cut loose enough money to set you up with a hotel room.

That's it?

We can probably get enough out of Legal for your bail. But not too soon! Buzz, baby, buzz!

Funny Business

I don't want to let the subject of taxes go without expressing our appreciation for the fat credit we got for installing solar panels. That was a gift from all of you other taxpayers, and we're grateful. Now that you've finally got it right, I don't think I'd be out of line for mentioning that we like this a whole lot better than that war you've been getting us the last God knows how many years, which was the wrong size.

Something else. Once I got done with the preparation and sent it all off to meet its taker, my tax prep software wanted to know if I was interested in learning my chances of getting audited. I'm not particularly afraid of getting audited. If it happens, I will stride into the office with a clean conscience. "I've done the best I could," I'll say. "You figure it out, and then get back to me." Which is what I wish they'd do from the get-go, anyway.

Still, I clicked "yes" to the question, and my software then assured me my risk of audit was low. On the other hand, they saw some "areas of concern." Would I like to see the areas of concern?

Not really. I don't even like it when my friends tell me they're concerned about me. It's never anything good, and it interferes with my avoidance strategy.

But this is just a stupid bunch of software. A stupid, wickedly intuitive bunch of software. I could click "no thanks," and it would lean back, stroke its beard, arch one brow, and say well then. Okay. I just wanted to ask. Then I could banish its icon from my desktop and send it to its folder, where it would tell all my other documents about me. I hate when that happens.

Fine. Since you must know, Mr. Fancypants Tax Software, yes, I have a business that doesn't appear to be taking in any money. If you'd take the time to notice, Mr. Fancypants Tax Software, I said that right up front, when you asked the nature of my business, and I typed in "writing." Do you know what that means? That means that I am employed in the business of distilling my entire life experience and language heritage into little jewels of verbiage to charm the hearts or loosen the bowels of dozens of unnamed souls in the blogosphere, for no remuneration whatsoever. Similarly, I am compelled to concoct gems of humor for the likes of Smithsonian Magazine or The New Yorker, one of which wants humor as long as it isn't all that funny, and the other of which doesn't care if it's funny at all as long as it's gimmicky enough. And to do this I need to take my natural wit and cook it down till all the funny is rendered out of it, leaving only a thin gruel of light chuckling. Then I must send it out and wait several months for a rejection notice, or--because people in my situation are a dime a peck--an extended silence that I can feel free to interpret as a rejection after an abject half-year or so. I will have you know, Mr. Fancypants Tax Software, that I have been rejected by the best of them, and also by the North Dakota Living Magazine.

And why is this a business? It is a business because it is all in the service of developing an audience for more of my productions, which will also go unremunerated. It is a business because I am writing a novel that I would like people to read, and I have been solemnly informed that I require a platform in order to get anyone to read it. I need to network without appearing to stalk, work the social media without appearing to wheedle, and urge my readers to tell all their friends about me without appearing to snivel, all so that some day people will want to part with a dab of cash for this book I'm writing. And why should they, when they can get so much for free? I have no idea, Mr. Fancypants Tax Software. To be absolutely honest, I don't even care that much if they do pay, as long as they read it. But you asked if I had a business, not if I had an intelligent business plan.

So thank you for your concern, but if I were you, I'd just grow up and get used to the fact that I'm going to be writing off the cost of my printer cartridges for years to come. Suck on that, Mack.