It’s Sunday. The first day in umteen days that I have purposely made no plans. To my right is publicity officer, Mochi, of the long-red-hair tabby clan. His job today is to press on my computer keys and make letters repeat on the screen until I pet him. My reward: a bundle full of orange cat hair. (The same stuff that froze up the penthouse a/c unit and is causing an expensive coil-cleaning repair)  

Mochi-in-a-bowl

Be that as it may (I love saying that), I’m rejoicing in the non-structure of the day. I took my perfunctory beach walk late morning to get some oxygen to my bloodstream and brain but besides that exertion of energy and this little burst of blogging, I plan none further. 

There’s always Monday and the rest of the workweek lineup to greet me tomorrow. The volume of projects bring to mind a nest full of needy baby birds competing for din-din from mama. All are deserving but inevitably some get more chow than others.

Survival of the fittest. Or the loudest. The most brazen, or the most obvious.

The common denominator for all the ‘baby birds’ is that each and every author regards their book as their own baby.  Every mom and dad wants their kid to do well, to be noticed. Which is where I come in. Or in the saddest of cases – don’t. It may seem like I blog about this over and over again, and I do. It’s a mixture of dedication and guilt that drives me.

Many years ago when I was the publicity director for a corporate concern, I marveled at how publicists working at pr agencies managed numerous accounts at once. The answer I got – now, this goes back some 20 years ago and I still remember it clearly — “it’s like having sex with a lot of different people but never really being satisfied.”

Pardon the racy metaphor but  now I intimately understand what they were talking about!  Except that I do experience some sense of satisfaction (no not in that way) when “servicing” my authors. We see results that translate into book sales, on to bestseller lists, and the satisfaction of a happy reader.

In fact, I just had the fortunate experience of sharing an early copy of Mary Jo Buttafuoco’s “Getting It Through My Thick Skull” with the daughter of a good friend.  She’s about 21 years old and found herself reading the entire book poolside in one sitting. Couldn’t put it down. And, she wants to recommend it to four friends.

“Wants to recommend it to four friends.” 

Music to my ears and a phrase that sends shivers of hope up my spine that this book my be powered by word of mouth. The best ingredient in any book campaign, and the one that none of us can manipulate. We may gently suggest, push, urge and optimize its chances of happening, but the dear reader has the last say.

You heard it here. The early “read” is that Getting It Through My Thick Skull will have word of mouth.

Now, go tell everyone, will ya?

Enjoy the full moon. Howl and drum until your heart’s content.

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