Spurred on by the success Cindy and I had finding
homes for all six kittens found on Old Senoia Road over the Memorial Day
weekend, a part of me that was dormant (translation: never existed) for much
too long came alive. I realized that if
there was something I truly believed in (in this case the welfare of six
orphaned kittens) I could indeed be a bona fide salesman.
Let me back up for a moment. When I was a Scout (Cub, Boy—can’t remember
for certain; immaterial, really) many years ago it seemed like I spent more
time selling chocolate-covered Macademia nuts door-to-door (our family was
living on Oahu at the time) than I did pitching a tent or sitting by a campfire
sticking my fingers into cans of Vienna sausages. In fact I’m pretty sure I earned a merit
badge for Fundraising along the way. But
I hated every second of it. I don’t know
what I hated more: Asking people to part with their hard-earned money for some
ridiculously overpriced candy, or the fact that I was terrible at it. I was such a bad salesman I may as well have
been selling lighter fluid to Smokey the Bear because the answer was always the
same: No.
But as I said, finding homes for the six kittens
proved I could be a salesman. I just need a product I believe it.
Flash forward to a couple (four) decades later. I had recently been recruited to endorse a
particular brand of insoles for runners.
The pay was going to be commensurate with the pay I received for giving
presentations to runners, writing regular columns for two regional running
publications and serving as President of the Darkside Running Club; in other
words, gratis. The marketing department
of the insole company knew I had written (at that time) three books about
running and was going to be running in South Africa’s Comrades Marathon
soon. Coincidentally the insole company
was located in Johannesburg, South Africa—where I would be flying into before
heading over to Durban for the start of the race.
So the insole company made me an offer I couldn’t
refuse.
‘If we pick you up at the Johannesburg airport and
drive you to your lodging, would you mind signing 50 copies of A Few Degrees from Hell (my third book)
so we can use it in a promotional campaign?’
Why yes, you certainly may.
So the night Susan Lance and I flew into Johannesburg
we met up with ‘Lutz’ and his business partner and they drive us to our armed
and impenetrable bed and breakfast in the middle of downtown Johannesburg. And yes, I did mean to say ‘armed and
impenetrable’ (have you ever been to Johannesburg?) and the analogy
to a fortress is most definitely intentional.
I signed 50 copies of my book and two days later I was interviewed by a
reporter from South Africa’s Modern
Athlete magazine for their special Comrades Marathon edition. As I understood it, I was supposed to appear
on the cover. However as it turned out a
local ‘biggest loser’ appeared on the cover (but in his defense, he did lose more weight than I’m currently
lugging around…), but I did get a two-page spread near the front of the
magazine—with plenty of photographs and an rather conspicuous ad for the insole
I was promoting.
Although A Few
Degrees from Hell had been selling reasonably well leading up to Comrades,
afterwards sales went to a whole new level.
It was less than a year later that a ‘literary headhunter’ gave me a
call asking me if I’d be interested in selling the rights to the book to a
publisher located in Aachen, Germany. I
asked him how he knew of my book and he said the publisher tasked him with
finding a running narrative book worthy of publication. Apparently my book was appearing on whatever
tracking mechanism he had in place to determine which books were selling
reasonably well in the self-publishing world, and mine apparently had his
attention.
So after selling more than 4,000 copies of A Few Degrees from Hell with little or
no marketing or promotion and after considerable time spent contemplating over
whether or not to give the rights to my book to someone else. I decided it was
time for me to ‘go global.’ After the
first eight months with my new publisher an additional 900 copies of the book
were sold. (Did I mention I also signed over the movie
rights to my book—should it in fact be turned into a movie? I mention it because I signed over the movie
rights to my book in case it is turned into a movie. Not that the thought of it makes my head
swell or anything.)
Which brings me to what I did today: I began a
one-person promotional campaign for my two latest books on Facebook (for Buy the Book Part 1 and Buy the Book Part 2). Here’s what I posted:
I’ve never
been known to be a salesman or a marketer, but I do have an offer that (I’m
hoping) 10 of you can’t refuse:
The first 10
Facebook friends who send me a private message with their home address will
receive a copy of Buy the Book! (either Part 1 or Part 2—no promises). There are only three conditions:
1.
You have to
read the entire book within five weeks of receipt (no skimming and no buying a
copy of their respective CliffNotes).
2.
You then have to post a review of the book on Amazon
(good, bad, indifferent—just be honest.).
3.
You have to post a review on Facebook (again—good,
bad, indifferent).
Why am I
doing this? Let’s just say I believe in
the law of geometric progression. And I
believe you’ll enjoy the books.
Believe me when I say I would have never considered
doing something this bold if it wasn’t something I truly believed in. But I do believe anyone who reads my books
will enjoy them; I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t. As for the law of geometric progression, I’m
counting on the 10 people reading the books to tell 10 of their friends about
them who will then read the books and then tell 10 of their friends…
I had my 10 commitments within 24 hours. My sales pitch is over; now let’s see what
the law of geometric progression can do.
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