I Don't Advertise, But...

http://www.pajamajeans.com

There is only one word for these:

Oohh...

Guest Blog, Sort Of

It's not plagiarism if it's copied with permission, which this is. Also, the column inches in the daily rag are mine alone, so I guard them with near-psychotic jealousy.

Something every writer in every area should nail to the back of their head, lifted from a writer's forum:

"I learned something from my first book that few other authors seem to take to heart, but should: How very important marketing is, for the financial security and survival of all concerned.

The Knucklebook has sold only a few thousand copies, but I've learned a few fun and important things from the experience:

There is a built-in audience--in many cases--for a non-fiction work. Don't count on retiring on it--because it's probably not nearly as big as you think or hope.

If you really enjoy your baby, go talk about it. Arranging a newspaper interview or book signing is brutally simple, fun, and they generally go well. Don't expect your publisher to help, or execute that end well.

Whether the industry is rolling in real cash or staggering towards the next nickel, there are fun and savvy ways to promote your book and keep getting it out to interested eyes. And the way it's changing now, authors who are on the cutting edge of marketing are the ones who will at least enjoy the business, if not out-earn the competition... and maybe do it for a day job. While I won't do Twitter (because it's too much "all about me and my drivel"), and I find Facebook hideous and silly when it comes to genuinely connecting with readers, I do have a website and message board devoted to the subject of my book, as well as a website expressly for the book. On the book's website, I have sample links to three ideas I'm surprised nobody else is working: a free downloadable personalized note, a personalized sound clip, and a personalized video clip. I'm working with my publisher to provide these either to ebook purchasers, or those who find the link on my publisher's website.

Blog? I consider the subject's website a blog of sorts, but the main use of it is a gateway for newbies to learn about the subject, and a message board for anyone to leave their ramblings for all the world. I do have an interesting take on an actual blog, however: the main character of my novel-to-be is a writer, and I think it's amusing--if not a potential breakthrough way to connect with readers if the blog is "authored" by the main character.

Give your book long-term legs in some way. Heck, why not make it commercial? Anything wrong with profit, or potential profit from generating long-term interest in it? I'm currently working with a producer on a documentary on the subject, and I'm a co-writer of a screenplay based quite loosely on the book's subject matter. This may kick up some later sales. Quit thinking of it as work and think of it as cool fun, and you'll go further than the lazy and nervous authors who want to grab the maximum advance, then flee for the hills in terror. J.D. Salinger is quite dead, now, in case you haven't checked the news.

The real money may be in novels. You may not make it, however, if your sweat-and-blood-stained creation is yet another non-seller about vampires, the Sword of Omigod, or a little girl and her fuzzy bunny in 12th century Antarctica."

It's one thing to successfully rein in skittish blog controls, as I have obviously failed to do. It's something else entirely to actively throw effort into spewing in text form just to do so. Any writer who calls themselves one writes for others, and writes so as not to bore, insult, or disrespect. It's a calling and a duty, servitude to the readers, and it should be executed with all intellect applicable. Pleasing others is the essence of marketing. With any kind of luck, skill, or planning, money may follow. If nothing else, it's your best chance. And you'd better always enjoy knocking those words out in a way that you sense will please others.

Bio Update

Q: What's your favorite food?
A: Macaroni a l'Orange Fromage avec Cardboard Box. Not as sophisticated as it sounds; screw it up and it still comes out palatable enough; and after all these years, still less than a buck.

Comedy Is Like Brain Surgery

Irish singer Ronan Tynan has been brutalized in the press for allegedly telling an anti-Semitic joke.

One giant problem I have with the most of the news media (the Ticker Online, excepted, and I make sure of that) is that it generally displays all the funnybone of a random shooting, and this story was neatly trimmed of meaningful information to fill a headline, column-inches, or segment-time.

Note to any of those who haven't heard the following: read it, understand it, then go read my column in the Ticker Online...

Comedy theory states: Comedy is an uplifting surprise in a social context. Dry, I know, and not funny, but understand that and you know not only comedy, but maybe what you need to present to the gullible public before you do any finger-wagging.

Comedy needs a setup. Some kind, so the punch line gets the proper twist. You missed that. That's my teaser. Oh, and in addition: Even knowing that, the joke was a comment that had little to do with being Jewish in particular.

I'll get it all in crisp order so even you can understand it and not mislead your market and look like fuzzbrains, in the very next edition of the Ticker Online.

Let the embarrassment of my fellow journalists begin.

--K.H.

Evening The Score

I'm not a huge fan of teasers, but due to popular request, I'm going to jot down a couple here, with the idea that you'll read my column online or go buy a dead-tree edition. This is teaser #1:

Does anyone have any idea why major league sports have to schedule games so late, that kids are falling asleep in the bleachers and daddies are nodding off driving home after fighting the herd at the end of the game, which is probably around dawn?

There's nothing on this or any other Earth that beats watching on TV. You can catch a few minutes, then shut it off and let your boys win it or lose it without you-- because you have a life, you need your sleep, and you have personal things to tend to in the ayem, such as work or school.

These leagues need to get a message (and it doesn't have anything to do with the screaming wild insane cost to attend a live game, in case you haven't noticed this is the first mention of that teensy little issue.)

Message? We need to send them this: We need to be evening the score.

See my column for the knee-slapping finish. I'll reprint it here, later, if I get some interest.

This is my first-ever teaser. How did I do?

--K.H.

Neverland Raunch

Excerpted from Not My Opinion, The Ticker Online, copyright 2009


I'm stuck in neutral on this man-child.

He was equally stunning as an entertainer and as one hideous human being. And I not only could be wrong on either or both counts, the noisies on either side of the commentary might be, too.

The denial on both sides is tearing at the unknowable truth somewhere in the center, and it's feeding a social tsunami that is sweeping up all sorts of flotsam. That center is so gray, one cannot use it to adequately justify the ends. One could see the showmanship, hear the musical talent, then also see the physical morphing into what no one calls a butterfly. And what filtered through the courtroom is a private life that--due to the magic of massive payoffs--will never be known in truth. The two questions that define every element of what was his life on this earth are: how? and why? Expand on those questions at will; everyone else is.

Between those who were into him for every coin they could extract from his actions on-stage and in private, and those who genuinely loved him and battled to steer him along a path of clean-as-a-whistle greatness, the whole story has turned into one of hey-what-about-me and some-of-this-is-about-me. What makes this large is not Michael Jackson, the one-and-only human being, but the swarm attaching itself to him.

Care to guess how many are showing up to the funeral just because it's an event? Care to guess how many fans are in denial of his depravity? Care to guess how many are either saddened he's gone through denial of the dark part of his life, or showing up to see off someone who they feel was a pervert who had it coming? And how many are sickened because they were either into him for a huge investment or see that their gravy train has made its final stop?

You can care or not care that he's gone. But the iceberg below is all those who are contributing to this Barnum-and-Bailey show that may melt one of these centuries. (I mixed metaphors on purpose, to reinforce my point.) We not only have to live among the herd, and likely never know what their individual standing really is in this, but it's impossible for this casual observer to tell if the real Michael Jackson is dead or alive. That could well be the real horror and sadness to this spectacle.

--K.H.

Revealing My Shorts

A few notes that will not blossom into a column:

A tricky thing about Twitter: If you're not careful with your character count, you can accidentally announce to the world that you're a twit

Boston Marathon: 6 hours, 23 minutes, 19 seconds, unofficially. To start and finish while on foot and without stopping for gas is the prize to keep.

Regarding the Roger Clemens explanation that he's somehow a blood relative of his step-father: Irrespective of whether those were B-12 shots in the hindquarters, we know for certain there's an intellectual gulf between "rocket" and "rocket scientist".

School is like anything else in life: Just get on top of it, and the way is smooth. The whole point of it--great or gruesome--is to learn handy new angles on crawling over assorted roadblocks in your journey on this rock. I'm told that one may be stunned in later years to discover just how useful a semester of Slam-Dunk Glassblowing will prove to be. We'll see about that.

I've been asked for some kind of quick logo or graphic to make as my own, above and beyond the too-ancient smiley face. I came up with a signet-like blend of my initials that's well-suited to a medium felt-tip pen. It's an autograph or stamp that can be thrown down in a hasty moment, and it's unique. If I can figure out the little clicky things at the top of the control space, I might post an image of it sometime. Surely your life is not such a void that you'll have to leave a haunting begging message in all caps, true?

For newcomers: My column comes first. I'm not on Twitter or MySpace or FaceBook and intend to stay off. I have events and practices of import in my life not involving those three. What I already immerse myself in is quite enough, but I appreciate the purpose and function of the abovementioned.

--KH