A couple walked into a health food store…

In my last post I addressed the world of social media marketing on Twitter and Facebook, and aren’t you glad you didn’t by that stock? Oh, no, you didn’t!  Today, I will come back closer to home and the way of my island.  As you know, all successful writers work at other jobs – mine is at the local health food store – until October when I will have to resign because my first social security check will arrive. Kaching!!  Before you go doing any math in your head, I’m taking social security at my first opportunity, age 52…okay, 62; but I can still kick and stretch and mow four acres of property.  But I digress.  So last week a lovely couple came in looking for cocoa to make Italian meringue cookies.  Well, they came to the right dealer.  I told them about my private stash (sent to me by my favorite of all my children) back at the house.  “Luscious and dark as the fields of Ebey’s Reserve.  I’ll leave it for you on my side porch,” I said.  “How much?”  they asked.  “Free…the first time.”  Well, wouldn’t you know while I was gone they came around.  How do I know?  I almost hit them head on as I turned the last curve of the S on QTL.  And what a stroke of luck that was, because they had this guy on ice in the back of their car fresh out of the icy waters of Penn Cove.  Now for those of you who don’t know a crab from a carb (other than the juxtaposition of the “a” and “r”), the photo is of the underside of the crab.  I turned the crab over because the upper side had been cracked and cleaned and, therefore, had lost its photogenic quality.   Here’s what I didn’t know about crab and why I almost dropped my favorite bowl when removing said crab from it with my bare hands…the legs started moving.  I kid you not.  I knew this was the case with chickens because there’s such an incident in my novel The Last Supper Catering Company.  Oh, do you see what I just did there?  First I hooked you in with a story about cocoa and crab and then with sleight of hand, I not only mentioned my novel, I hyperlinked it so that if you double-click on it you will be taken to the Amazon page where it appears and can be purchased.  Close your eyes if you’ve already purchased the book because I’m about to channel Ron Popeil:

“Amazon is now selling The Last Supper Catering Company at 36% off the original price.  That’s right.  They’ve slashed the price from $12.95 to $8.36, and you can buy two for twice that amount.  But you need to order right now because this offer won’t last forever.  And, folks, just because they’ve slashed the price doesn’t mean they’ve slashed the quality.  I guarantee there will be a front cover and a back cover, and pages in between.  Don’t be sorry you didn’t double-click when you had the chance.  The holidays are just around the corner.  Do you really want to give your loved ones the same old diamond jewelry and expensive cars year-after-year?  Now’s your chance to change someone’s life with a simple double-click.  And folks, if $8.36 is more than you’ve got in your pocket right now, and you can’t afford the paperback, don’t you fret.  You can download the Kindle version for…sit down if you’re standing…just $2.99.  And that’s not all.  You can loan your Kindle version for fourteen days to a friend without paying another dime!  Wait!  There’s more.  If you’re an Amazon Prime Member, you can download the Kindle version for FREE!  FREE, people.  What are you waiting for?”

Okay, I’m back, and right now I’m envisioning my brother bent over his computer and crying at having paid full price, which to me is: Priceless.

By the way, the story about the couple, the cocoa, and the crab…all true.  The only thing I left out was that I screamed like a little girl when those legs started moving.

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It’s Twitter Time!

“Class, today we’re going to talk about social media.”  If I was really in a social media class setting, at the end of that sentence I would lock my eyes on the teacher, nod my head every few minutes, and furrow my brow as if whatever he was saying was of great interest.  In truth, I would be noticing how his voice sounded like he had cream of wheat stuck in his throat, or how unaware he was of the wet spot by his zipper, or how his arms were dinosaur short compared to the rest of his body, and how he wore loafers because he had to.  Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t do the same thing when you were in school.  But I digress.

Until very recently, to me a “tweet” referred to the melodious sound of the swallows (when not dive bombing me), finches, robins and those little, delightfully bright yellow birds (whose name escapes me) that live in my woods and call to me in the morning.  Well, my dear readers,I am here to tell you there’s been a lot going on in the world since I escaped into the woods in 2009.  See that little guy up in the corner to your left?  Of course you don’t.  I can’t take the chance that the Twitter people might come down on me for using the Twitter image, but you’d recognize the little blue bird if you saw him.   Know this:  he is all-powerful when it comes to getting  your message out to millions of people every second of every day. And you know what?  There are millions and millions of people doing just that, and these messages move faster than a teenage boys hands at a drive-in.  (Go ahead and Google “drive-in” if you’re under 40.  I’ll wait)  In Twitterland, you “follow” someone of interest, say an author, someone working in your area of expertise, a movie star, or a well disguised sociopath, and if they’re interested in what you do, or what you might “tweet,” they’ll “follow” you back, especially the well disguised sociopath.  Now, I’ve seen how “I’ll follow you, you follow me” works with dogs at the park.  Basically, they end up running in a circle nose-to-butt, nose-to-butt.   Now, don’t get me wrong those of you who are Twitterpated, I know revolutions have taken place through Twitter, lives have been saved, and causes and careers elevated with the use of this social media practice, but the majority of tweets are neither revolutionary, nor evolutionary.   But I don’t want to single out Twitter, so let’s move onto the world of Facebook.   On Facebook, you and I will become “friends.”  Facebook is a lot like high school.   The cool kids boast by publicly displaying that they have a bazillion friends.  You’ve only got nine.  You had ten, but somebody “unfriended” you last week.    You didn’t know you had been dumped until you went to send a private message (think passing a note in Algebra) and you were blocked.  My favorite part of Facebook is “What’s your status?”  This is where people tell you exactly what they’re doing/how they’re feeling in a given moment.  Examples: just got the car washed; I’ve got cramps; divorce is final; just found out I have  (insert condition/disease).  Oh. Yes. They. Do.  Now, Linkedin has more of a professional feel to it.  On Linkedin CVs are proudly posted, followed closely by achievements, awards, philanthropic tendencies and the like.  And most of the photos are high quality, professional portraits with pesky moles and eye bags removed.  I haven’t run across a single photo on Linked in where friends, too drunk to stand, are hanging on each other, or self-portraits taken with the latest “smart” (don’t even get me started) phones.

I hear you asking, “Then why are you on Twitter?  Why are you on FB?”   “Who let you onto Linkedin?”  Because my loyal Greetings From Coupeville readers, my novel The Last Supper Catering Company hit the Amazon boards on July 21, and I’ve been busy, busy, busy trying to navigate my way through this thing called social media marketing.   Now, by way of my blog, I have just marketed my book to all four of you who read this blog on a regular basis.  If I was really tech savvy, I would have been able to hyperlink The Last Supper Catering Company the way Tess showed me during a video chat — one in which I disconnected us after she assured me not even I could do that.  God, I love a challenge.   But I just can’t get that darn chain link icon to cooperate with me.  So, here’s the long version, which according to those in the social media marketing know will tell you looks amateurish.   Well, just in case you’re an amateur, too, copy the link below into your browser and it should take you to the Amazon page for the book.

http://www.amazon.com/The-Last-Supper-Catering-Company/dp/0985359323/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1343074752&sr=8-1&keywords=the+last+supper+catering+company

Boy, I hope that works and didn’t take you instead to the Orgreenics omelet pan site.  Warning: Never make an online purchase in the middle of the night after taking a little something to help you sleep.

Oh, one more thing (pitch)…if you’re on Facebook, look up The Last Supper Catering Company.  If you’re the 60th person to “like” the site, I’ll send you an autographed copy of The Last Supper Catering Company.  Free.  And if you’ve got a bazillion friends, more or less, bring them along for the ride.

Until next time, dear readers, keep your blades sharp and your hoe handy.

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