Tag Archives: marketing

What I learned from marketing at Orycon 41

This wasn’t easy for me on a couple of levels. I have a rough history with Orycon (Portland’s annual science fiction convention), for starters: at my first one, I had to make my way past a horrible train wreck, then got miserably ill by Saturday evening. At the second, I knew nearly no one and just never connected; I went home early. This past was not primed to fill me with optimism.

The hard part here was that I attended not for pleasure, but to market my editing work at a station in the dealer room. This put me “out there” in ways that always bring me fundamental discomfort, for I am not good at waving a banner and saying “Come hire me! I’m so great!” Truth told, I neither excel at nor like marketing. Most of the time, this blog and the FB page are as far as I go. People I like; public presentation, not so much.

Along came an old friend, Randy, who was also a client. I don’t know whether or not Randy likes marketing, but he is better and more energetic at it than I am. Through some persuasion, he convinced me to let him help me make a better marketing effort.

As he does with my editorial guidance, I did about 95% of what he said I must (or would have said, had I not realized the need myself, such as having a brochure and some form of banner). The only serious line I drew was the banner content, and I don’t think that hurt me much.

Of course, I caught a cold three days beforehand, so I got to go through this at less than my best. Had it not been for Randy sharing the booth (marketing his gaming system while mainly supporting me and providing feedback), it’s a fair bet I’d have failed in some way. It’s true: if you involve someone else before whom you are unwilling to embarrass yourself by jaking, it can help you go through with an uncomfortable thing.

Not that any discomfort stemmed from anything but my own inner Jed Clampett, of course. Orycon is well run by helpful volunteers, attracts a pleasant extended community of socially nonconforming and generally bright consumers of specific media, and the hotel even had enough parking. If the Max train went to Jantzen Beach it would have been perfect, but we never get everything.

What did I learn from this?

  1. In terms of splash, I had the worst display in the dealer room. It wasn’t even close. I had a white banner proclaiming “Editing Services,” business cards, a brochure holder, and little else. (By my standards, I’d built a miniature Disneyland.) It did not offend me when people pointed out that mine was the dullest. Did I, deep down, feel a certain perverse sense of victory and self-honesty? Damn right. Do I think that the all go / no show balance hurt me? No. I do need a better way to hang the banner, because we sort of McGuyvered it with binder clips.
  2. What would have hurt was a bad attitude. Many of the dealers would just as soon not be there, and it shows. The drag there is that it’s self-fulfilling: they’re not happy, they radiate it, and soon they’re not happy because they aren’t selling anything because they give off a vibe of “wish I were elsewhere.” But didn’t I? Not in the same way. I’d made a commitment to respect a good friend’s time (Randy drove from Seattle, three hours and change, just to do this) and exercise full effort, and I was going to do this like I meant it. The most important potential customer is the one standing before you.
  3. My booth (okay, my folding table with a navy blue cloth and my marketing stuff on it) may have set new ugliness standards, but my one intellectual contribution worked very well: chairs. I had the con set us up with four chairs, so I could put two on the aisle side facing each other sideways. No one else offered anywhere to sit. Not only could potential clients have a seat and talk about their work and needs, but this let us be good neighbors. One lady had dealt with some unacceptable fan group harassment and seemed to need a safe and friendly space for a few moments. A few others just asked whether they could rest sore knees or hips for a bit; sure, that’s why we put them there. There’s a lot of mobility impairment at cons. Randy said I did a good job of engagement, but the only thing he considered inspired was the chairs. I would do that again even if I had to bring my own.
  4. A dealer booth is a great place to people-watch. Orycon situated us between a publisher and a corset vendor, across from a couple of authors. Cons have good people-watching; if you’ve ever wondered just how many different shapes the human breast can assume when guided and shaped (or liberated in a specific direction) by clothing, a science fiction convention is your learning ground. Orycon is very restrictive with regard to anything that even looks like a weapon, or the displays would be much better.

It was as good an experience as I can have spending twenty-one hours meeting the semi-public over the course of three days. And to those of you who met me there and are now reading the blog for the first time, thrice welcome and thank you for visiting my humble but friendly little Orycon presence.

No one who refuses to read this book should ask me for book marketing tips any more

The book in question is the autobiography of Bill Veeck, Veeck as in Wreck.

Clients ask me for marketing tips all the time. Of course, a cynic might think: “If he were that good at marketing, he’d probably be writing and pushing his own books.” Most authors hate marketing and think it’s icky; they just want to write, publish, and let their work rise on its merits. Well, it is icky. It’s like picking up after your dog icky. However, if you do not pick up after your dog, your back yard is not a fun place.

Other than how to approach Amazon reviewers, there is not a lot of useful stuff I can tell people about marketing books. The cynic above? S/he is quite correct about me.

The author who refuses to embrace marketing, and who insists that it’s a commercial rather than a vanity book, should be writing fantasy. That’s because that stance is indicative of a very active and fertile imagination, an ability to suspend disbelief in the face of obvious evidence. This should enable him or her to come up with some amazing alternate realities.

I believe that all projects should begin with a fundamental mindset. Winston Churchill knew it. His six-volume WWII memoirs, which are some of my favorite reading, began with a Moral of the Work:

“In war: resolution. In defeat: defiance. In victory: magnanimity. In peace: goodwill.”

One may debate the moral, its applicability to the telling of history, or whether Churchill lived up to it in life. He did establish a mindset, and one supposes it guided him. Thus it is with writing, or the marketing of writing. If the mindset toward marketing is that it’s icky, I see a high probability that the result will reflect the mindset. That means the author doesn’t sell very many books, and perhaps even takes a net loss after all the initial expenses are considered.

So; mindset before all. And that’s why authors seeking marketing tips must read Veeck’s book.

  • It is about growing up around and operating baseball teams.
  • It is about breaking attendance records, even with lousy teams.
  • It is about one’s approach to the public.
  • It is about just enough chicanery.
  • It is about an unconventional mentality.
  • It is about marketing without fear, shame, or guilt.
  • It is about how to treat those with whom one works.
  • It is about having fun, and plenty of laughter, while practicing all of the above.

If authors let some healthy portion of Veeck’s rollicking, fun-loving, generous, brass-balled, loyalty-building, establishment-defying, disability-defying, fiscally savvy, opportunistic mindset sink into their marketing approach, there is further point in discussing strategies. They will have a mindset, a guiding attitude, and will thus be able to carry out those strategies without feeling like they are picking up dog turds.

If they decline to read it, or read it and decide that marketing is still icky and they just want to write, I will be delighted to serve as their editor and will not bother them any more about reading Veeck’s book. However, they should know that I’ve already given them my best marketing advice, from my limited storehouse of same, and that I may not have much else of use to tell them about how to get people to buy books.


 

*I can’t finish a discussion of a book written with Ed Linn without a shoutout to his efforts as co-author. I have read several sports books written ‘with Ed Linn.’ Mr. Linn has passed on in recent years, but he happens to be one of my best examples of voice. All of Veeck’s books with Mr. Linn sound consistently Veecky. Others, with other autobiographists, sound like those persons. When I edit multiple POV first person fiction, I remind myself that those voices must, must, must differ, must match to the developed characters, and must further the speaker’s development.