Marketing Mania

My two week vacation is not over yet. I’m writing this from Rochester, New York where I’ve checked into a hotel which has a computer available to me. I’ve just come from a hotel in New York City where my hotel also had computers, but they had a payment requirement. One dollar for five minutes time. O.K. I’ve already told you that I’m slightly computer addicted so I  inserted my dollar and started to try to pick up my AOL e-mail. Before I could do that, I of course needed to answer a dozen of so security questions which chewed up five minutes. I was still telling them where I was born and the name of my pet when the computer went dead on me. At that point I got mad, mumbled a four letter word under my breath and walked away. I’ve already told you I am only slightly addicted.

Now, I am in a lovely Marriott hotel where the computer is not only free but doesn’t require any more from me than a couple of user ID’s and Passwords. Luckily, my memory is not entirely gone yet and I am able to write this blog. And I am also able to pick up a few stats from some of my sites.

I was particularly interested in doing so because during my absence from the computer I was becoming a bit discouraged about the effectiveness of some of my marketing strategies for Becoming Alice and thought about giving it up altogether. It seemed to me I was spending a whole lot of time on the computer without much result. For example, I was so pleased to see that over two hundred people had chosen to put my book on their to-read shelves at my Goodreads account. But then I only garnered perhaps a half dozen reviews. Most of them were five star reviews, but only a half dozen or so?

Then, there was this WordPress blog that I was involved with. I’ve really enjoyed writing these seventy or so blogs, but on most days I haven’t seen more than two or three viewers. There are some exceptions, or course when I do get a few more. Now that I’ve gone away and checked in after almost a week, I noticed a whole bunch of people have read my blog. The message is clear. I must go away more often.

I checked my Goodreads account and … amazing!! More readers. More reviews. I checked my amazon account. My ranking has gone way up. It must mean more buyers. Amazing! It’s clear. I must not go home. I must turn myself into a Flying Dutchman and Becoming Alice will become a best seller.

Two week vacation

Hi Everyone,

For those of you who’ve been reading my blog, I’m off to New York for this and that and won’t be posting blogs for a couple of weeks. But stayed tuned after that.

Cheers, Alice

Why We Are the Way We Are

Tina was here for a few days last week. Rememger herin Becoming Alice? She was the little girl who came to this country with me. She’s no longer a little girl, of course, but it’s funny how the roles we established way back then seem to have maintained themselves. I’m still someone who is not only taller and stronger, but also smarter and more accomplished than her. That was our equation at ages four and eight and since we haven’t lived in the same towns for many, many years, that equation hasn’t changed.

What has changed is that we both have had a lifetime of experiences since then that are totally dissimilar and have shaped us into entirely different people. Yet we still share many things. We’ve become daughters who’ve had to care for our parents in their old age. We’ve become mothers who have seen our children go throught their own ups and downs. We’ve had grandchildren for whom we’ve had high expectations which may or may not have been met. And we still have that bond from our childhood that has been so strong that it will never be broken.

We reminisced about our monopoly games in her bedroom, about our picnics at the beach, and our blueberry picking excursions to Larch Mountain in the summer time. At our age we were able to talk about our parents objectively, without the overlay of expected adoration, respect, and love, but rather with all that plus the objective assessment of their true and sometimes unadmirable qualities.

At this point in our lives we have ,of course, forgiven them any of their shortcomings. They don’t really matter. We all have them. But it was interesting for us to talk about our parent’s backgrounds and all the experiences that contributed to shaping them to be as they were. I often have wondered if my father would have been any different if he had been brought up in America instead of the Ukraine. I am sure he would.

It has been a game I have often played. Having spent so many years in the travel business and been to so many different countries with cultures so foreign to me, I often wondered what my life and I would have been like half way around the world. Maybe that’s why I still feel myself so at home in so many European countires. Maybe there is something to that saying, “You can take the girl out of Vienna, but a little bit of Vienna stays in that girl.”

Computer Addiction

Bob and I took a week off from our hectic lives and drove up to northern California for a little R and R (that stands for Rest and Relaxation for all you non-Americans who may happen to be reading my blog.) That explanation may also be helpful to all you Americans who by the nature of our high intensity lives may have forgotten what R and R means.

We decided to drive the entire trip which meant taking a very long and boring drive up Route 5 to San Francisco and then cutting over to the incredibly scenic ocean drive to Fort Bragg. We used that location to take day trips around the immediate area. It was all very wonderful: cool and invigorating weather, being in jeans and sweatshirts all day long, taking photographs and reading books, and going out to eat every meal. And then I got withdrawel symptoms.

It all started when we packed for the trip and I casually said to Bob, “Think I should take my computer?”

He answered, “Are you kidding? What kind of a vacation would that be?”

“Guess you’re right,” I said. “I could always find a computer up there, I guess.”

The fact of the matter is that I do spend a lot of time on my computer … for a lot of reasons. I think a lot of people do, even if it is just to keep up with all the e-mails we get. I find that my friends don’t call me on the phone very often any more. They will simply e-mail me their pertinent information and get on with it. Of course, I am not reachable at home any more and neither is anyone else. I can’t tell you how often I’ve played phone tag with people for days. E-mails are good. And then there is all that other stuff I do regarding my book, Becoming Alice.

I thought I could go a week away from my computer but on Tuesday or Wednesday I started to get curious about what was going on in my cyberspace life. I aksed the clerk at our hotel where the Internet Cafe was in Fort Bragg. She said there was none. I felt a pang in my chest. I asked what I should do. My mind raced to find a solution, like where was the nearest town with a computer? The clerk said that I might try the public library, although she wasn’t really sure about that.

I set about trying to calm myself so that Bob wouldn’t notice my distress. I think he might have carted me off to a psychiatrist. I calmly asked him if he wouldn’t like to go back to the room and rest a while. We could read, perhaps watch some TV. He agreed. As soon as he picked up his book and started to nod off, I said I’d just mosey off to check things out at the library. I don’t think he heard me but I slipped out of the room just the same.

I raced to the library. Luckily didn’t get a speeding ticket. Inside I saw an alcove with about a dozen computers, each one of which was being used. The librarian told me to put my name on a sign-up sheet and wait my turn. Each turn allowed the user a full hour. I noticed a couple of others were in line ahead of me. I thought about Bob waking up and finding me gone.

I knew Bob would be getting anxious if I stayed away that long and the last thing I wanted was for him to call me a computer addict. I called him on my cell phone and told him I’d gone to the drug store for a few sundries I’d forgotten. He was okay with that. I returned to the library, now worried that I’d missed my turn. I got there just in time to secure a computer. I took a deep breath.

In the three or four days that I’d been away from that keyboard, I’d collected 184 e-mails. Of that number, 25% were advertisements which I deleted right away. About 10% were from people that need an answer of sorts from me. The others I was only curious about but knew they would keep until my return home.

Then I went to the thing that was most important for me … my statistics. Did my ranking at Amazon go up or down? Did anyone else tag my tags on Amazon? Did my publisher post my sales report? Did anyone send me a message on any of my social networking sites? Did anyone read my blog? Need I go on?

I guess it is pretty obvious that I must be pretty far gone as a computer addict by now. At least it is not an addiction to alcohol or gambling or food. I’d hate to weigh 250 pounds. I’m just trying to keep it a secret from Bob. And I’m not too worried about myself either because I know the time will come when I will no longer care about what those statistics are.

More Than Friends

I know a lot of people, many of them friends. But when I think about it, not all of them are friends; they are really acquaintances. They are people I’ve met through many of the interests I have and who I see off and on, some more frequently than others. Well then, who are your true friends? Are they people who you see more often? Are they people who would do anything in the world for you? And if they are, is it because they owe you a favor? Is that really friendship … or a sort of a business deal that doesn’t involve any material product, but rather some other kind of favor?

I’ve just spent a few days with Trudi. You might remember her from my memoir, Becoming Alice; she’s the little girl with whom I came to this country. I grew up with her in Portland, Oregon and our families were very close. That friendship was cemented when, as newly arrived refugees in America, no one else accepted us as we were. In fact we were different. We were different from all those around us, whether they were Anglo-Saxon, Italian, Jewish, are any other ethnic group. There was nobody quite like the small group of Jewish immigrants who had escaped from Hitler’s murderous European grasp. We were traumatied for sure and it took us a long time to get to even keel.

Clinging together as refugees allowed us to get to know each other very well under very stressful conditions without covering up our true natures. Despite all the internal jealouses and conflicts amongst ourselves, we forgave one another and continued to stick together. Our friendships survived.

There are not many people who know me with all of my faults, my weaknesses, my scars, my shortcomings. Trudi is one of them and she accepts me as I am. How lucky to have her, along with perhaps another handful of people, who I consider as more than friends.

Marriage and Divorce

If you have read my memoir, Becoming Alice, you will know that when I was growing up, all my parents ever seemed to do was fight. To make matters worse, my aunt and uncle had a marriage that was even more nasty than my mom and dad’s. I didn’t know what other parents did, but it I had the feeling that some of them didn’t fight.

I knew there were other kinds of marriages because my best friend’s parents were always in a good humor, smiling, and laughing at each others stories and jokes. My parents pretty much ignored each other when they were in the company of others; at least they didn’t fight. As a teenager, I swore I would never have a marriage like my parents. I’d choose to stay single before I’d go into such a relationship. Luckily, I didn’t need to make that decision.

When I fast forward the years since then, a lot has happened in the  way men and women relate to one another in our society. Women have fought for and gotten freedoms they didn’t have before. They can stand up for rights they didn’t have before. They can support themselves. If they are in a “bad” marriage they can afford to get divorced.  Today, there is no stigma attached to being divorced. They are no longer looked upon as having some sort of personal flaw.

So, now our divorce rate in California is somewhere around 55%. Imagine, more than half of all those who get married will end up being divorced. I’ve seen it happen sometimes for valid reasons, sometimes not. I know one couple very well. They came to a bumpy patch in their marriage after a few years and wanting to make it all work, they went into counselling. Each partner was made aware of what behaviors contributed to the problem and accepted the advice that was given to them. The therapy was a success. They reconciled but made no changes. They went back to to the same patterns that caused the split in the first place. They are now  divorced.

Some couples divorce and remained single the rest of their lives, perhaps not bothered by their “bad” relationship, but still not much happier than when they were married. On the other hand, I have seen couples who developed really strong antagonisms toward one another in mid-life, somehow didn’t divorce, and in later years came to accept and appreciate one another .

Then there are those who have been the luckiest of all, just as lucky as the ones who married the “right” person to begin with. They are the ones who learn a little something along the way and are able to find a partner with whom they establish a really sound relationship.

What did I learn from all that I have seen so far? I learned that love is not enough for making a marriage happy. I learned that most people don’t have the judgement as young people to know what kind of person will actually work for them as a spouse. And I learned that the best of all worlds belongs to those couples who feed their relationship with love every day of their lives.

Does Self-image have anything to do with Self-esteem?

I went to my manicurist last Wednesday morning as is my custom every two or three weeks as my schedule will permit. This last Wednesday was not the best of my mornings as I hadn’t slept worth a _ _ _ _ the night before. I sat down, extended my hands, and went into a fugue state mentally, hoping not to fall asleep altogether. That was when the conversations at the other three manicure tables in the small room inside my beauty shop delegated to nails, roused me back to my senses.

“You’re not allowed to have any carbs on my diet,” said one deeply tanned patron. I thought she ought to be more concerned about the sun exposure on her skin than the calories she was taking in.

“Yes, you are. You can have carbs,” her manicurist answered. “You just have to measure the portions of what you eat. You can’t have more than three ounces of any rice or pasta, and only one slice of bread a day.” She stopped filing to look her patron in the eye and establish her one-ups-manship.

The blond curly-headed manicurist across the aisle said, “I’m going to do Linda’s diet. How much did you lose? Thirty-five pounds?”

“Forty-three,” Linda answered.

At that point in time I was fully awake and looked around to see that four of the six women in that small manicure room were grossly, not morbidly, but grossly obese. They had been obese for years. Only one of them had managed to lose forty-three pounds in all that time. I don’t know why none of them had thought about losing weight before.

I’ve been amazed at how many magazines in the racks by the check out counter at my grocery store, have articles about diets, low-calorie recipesd, and famous or not famous people who had lost 15 to 150 pounds … with pictures to prove it. Then there are all the ads on TV trying to sell Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, etc. as well a multitude of  excercise programs. And most of those that need this kind of help don’t bother to get it and remain obese. They are just fine being obese. They talk about losing weight, but don’t do it.

I think their self-image has nothing to do with their self-esteem. They get their self esteem from some other qualities they have that lets them feel themselves worthwhile. I remember when I was still a kid in elementary school, there was a girl, milk and honey colored skin and freckle-faced with blond wisly straight hair, who stuttered. It took her forever to push out a few words. Afterwards she would laugh, deep belly laughs, and all the other kids around her would join in. Sometimes they’d help her say what they knew she was struggling with. And I stood by, not able to understand the whole thing. You see, I could speak all right and I didn’t even look too bad, but I didn’t believe I was worth anything. My stuttering classmate knew she was cute as a button and everyone liked her for being such fun. I had not yet found anything in myself that I thought was worth anything.

What all those customers who buy into all those diets, and exercise programs, and plastic surgery proceedures don’t know is that they can save their money. Because they must find some other qualitiy within themselves, other than physical ,that they can be proud of , before they will be happy with themselves.

I wish I would have known that as a kid.

Marketing:Between a Rock and a Hard Place

I went on vacation for a week and only now a week later, I’m catching up, not only to the laundry and grocery shopping, but all the messages on my social networking sites on the internet. I should include writing some blogs, as well. Reviewing all my statistics which give me some idea as to whether or not I’m getting through to anybody out there … on the internet, I mean … I came upon an interesting statistic from my WordPress blog itself.

When I first started blogging, I thought I was writing a diary for myself. However, I noticed that in time a few people started reading my words. I followed up by asking “Who are you?” and “Why not come and tell me you agree with what I’ve said, or not?” Gradually a few of you did come out of the woodwork and left a comment or two. I was very excited about that. Even though it was only a few of you.

Now back from vacation and checking on my stats, I found a bunch of hits for a couple of my blogs, a big bunch. One was for the blog entitled Passion and the other was for Marketing my Memoir, Becoming Alice.  The second blog even outdid the first one. This tells me that there must be a whole lot of writers out there that are trying to figure out how to go about selling their work.

When I got into this marketing thing, the experts said that we authors should market our books but not to look like we were marketing our books. We were to get on Facebook and Twitter and talk about what we were doing and what was going on in our lives. So I read a lot of stuff from others about having to pick the kids up from school or getting together with friends for coffee. What do I care about that when I’m reading about people I don’t even know?

Then, the experts told us we should write about  why our books were wonderful and what they would get out of reading our books.  We should look like we were selling our books. So, I read a lot of tweets and messages from people who were selling not only their books, but themselves. There were editing services, publicity services, literary agent services, publishing services, etc. etc. etc. Included in this were a lot of services that had nothing to do with books; some of them shall remain nameless. My book is edited. My book is published. I’ve go all that behind me. Not interested, thank you.

I’m in a place known as “between a rock and a hard place,” between sounding inane or sounding like a hard-nosed salesman. A few days ago, someone on one of my social networking sites asked, “Are you networking or simply self-promoting?” She got a lot of answers, some of them pretty heated. If I had to answer that one, I guess I would have to say I’m somewhere in between. I’ve met, through messages back and forth, some very interesting and nice people who are out there doing the same thing I’m doing, and sharing their knowledge with me. We are all helping one another along. I’m hoping that Becoming Alice, A Memoir does well, i.e. that a lot of people read it… and like it.  Being between a rock and a hard place isn’t so bad if you’re honest about what you’re doing and can appreciate the kindness of all the other authors who are on the same page as you.

About Anxiety in Childhood

I’ve just gotten back from a week’s vacation to the beautiful and wonderfully cool California coast. I thought about taking my computer with me, but what kind of a vacation would that have been? I did think hard about leaving it at home and wondered if I’d get withdrawel symptoms. In the end, I left it behind after having received some pressure from my husband. I only cheated once. I stopped at the only place an internet connection was possible, the local public library of the small town in which we stayed. After looking at the eighty odd e-mails I’d collected in just two days, I decided to give it up altogether.

I did take a writing pad with me however and used it to get some thoughts down about the next work I intend to undertake. I also made some notes in regard to this particular blog.

I had some thoughts about anxiety again, a subject I’d written about in a prior blog. It came to mind when I watched a TV program in my hotel room in which a puzzled parent asked the moderator how old a child had to be before he or she should be allowed to walk to school by themselves. Of course, many variables had to be considered, such as sthe maturity of the child and the degree of danger present in the particular neighborhood in which the child lives. So, the answer did not specify an age and was left for the parents to figure out themselves.

In the discussion a couple of points were made that rung true for me. One psychologist said, “Anxious parents create anxious children.” Having been a very shy and fearful child myself, as well as an anxious and insecure teenager, I have often wondered why I was like that for so long. There is no double in my mind that the fear … no, panic … that my parents and I experienced in our escape from Nazi persecution in WWII explains a great deal. However, many children of other refugees who settled in Portland, Oregon along with my family, seemed to have adjusted to their new lives in America much better than I. What I do remember is that their parents were different from mine; their parents were not as anxious and troubled as mine were in those years they assimilated into their new culture.

The other poin that was made was, “We must be careful not to squelch a child’s need for independence.” You need only to read my memoir, Becoming Alice, to see what difficulties I had to establish my own independence as an adolescent.

Much has changed in our society since I was a child. The streets are far more dangerous now than they ever were in my day … no matter which neighborhood you live in. It is such a difficut balancing act to keep your child’s anxiety at a minimum, while at the same time you encourage his independence.

I did not have either one of those feelings under control until I was almost an adult. Looking back at it all now, I feel lucky to have achieved it at all.

Marketing my Memoir, Becoming Alice

As the author of the above-mentioned memoir, Becoming Alice, I have learned that it is mainly my responsibility to market my book. I didn’t know that at the start. I thought that if a publishing house was interested enough in your book to put their name on it as the publisher, and  assume the cost of editing and printing a batch of books, that they would also be more than interested in spending the money to publicize it and market it. I was wrong. Perhaps they would if you were a former president, public figure, or entertainer. Short of that they might run a few ads. But after that, the author is on his own.

I decided not to spend too much time knocking my head against a wall and went ahead and got my memoir published my a POD. That is a Publish On Demand publisher who will put your manuscript into a very presentable paperback for an affordable price. They may even make some suggestions as to how to market your book. In the end you’re back at square one, that is you, the author, are responsible for selling your book.

I’ve been at it for a while, marketing I mean, and it is a big job. I was surprised to find out that I rather enjoyed speaking to interested groups. In the process, I learned what parts of my book was most interesting to various kinds of readers. I learned a lot. And luckily, I sold quite a few books along the way.

Now I am learning that book stores aren’t doing all that well. Perhaps that is because of the recession, perhaps not. I learned that the internet is the place that many, many people like to buy their books. There are sites that will give them a lot of information about the book you are promoting, sites that write reviews about your book, sites that allow readers to post their comments about your book. Readers can do all this research before they ultimately buy your book, often at a discount, that even you as the author can’t match.

Okay, I said to myself. I’ll get myself known around the social networking sites on the internet and tell them about me, as well as my book. That’s when I learned even more about this whole business. The internet is a great people for people to learn about you. It is also a place where the wrong kind of people can learn about you. So, you end up having to be very careful about how much of yourself you make public and how much you must keep private. Now, you must learn to do a little balancing act. Give just enough to make them interested … then clam shut.

I guess the solution is to tell them if they want to know more, they can at least read about your early, developing years in the memoir Becoming Alice. The sequel to that story will remain private.