Chapter Ten

Wasn’t there a part of this where I make money?

I’m no public relations expert, but—wait. Actually, I am a public relations expert.

In fact, people used to pay my firm $250 an hour for me to advise them on public relations. So let me give a very brief primer on the way the “media relations” part of public relations works:

1) You, the client, tell me you want some issue covered by some particular media outlet. Perhaps several media outlets.

2) I over-night an in-depth package on the topic, which covers in advance all the stuff that might cause the journalist to have to work. In short, the package includes the “who, what, when, where, and why” this is important to the journalist’s readers.

3) I follow up with the journalist via telephone.

4) I follow up with the journalist via email

5) I follow up with the journalist via hand-written note on stationary

6) I repeat 3, 4, and 5 over and over and over and over and over until the journalist covers the story simply to end my genteel stalking.

But based on my experience in the business, Step 1 without Steps 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6 were as useless as Jimmy Carter’s ongoing campaign to achieve Middle East peace by blaming the problems on the one country in the region that owns nukes.

To get coverage in a publication, you must be willing to stand up to a journalist like the bad guy Drago in Rocky IVgotten, and state with confidence, “I will break you.” To do less is like betting your paycheck against a professional wrestling World Champion in a non-televised fight. And given that no big-name media outlets were reviewing my book, I wondered if Allison was taking all the appropriate steps.

Frustrated, I turned to my friend/mentor/Agent:

“Dude, I don’t think anyone is reviewing my book. Should I call Allison?”

“What for?”

“To ask her of she’ll follow up with some of the reviewers?”

“You mean actually call a reviewer? And say, ‘Hey, I sent you a book—hurry up and read it, you mental sloth’?”

“Uh, kinda. Maybe a little less sarcastic.”

“Do you know how many books book reviewers get a day?”

“Not really.”

“Okay, here’s a hint: All of them. Every book that every publisher publishes goes to the same list of a couple hundred reviewers nationwide. So the reviewers get about a choo-choo train boxcar of books every week. Would that be a fun job? How about if every publisher’s publicist called about every book? Would that be helpful? Calling a book reviewer is like shooting them in the ass with a cross bow with a note that says, ‘In case the book I sent is working it’s way towards the top of the pile, please move it to the back’.”

“It doesn’t matter that I’m special?”

“Oh, you’re special alright.”

“Any promotional ideas?”

“Yeah. You can hire a radio publicist. She’ll want lot of dough.”

“I have $325, a whistle, some string, and frog. I think I can get my hands on slingshot, too.”

“I’ll email you the gal I recommend. Call her, tell her you’re broke, and beg.”

“Always the defender of my dignity, you are.”

“Hey, Yoda-- you want another book deal? Sell books. You wanna sell books? Invest your own money in the deal and hire Audrey. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“I feel warm inside just talking with you.”

“Eat me.”

“Seriously, I think I have a kind of a crush on you.”

“Then make me happy. Hire Audrey, and let me work.”

Hiring Audrey

“Okay,” Audrey said. “I’ll do it for that, but you have to do all the grunt work. Send out books, and stuff like that.”

“Deal,” I said.

“This being an author thing sucks,” I thought.

The wacky world of radio interviews

Thanks to today’s technology, it’s much easier for a publicist to orchestrate the life of a client. Audrey directed me to set up a Google Calendar, which is an on-line calendar that allows you to type in your appointments. The calendar then loiters about in cyberspace, all the while remaining accessible to anyone I choose.

“I want you to fill in the calendar with everything that could make you inaccessible,” Audrey explained. “If you have a function, list it. If you have a trip planned, list it. If you go to the bathroom at a particular time, list it. I need to know where you are 24/7 for the next month.”

“I’m on it,” I said, and I was.

Before the day ended my calendar was posted, and before dinner Audrey began emailing me radio bookings to add to it. My bride and I were so excited about this newfound route to fame and fortune, we adjourned to the front porch post-dinner for martinis.

And as anyone who drinks martinis on a Friday night knows, one isn’t enough… two is too many… and three isn’t nearly enough.

The phone rang the next morning at 7:15am. Never having received a phone call at 7:15am on a Saturday, I staggered out of bed to answer it; clearly, someone close to me had suffered a tragedy of horrifying scope.

“Yeah?”

“Prioleau Alexander? Hey, it’s Gordon Huey, producer for the Mike in the Morning Radio Show. Hang on one sec’… Mike’s coming out of a break, and you’ll be live in ten seconds.”

Not good.

“Hey there, Mike’s Maniacs, we’re back, and we’re going to start this hour with Pre-Law Alexander, who has written a hilarious new book entitled You Want Fries with That? A White-Collar Burnout Experiences Life at Minimum Wage. Pre-Law, how are you this morning?

“Unintelligible”

“Great, great… now, what inspired this book?”

“Unfunny, garbled response.”

“And what did you learn from the experience?”

“Less funny, barely English explanation.”

“I see. How has it changed you?”

“Insert the most inane, idiotic crap you can imagine.”

“Well, Pre-Law, this has been a really great interview. I can practically hear the economy turning around from the sale of your books!”

I staggered back to bed.

“Who was it?” my wife asked.

“It was a career. It called to say good-bye.”

Getting it together

Despite that crushing set-back, and with hopes that “Mike in the Morning” wouldn’t report me to Audrey, I set about to develop so some intelligent, funny answers to the obvious questions that may be asked. The good news is that I cannot do worse.

CSI Miami Moment

Horatio: It appears our victim tried to do an interview hungover…

(Puts on glasses)

Horation: … and all it got him was hung. Out to dry.

YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAA