Ever since I tried selling my first cup of lemonade on the street, mom has been pushing my wares. She's the biggest promoter of my books, and some of her methods are intriguing.
Take, for instance, an ad that appeared in the newspaper the day of a recent book signing. That wasn't my idea . . . mom put it in there. It read something like:
Come see the super spectacular author Todd Outcalt sitting behind a tiny table at 6 p.m. this Friday at the mall. He's a sight to behold in his Armani suit. He signs, he dices, he can even wiggle his ears. Don't miss it. Bring a bus load of friends.
I did see one old friend who said, "Saw your ad in the paper."
"I didn't put that in there," I admitted.
"Who did?"
"My Mom."
Mom also displays my books in the shampoo emporium where she works . . . and every time a customer buys, say, a bottle of Redken or Big Sexy Hair, she points to one of my titles and says, "Need a book? My son wrote these! Great for reading in the shower while your shampooing your big sexy hair."
Every now and then someone buys a book, takes it home, and wonders, "How did I walk in for shampoo and conditioner and walk out with a book written by this bozo?"
Good ol' mom. My marketer.
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