I had a bit of a surprise earlier this week when I noticed a pop-up advertisement for my book, $5 Youth Ministry, on Google. I say "surprised" because this was the first Google ad I'd ever seen for any book, but it was nice that the publisher deemed it worthy of some year-end advertising. The idea of the ad was that youth ministries could make 2012 a great year by purchasing a copy.
Amen!
Book advertising has always been risky business for publishers. And most publishers prefer controversy to rake in the bucks.
But what controversy can I create with my titles?
About the only thing I can offer in that vein would be my humor. People might buy my books, for example, if they knew that my mother gave me some very sexy underwear for Christmas this year and that I have already modeled them for my wife who promptly laughed me out of the bedroom. Others might buy my books if they realized that I frequently talk to strange women at the gym and offer them advice on how they can get buns of steel ("like mine!"). Or, perhaps, I could spike book sales by confessing that, many years ago, I won a contest on a youth mission trip and was crowned, "Miss Luncheon Sack" (ask me about it!).
Outside of these hot controversies I'm afraid my life lapses back into a vein of total boredom where, in a good year, I might have two nights of hot fun and one afternoon delight and, perhaps, retell one raunchy joke. I also eat lots of donuts, which some people might find provocative, but when they realize I'm a dunker, they let it go.
I am, however, eternally grateful for the four people who have purchased copies of my book from the Google ad . . . and I hope to create a bigger stink in 2012 so my publishers will think I'm doing my job.
Amen!
Book advertising has always been risky business for publishers. And most publishers prefer controversy to rake in the bucks.
But what controversy can I create with my titles?
About the only thing I can offer in that vein would be my humor. People might buy my books, for example, if they knew that my mother gave me some very sexy underwear for Christmas this year and that I have already modeled them for my wife who promptly laughed me out of the bedroom. Others might buy my books if they realized that I frequently talk to strange women at the gym and offer them advice on how they can get buns of steel ("like mine!"). Or, perhaps, I could spike book sales by confessing that, many years ago, I won a contest on a youth mission trip and was crowned, "Miss Luncheon Sack" (ask me about it!).
Outside of these hot controversies I'm afraid my life lapses back into a vein of total boredom where, in a good year, I might have two nights of hot fun and one afternoon delight and, perhaps, retell one raunchy joke. I also eat lots of donuts, which some people might find provocative, but when they realize I'm a dunker, they let it go.
I am, however, eternally grateful for the four people who have purchased copies of my book from the Google ad . . . and I hope to create a bigger stink in 2012 so my publishers will think I'm doing my job.
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