I just sent my second e-mail to Oprah, again asking her to review my new murder mystery novel, Evil in the Mirror. OK, this e-mail was more like begging and groveling, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. Does it bother me to prostitute myself trying to get a biggy to notice my book? Not really, I've prostituted myself for much less in my life.
After sending the e-mail and still feeling like a swamp-throwback, totally unrecognized author, I Googled myself just to see my name in print on the Web. I do that occasionally, just for a boost in morale. Did you know my book is available in India, Australia and the UK? No one else does either. I bet if I looked hard enough, I could find it in Canada too, or maybe Spain, or France or....who am I kidding, my book is like a message in a bottle floating in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
I know, being in a funk about it won't help. The upside is that I am having another book signing in Tucson, July 31 at Coco's Restaurant on north Oracle Road from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. I was advised by my publisher, even before I finished the book, that signing parties were not designed for making money. They were designed for the author's ego. Well, I certainly won't fall into that trap, I was thinking after I heard that news. Now my motto is, "The hell with making money, lead me to the book-signing party so I can feel some semblance of recognition for just a few short hours!"
Of course, my wonderful wife, Sandy, sees my self-flagellation, slaps me around for a minute or two, and then reminds me that billions of people on this planet can't even write their names, let alone a novel. "Practice what you preach, Mittster. Get up, dust yourself off, and get on with the sequel."
Yes, dear....
Mittster
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