Shameless Self-Promotion – Part 2

To put it mildly, with all of the hyperbolic hype, million dollar advertising, sensationalized news, wars, political machinations, terrorist attacks, celebrity scandals, hyperventilating talking heads, and widespread anonymous screaming going on out there these days, it's very difficult to get anyone's attention.

Let me be candid . . .

My last shameless self-promotion fell flat on its face.  No one was moved by my lugubrious plea to give my personal Gross Happiness Quotient a much needed boost by buying dozens of my brilliantly entertaining novel as holiday gift.  Indeed, I got up every single morning, faithfully checked the New York Times Bestseller List, and frankly was day-after-day quite shocked to not see it debuting in the Top Ten.  Just yesterday I finally called the Times to suggest there must be some mistake, but for technical reasons got disconnected.  My line must have been crossed with another call because I distinctly heard laughing before the connection went dead.

Anyway . . .

The only conclusion I could draw -- since my Shameless Self-Promotion - Part 1 is without any question so persuasive it probably should be registered as a WMD with the NSA and Department of Homeland Security -- is that no one saw it.  Like thousands -- more like millions! -- of extremely vital and noteworthy announcements, it was brutishly swept up and swallowed by the tsunami of nonsensical infotainment being upchucked in copious excess in our world of digital delirium.

So . . .

What can I do?  How can I cut through the cacophonous roar and have my message heard?

 

I sat for hours pondering this.  I was so totally absorbed by this conundrum, my new cat, Arthur, used me as a scratching post and I had to throw my sweater away.

Then I remembered a phenomenally effective promotion I used back in L.A. one summer to get my indifferent, drug addled, me-generation friends to attend a pool party!

Back in those wild and crazy Hollywood days, I had put together a invitation mailer with a pic just like the one at the top of this page.  In bold letters was this message:

Attend my party or I'll shoot this dog!

The turnout was spectacular!  I felt loved and respected, people ate all the food and drank all the beer, wine and mixed drinks I provided, and the life of the dog was spared.  What a smashing success!  I assure you, everyone was talking about my Encino pool party bash for weeks afterwards -- well, at least a couple days or until their hangovers abated, whichever came first.

So!

The ball is in your court, readers.  You're all incredibly brilliant people, or you wouldn't be here at this website.  Just finish this sentence and know deep in your heart where it truly counts, that you stepped up, stood tall, felt the love, and did the right thing:

Buy my book or . . .

And we're not just talking dogs here, folks.  It's not just about the whole messy business of dog brains and fragments of canine cranium scattered all over the yard.

We're also talking $$$!  Meaning, saving $$$ big time!  And what timing!  This excellent bargain arrives just when your out-of-control holiday extravagance has the limits on those credit cards being bludgeoned like Conor McGregor's sparring partner!

Dig this!

Just for the holidays, ebooks of The Man Who Loved Too Much - Book 1: Archipelago are specially priced at only $2.99!  Does it get better than that, my loyal and gullible chums?

This adventure in credulity and shock wave to literary sensibilities is available from all of the usual suspects.  You can even walk into your favorite local book store, and after giving you an enigmatic smile, the clerk can order a copy -- if it's not already right there behind the counter with the nudie magazines.

---

 

The Man Who Loved Too Much - Book 1: Archipelago

Amazon (Kindle) . . . amzn.to/1tyIRiw
Amazon (Paperback) . . . amzn.to/1z8F8aD
Apple iBooks . . . apple.co/1nkebQx
Barnes & Noble . . . bit.ly/ZDnQVO
Kobo (Indigo) . . . bit.ly/1Og3q8g
Kobo (US) . . . bit.ly/2qSmc0J
Powell’s Books . . . bit.ly/1mxVXtS
Tower Books . . . bit.ly/1oyzU7T
Smashwords . . . bit.ly/1w62HOX
Direct from printer . . . bit.ly/1r6qWYQ

Poor Billy Green! When he was just turning four, his father tried to throw him in the trash.  He was a smart kid but that just seemed to create enemies.  His darling mom did everything to protect him.  But this was Detroit, armpit of the wasteland!  Catholic school didn’t help much, except the time he got his first kiss from an atheist nun.  Home life was dismal.  Was his father capable of anything but drinking beer and farting?  And what was with that neighbor who made puppets and tried to molest Billy?  Golly!  Detroit was sucking the life out of him.  At such a young age.  Then adolescence swirled around him.  Like water in a toilet bowl.  High school was a B movie.  Only without a plot.  So finally he did something about it.  Billy ran away … to college.  Cornell University.  That was a good move for sure!  He studied hard, lost his virginity, met the love of his life.  Things were definitely looking up!  What could possibly go wrong?


[ This originated at the author's personal website . . . http://jdrachel.com ]



Shameless Self-Promotion – Part 2

What’s in a name?

  This is my First Holy Communion picture, taken one year after I was officially adopted.

I've had three legal names in my lifetime.

That's not unusual for a female divorcee but I think it's an anomaly for most men.

I was born John Carl Shreiber but taken away at birth from my mother. We were in a mental institution at the time and she was deemed unfit.

After a year in the St. Vincent de Paul Society orphanage, two folks in their early 40s who were unable to have their own children, took me home. They were uneducated and very poor, so it took them five years to convince Judge Joseph Trombley, Probate Court judge in Mt. Clemens, Michigan, that they were worthy.

But the adoption finally went through and I became John Richard Laug. I was six and the photo here is me one year later.

My adopted parents, Richard and Florence, died when I was 14. They died three-and-a-half months apart, my father of brain cancer, my mother from the flu. But she had been sick all her life with high blood pressure and heart trouble, so the flu just did in her already weakened body.

Tough times followed. Most all of the relatives disappeared on me. My smart mouth and precocious arrogance never made me popular. I loved books. They loved sports and beer.

Anyway, Laug was always a problematic name. No one ever got it right. Laugh, lang, land, log, law, you name some mutilation of Laug and I've heard it a hundred times. It's actually a German name, pronounced (with lots of spit) L-OW-K. Like 'ow', as in you're standing on my foot, with an L on the front, and a big wet mucousy K on the end. Germany was not exactly popular after WWII, so my parents made the G silent, really complicating things.

I always hated Laug. "Hey, it's Johnny Law!" or "Hey gang! Let's beat the fuck out of Johnny Lang!"

So when I was 27 years old, I legally changed it to John D Rachel. (The D is just a D, not an initial. It stands for nothing specific, though I tell people my middle name is Dork or Demented or Divine or Disturbed, Delightful, Delicious, depending on my mood.)

When you're a male and you legally change your name, most people think you're up to no good. In fact, the court makes your declare that indeed, you are not changing it for any fraudulent purposes or to attempt to wrangle out of any legal obligations.

I wasn't. I just hated my name and changed it to something I liked.

So here I am. For most of my life, I've been John Rachel.

The irony is that I'm a writer.

Shreiber is German for ... writer.


[ This originated at the author's personal website ... http://jdrachel.com ]