Billie said I should post on what it's been like to ramp up for my 50 online Amazon.com reviews. But first-- don't you want to hear about my day?
Drove to the OC to look at cabinets at a big box cabinetmaking concern. The hillbilly behind the counter was as helpful as a tick on a hipo, but at least he gave me a price chart before he belched and turned away.
I jumped in my ride, and as the #55 North merged onto the North #405, the black Lexus SUV ahead of me braked and went from 60 to zero in 3 seconds. I, too, braked like a lunatic, till my foot went through the floorboard and sparks flew from my heels, as they dragged across the asphalt. My van shuddered, skidded and slid into ABS rigor. The burning rubber stung my eyes and nostrils.
I gave a prayer of thanks inches from the Lexus. I don't want to rear-end anyone. And I need my van.
An hour later, as I neared LAX, my front right tire blew. A sweet, roly poly AAA guy rescued me. I thanked him, waved a jaunty good-bye, and went nowhere. Over and over, the van fired up, but when I shifted into gear, the engine died. José called Juan. Together, they lifted my Hobart onto a flat-bed truck, and I got to practice my Spanish.
My poor Hobart, noble white steed since December 2001. My buddy, my road trip prairie schooner. My schlepper of dogs, kids, au pairs, cats in crates, from Chicago to Omaha, to Gutenberg, to Denver, to Reno, to Vegas, to LA and back-- so many times. Oh, woe is Hobart and me.
Manny, Mo and Jack quoted $700 in repairs, not including the two front tires. Holy Cow, that wasn't going to happen. Got the bill down to $265. Not great, but better than $700. Depressed, I limped back home on my spare tire. More ca-ching when Sears replaces my tires .
OK, so Billie told me at the PSWA Conference that when a book gets 50 reviews on Amazon a whole new algorithm kicks in. Your book gets better Amazon promotion.
At 40 reviews, your book gets bigger and moves around on the page, like it's doing a little curtsy. Can't wait to see what it does at 50 reviews-- maybe a little Irish jig, a tip of the hat. At 60 reviews, it might do a slow strip and a pole dance. Who knows?
Before I started my push to get 50 reviews, I had 23. Over the past six weeks, I have received 23 more reviews by nagging, prodding and being a pus-boil pain in the ass to anyone I know who has bought my book. I've also been posting on FB in a fever, like a pigeon tapping a lever for a food pellet in a Maslow Box, 3X a day, thanks to Chris Swinney, OTB author extraordinaire.
I've had fun generating play on my FB page. The happiest surprise is that people have bought the book, just to review it for me. Ain't that a kick in the soft tissue? And I've reconnected with a several junior and high school friends.
Let's face it-- they weren't my friends in school. They were far above timid, little, Ugly Betty me. But now-- they seem to like my book and me. Who woulda thunk it, as I cowered at my locker in my undershirt, changing for gym in 7th grade. Everyone had a training bra but me. My no-nonsense mom was unswayed by my begging and tears. "You'll get a bra when you need one."
Just goes to show-- you live long enough (you need a bra), everything ends up OK and you need only 4 more reviews.
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