I decided that rather than do all the work myself (which appeared frankly laborious and most likely fruitless), to build a team of Rottweilers to promote the book on my behalf. It’s the ‘art of management’ is how I convinced myself of the morality of my ways. ‘You’ll be the first to visit my island’ is how I hoodwinked the dream team into prostituting themselves on my behalf.
Naturally the target market to support me in the promotion of my book had to be ‘fed up middle aged men’ – which it turns out is another way of saying ‘low hanging fruit’. I ambled around my particular orchard and found half a dozen, just like that. It was heartening. There are fed up middle aged men literally everywhere.
So if you find yourself being hassled by some guy in Melbourne, well, that’ll be Richard and he’s one of mine. Dennis in Durban is one of mine too. I have literally, people. All of whom have been enticed by a free promotional copy of Looking for Eden, and on recent evidence have done precisely bugger all else since.
Still, the last laugh will be on them, as they are no longer invited to my island. Because there is no island due of their laziness. Shame.