So when you've got a book coming out, your publisher generally assigns you to a publicist. At my level of the game - nobody special, definitely no longer a child prodigy, didn't write about vampires, doesn't sparkle in the sunlight or know anyone who does - this is often a crap shoot. You get who get and he/she adds you to their list and occasionally communicates about your book. For the most part, you're on your own, baby. It's just the way it works.
But as with many things this year for which I am humbly and profoundly grateful, that's not exactly how it worked for me. Oh, I've worked my butt off promoting - still am in fact, with many many miles still to go - but I've had a partner in crime. He's smart and funny and genuinely awesome and after a little hesitation on both our parts (cause seriously, it's like here you go; you two figure it out), we discovered that we made a good team. Together we created the Dreaming Anastasia Blog Tour That Ate the Universe. He dragged me kicking and screaming into the Twitterverse and nodded sagely when I discovered that I sort of liked it there. He told me that the HuffPo people would find me amusing and he was right. He drove an hour through rush hour traffic to be at one of my signings. Even brought his dog. He read my novel once because he was assigned to, and then he read it a second time just because. He makes sure I know stuff I need to know. (trust me, this is huge!) Sometimes, as I've said on this blog before, he nags. Usually he's polite about it. I tell him that to my other writer friends, he's a rock star. Mostly he doesn't let this go to his head. Or maybe he does. Because my favorite story about Publicist Paul is how he looked the very first time I met him. Which you can see below.
Til next time..