New Year, New Me (sort of)
Happy New Year everyone. My goodness, January has started off well! I just came back from an invigorating run, my juice fast has left me pounds lighter and with a glowing complexion and my royalty statement hit six figures for the first time. Life is perfect!
It’s OK! You can keep reading. I made all that up for a laugh. I broke into a trot last Wednesday when I realised I’d forgotten to put the bins out, but apart from that, life remains much the same. I ate a lot of satsumas over Christmas, but they were accompanied by mince pies and Christmas puddings and selection boxes and suchlike. I’m still waiting for the royalty statement, but I don’t suppose I can retire just yet.
Last year, I took the plunge and booked myself on to a series of events all over the county. At each one, I met lovely people and learned how to dress my table and present my books. Height, interest and texture are all important and so is your pitch. It’s no good sitting glumly behind a stack of untouched books and silently willing people to come over and be terribly impressed that you’ve written them.
I always struggled with the elevator pitch. Summing up my work in just a few words was tough, but as I attended more events, it got easier. Prospective readers would often say, “What’s your book about?” and I got better at answering in a few snappy words. By November, sitting under a crystal chandelier in a posh marquee in Woodbridge at a particularly well organised event, I found myself luring in people with a much more confident pitch. But it wasn’t until the end of the month when I took a huge leap of faith and booked myself onto all three days of the Christmas Market in Bury St Edmunds that my imposter syndrome finally packed its bags and left and I got my pitch down to a tee.
With the best will in the world, many events
are sparsely attended. Each stallholder sits behind their table wearing a brave
smile and thinking, “Please, please come over and talk to me. Please look at my
products.” At Bury, comfortably installed in an aisle between a cake stall and an
artist in the Cathedral, I had no such issue. 10,000 people came in over the
three days and by 10.00 on Thursday, I realised that I needed to forget my English
reserve and SELL!
Hordes of people moved slowly around gazing at the stalls. There was often a queue in front of me as people waited for cakes and this was the ideal time to engage. I was rarely silent. If anyone so much glanced my way, I would smile charmingly and invite them to have a flick through my sample copies. Anyone under 25 was lured in with my pitch about my heroine being a TikTok and Instagram influencer. Those of more mature years were attracted by my description of a busybody who likes telling everyone what to do. Men who had become detached from their wives were offered the perfect, easy to wrap Christmas present.
It worked a treat. By Friday evening, I was slightly hoarse and had heard Wham’s “Last Christmas” 6 times. On Saturday, my cake selling neighbour and I were engaged in a race to see who could sell out of cakes (her) and the Diary of Isabella M Smugge (me) first. She won, by a nose. I sold 83 books, ran out of the first one completely, gave away all my business cards and realised that I no longer suffered from imposter syndrome. True, I was speaking in a husky whisper and had mad staring eyes from all that vivacious chitchat and an ill-advised caffeinated beverage, but it was worth it.
I believe in my product. I want people to have Isabella M Smugge in their lives. And if that means I have to go out on the weekend, eat home-made cake, drink tea, chat to people and hone my pitch, then so be it! Someone has to.
What did you do differently last year? I’d
love to hear about it.
Images by Pixabay
Comments
Believe in your product, that's a good line.