Tales of a Marketing Whore

Yes, I am shameless when it comes to self-promotion, I'll admit. I think the only person worse than I am about promoting my books is my Dad, and it's cute for him to hand out my books to perfect strangers on the street because, well, he's a proud papa. When I do that, I come off as deranged, narcissistic or pathetic. Go figure.

Anyway, fear of coming off as a deranged narcissist is not going to prevent me from inviting each and every one of you to my book signing tomorrow. This is because I have no pride, a fact that’s been well documented. I'd pretty much sell my husband into slavery if I could be assured a spot on the New York Times Bestseller List. But then again, I'm pretty much in the mood to sell my husband into slavery any time he leaves out one of his crusty, unrinsed dishes on the kitchen counter, so maybe that says less about my marketing lust and more about my marriage.

But, I digress. Back to the important issue at hand: my self-promotion. I’ll be at Barnes and Noble at the Old Orchard Mall (Skokie, Illinois) tomorrow night at 7:30 p.m. I'll be there on time unless I get distracted by the Nordstrom's semi-annual sale (no promises there, folks).