"Stop being such a smuck," the voice said. "Put Song of Africa, your novel's excerpt, out there and let the chips fall where they may." (Actually, the voice was nicer than that.)
No signing up. No exclusivity.
and Viola' you're in.
I want this to be as though you are in a bookstore:
You are attracted to a book titled Song of Africa. (By me, Jewell D or Joyce Davis, of those, I haven't decided who I will be yet.)
You pull Song of Africa from the shelf,
go to the coffee counter, order a good strong brew, fix it to your liking, and sit down and read the first 37 pages.
Oh, you say, "I forgot to drink my coffee. I was so engrossed in what happened to the two Saras, their lovers, to Patrice, and to that infamous painting,’ The Girl on The Pier,’ that I forgot to drink it.”
You gulp down the now cold coffee, go to the checkout, plunk down your credit card, and after purchasing Song of Africa, you tell the clerk:
"Order more of these. This book will sell like hotcakes."
