Tag Archive: book marketing


Many authors talk about how wonderful it would be to get national TV exposure.

Like everything.. there is a system for FREE national publicity

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I’m reading about meme and what it takes to start a viral campaign and saw a reference to Mark Twain’s essay on a jingle that was stuck in his head.

It’s a good example of how your book, title, subject or meme can go far beyond what you might have expected.

I’ll post it here in it’s entirety

Will the reader please to cast his eye over the following lines, and see if he can discover anything harmful in them?Conductor, when you receive a fare,

Punch in the presence of the passenjare!
A blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare,
A buff trip slip for a six-cent fare,
A pink trip slip for a three-cent fare,
Punch in the presence of the passenjare!
CHORUS
Punch, brothers! punch with care!
Punch in the presence of the passenjare!

I came across these jingling rhymes in a newspaper, a little while ago, and read them a couple of times. They took instant and entire possession of me. All through breakfast they went waltzing through my brain; and when, at last, I rolled up my napkin, I could not tell whether I had eaten anything or not. I had carefully laid out my day’s work the day before–thrilling tragedy in the novel which I am writing. I went to my den to begin my deed of blood. I took up my pen, but all I could get it to say was, “Punch in the presence of the passenjare.” I fought hard for an hour, but it was useless. My head kept humming, “A blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip slip for a six-cent fare,” and so on and so on, without peace or respite. The day’s work was ruined–I could see that plainly enough. I gave up and drifted down-town, and presently discovered that my feet were keeping time to that relentless jingle. When I could stand it no longer I altered my step. But it did no good; those rhymes accommodated themselves to the new step and went on harassing me just as before. I returned home, and suffered all the afternoon; suffered all through an unconscious and unrefreshing dinner; suffered, and cried, and jingled all through the evening; went to bed and rolled, tossed, and jingled right along, the same as ever; got up at midnight frantic, and tried to read; but there was nothing visible upon the whirling page except “Punch! punch in the presence of the passenjare.” By sunrise I was out of my mind, and everybody marveled and was distressed at the idiotic burden of my ravings–“Punch! oh, punch! punch in the presence of the passenjare!”

Two days later, on Saturday morning, I arose, a tottering wreck, and went forth to fulfil an engagement with a valued friend, the Rev. Mr.——, to walk to the Talcott Tower, ten miles distant. He stared at me, but asked no questions. We started. Mr.—— talked, talked, talked as is his wont.

I said nothing; I heard nothing. At the end of a mile, Mr.—— said “Mark, are you sick? I never saw a man look so haggard and worn and absent-minded. Say something, do!”

Drearily, without enthusiasm, I said: “Punch brothers, punch with care! Punch in the presence of the passenjare!”

My friend eyed me blankly, looked perplexed, they said:

“I do not think I get your drift, Mark. Then does not seem to be any relevancy in what you have said, certainly nothing sad; and yet–maybe it was the way you said the words–I never heard anything that sounded so pathetic. What is–“

But I heard no more. I was already far away with my pitiless, heartbreaking “blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, buff trip slip for
a six-cent fare, pink trip slip for a three-cent fare; punch in the presence of the passenjare.” I do not know what occurred during the
other nine miles. However, all of a sudden Mr.—— laid his hand on my shoulder and shouted:

“Oh, wake up! wake up! wake up! Don’t sleep all day! Here we are at the Tower, man! I have talked myself deaf and dumb and blind, and never got a response. Just look at this agnificent autumn landscape! Look at it! look at it! Feast your eye on it! You have traveled; you have seen boaster landscapes elsewhere. Come, now, deliver an honest opinion.

What do you say to this?”I sighed wearily; and murmured:

“A buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip slip for a three-cent fare, punch in the presence of the passenjare.”
Rev. Mr. —— stood there, very grave, full of concern, apparently, and looked long at me; then he said:

“Mark, there is something about this that I cannot understand. Those are about the same words you said before; there does not seem to be anything in them, and yet they nearly break my heart when you say them. Punch in the–how is it they go?”I began at the beginning and repeated all the lines.

My friend’s face lighted with interest. He said:

“Why, what a captivating jingle it is! It is almost music. It flows along so nicely. I have nearly caught the rhymes myself. Say them over just once more, and then I’ll have them, sure.”

I said them over. Then Mr. —— said them. He made one little mistake, which I corrected. The next time and the next he got them right. Now a great burden seemed to tumble from my shoulders. That torturing jingle departed out of my brain, and a grateful sense of rest and peace descended upon me. I was light-hearted enough to sing; and I did sing for half an hour, straight along, as we went jogging homeward. Then my freed tongue found blessed speech again, and the pent talk of many a weary hour began to gush and flow. It flowed on and on, joyously, jubilantly, until the fountain was empty and dry. As I wrung my friend’s hand at parting, I said:

“Haven’t we had a royal good time! But now I remember, you haven’t said a word for two hours. Come, come, out with something!”
The Rev. Mr.—— turned a lack-luster eye upon me, drew a deep sigh, and said, without animation, without apparent consciousness:

“Punch, brothers, punch with care! Punch in the presence of the passenjare!”

A pang shot through me as I said to myself, “Poor fellow, poor fellow! he has got it, now.”

I did not see Mr.—— for two or three days after that. Then, on Tuesday evening, he staggered into my presence and sank dejectedly into a seat. He was pale, worn; he was a wreck. He lifted his faded eyes to my face and said:

“Ah, Mark, it was a ruinous investment that I made in those heartless rhymes. They have ridden me like a nightmare, day and night, hour after hour, to this very moment. Since I saw you I have suffered the torments of the lost. Saturday evening I had a sudden call, by telegraph, and took the night train for Boston. The occasion was the death of a valued old friend who had requested that I should preach his funeral sermon. I took my seat in the cars and set myself to framing the discourse. But I never got beyond the opening paragraph; for then the train started and the car-wheels began their ‘clack, clack-clack-clack-clack! clack-clack! –clack-clack-clack!’ and right away those odious rhymes fitted themselves to that accompaniment. For an hour I sat there and set a syllable of those rhymes to every separate and distinct clack the car-wheels made. Why, I was as fagged out, then, as if I had been chopping wood all day. My skull was splitting with headache. It seemed to me that I must go mad if I sat there any longer; so I undressed and went to bed. I stretched myself out in my berth, and–well, you know what the result was. The thing went right along, just the same. ‘Clack-clack clack, a blue trip slip, clack-clack-clack, for an eight cent fare; clack-clack-clack, a buff trip slip, clack clack-clack, for a six-cent fare, and so on, and so on, and so on punch in the presence of the passenjare!’ Sleep? Not a single wink! I was almost a lunatic when I got to Boston. Don’t ask me about the funeral. I did the best I could, but every solemn individual sentence was meshed and tangled and woven in and out with ‘Punch, brothers, punch with care, punch in the presence of the passenjare.’ And the most distressing thing was that my delivery dropped into the undulating rhythm of those pulsing rhymes, and I could actually catch absent-minded people nodding time to the swing of it with their stupid heads. And, Mark, you may believe it or not, but before I got through the entire assemblage were placidly bobbing their heads in solemn unison, mourners, undertaker, and all. The moment I had finished, I fled to the anteroom in a state bordering on frenzy. Of course it would be my luck to find a sorrowing and aged maiden aunt of the deceased there, who had arrived from Springfield too late to get into the church. She began to sob, and said:

“‘Oh, oh, he is gone, he is gone, and I didn’t see him before he died!’

“‘Yes!’ I said, ‘he is gone, he is gone, he is gone–oh, will this
suffering never cease!’

“‘You loved him, then! Oh, you too loved him!’

“‘Loved him! Loved who?’

“‘Why, my poor George! my poor nephew!’

“‘Oh–him! Yes–oh, yes, yes. Certainly–certainly. Punch–punch–oh, this misery will kill me!’

“‘Bless you! bless you, sir, for these sweet words! I, too, suffer in this dear loss. Were you present during his last moments?’

“‘Yes. I–whose last moments?’

“‘His. The dear departed’s.’

“‘Yes! Oh, yes–yes–yes! I suppose so, I think so, I don’t know! Oh, certainly–I was there I was there!’

“‘Oh, what a privilege! what a precious privilege! And his last words–oh, tell me, tell me his last words! What did he say?’

“‘He said–he said–oh, my head, my head, my head! He said–he said-he never said anything but Punch, punch, punch in the presence of the passenjare! Oh, leave me, madam! In the name of all that is generous, leave me to my madness, my misery, my despair!–a buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip slip for a three-cent fare–endu–rance can no fur–ther go!–PUNCH in the presence of the passenjare!”

My friend’s hopeless eyes rested upon mine a pregnant minute, and then he said impressively:

“Mark, you do not say anything. You do not offer me any hope. But, ah me, it is just as well–it is just as well. You could not do me any good. The
time has long gone by when words could comfort me. Something tells me that my tongue is doomed to wag forever to the jigger of that remorseless jingle. There–there it is coming on me again: a blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip slip for a–“Thus murmuring faint and fainter, my friend sank into a peaceful trance and forgot his sufferings in a blessed respite.

How did I finally save him from an asylum? I took him to a neighboring university and made him discharge the burden of his persecuting rhymes into the eager ears of the poor, unthinking students. How is it with them, now? The result is too sad to tell. Why did I write this article? It was for a worthy, even a noble, purpose. It was to warn you, reader, if you should came across those merciless rhymes, to avoid them–avoid them as you would a pestilence.

I woke up this morning expecting to get busy with some pre-holiday chores.

Then I checked my email.

An hour later, I’m knee deep in new ideas to share with authors about free online promotion.

Here’s some FREE resources I’m using to promote authors, book, and promotions

Twitter – I am following some people that I want to know better, have the Facebook app installed so that now all my twitter entries appear there. I find that these short twitter (some would call them “shout outs”) give me a chance to build relationships like the kids do using text messages.

Faves I’m uplading my address book right now, and inviting a few thousand friends to join me here. This site is one of hundreds I’ve tried, putting “tags” and “bookmarks” in a public place where the whole world can see what I’m linking to. Naturally, I focus on the best places for authors and publishers and sites with the promotions I’m working on.

Many of these are used by seach engine optimization and social network marketing experts to build a lot of web traffic quickly. But I’m finding that many of them are gems in the rough.. offering innovative services. I suggest you find a few that work for you and start tagging (submitting or recommending) those sites you like. They can be your stuff, but the power of this increases exponentially as you add in your friends, recomend other sites and become known for playing by the rules.

Blogger blogs Even though I’m using WordPress more and more, I still like some of the features of Blogger. Still very easy to set up a blog, and my marketing results coach blog gets some traffice for me. I linked to one of my early projects, there are many more I’ll mention and show you if you subscribe to this feed.

Don’t forget to COMMENT on this blog. Comments should be like the rules of a book report in schoold. You main reason for them is to show you read the post. So make it relavant to what we are discusssing. Once you do that, go ahead and plug your own site or blog. Each time you post a comment, you are adding to the discussion and giving yourself more “juice” with the link back to your site.

If you’re keeping count of the number of blogs and RSS feeds you see from Warren Whitlock, Book Marketing Strategist, this is number .. er, oops. I lost count!

My main blog is bogging me down. I’m experimenting with many things.. and really like WordPress, and decided to add another here at the Word Press site.

If this is the only post you see, it didn’t work out.. or I’m still horsing around. My most up to date book marketing informaiton will always be posted at Best Seller Authors site

And to get my FREE book marketing strategy course, click on this link

I like some of the features on the wordpress.com version of WordPress.

This one may replace DailyWarren.com at some point.. but there is so much usefull informaiton there that can help author with book marketing… I’m not quite ready to make a complete switch from blogger.