Working from home means never having to say rush hour, which I tend to translate as “there’s no rush.” If I put as much thought into promotions as I do procrastination, I’d probably be a best-selling author right now.

This can easily be applied to every aspect of my life. I’ve vowed to get more exercise, as soon as I find the time to root around for my deflated exercise ball buried somewhere in the garage. I haven’t used it since I discovered that balls roll. As I lay on my back in the yogic inverted sourdough pretzel position (don’t forget to breathe) I pondered whether cherry is softer than oak.

But I digress.

For the first time in my writing career, I’ve run up against the bane of 9 to 5 employment: deadlines. Working with the funny and talented contributors for our Valentine’s Day humor anthology was a joy, and the book was released ahead of schedule to rave reviews. The problem is that it’s not going to sell on St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, or Armistice Day (which, as we all know, is the first Monday after Purim, except during an election year).

My answer to promotion was obvious: talk about strategy for three weeks, then spend three hours in the office supply store. One notebook, a box of business cards, a pre-inked return address stamp, a sales order booklet, a map, a large print calendar, a clipboard, and a book of angry birds stickers later, I was finally ready for the serious business of talking about strategy.

Damn! I forgot the rubber bands. How can I promote a book without rubber bands?

Today is our first road trip to talk to vendors, so uppermost on my mind is, “If gerbils don’t drink water, do they pee?” Don’t tell me you’ve never wondered. I’m actually thinking, “If I could just get organized, I could __________________” (e.g. take a vacation, afford the 97% lean ground beef, become a lifetime member of the 700 club, stop snoring … and selling some books would be nice too).

So I’m off to polish my boots and find the right pen to take with me (blue ink, medium point) so I can have all my ducks in a row before hitting the road. I’m a mature, responsible adult, so I can handle rejection and crushing disappointment. Now I just need to figure out where to put my angry birds stickers.