Showing posts with label raising chickens at home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label raising chickens at home. Show all posts

Monday, January 19, 2015

My Saturday speech? A surprising sell out


I had my best speaking engagement this weekend if for no other reason I’ll now know where to go if my wife ever changes the locks for a laundry list of reasons, not the least of which being her desire to reduce the time she spends doing laundry.

Mt. Pleasant, here I come!

The sensational YouTube clips of me speaking or joking around about speaking are starting to stir interest in people who book speakers.

One of these interests asked me to forward a list of all my speaking engagements from the past year. There were more than 30 of them.

The crowds ranged from 250 at West Virginia University to absolute zero at the venerable Carnegie Library in Oakland.

The link is below, but I’ll share one anecdote from that humiliation, one that was so thorough I found it perversely enjoyable.

The organizer apologized profusely saying she couldn’t understand why no one had shown up. “Why,” she said, “last week’s speaker drew an enthusiastic crowd of more than 60 people.”

What, pray tell, was the topic?

“How to raise chickens in your home.”

I thought of that embarrassment when I walked into Leo & Sons Grille 31 in Mt. Pleasant and saw where I’d be speaking. It was fraught with pitfalls.

Now, we love Leo’s. It has great food, bountiful salad bar, and a conventional drinker’s bar with bit windows looking out on Main Street. It’s a fantastic place for a drink and a bite to eat. But a lousy place to hear a guy like me shouting about the benefits of using all the crayons.

And shout I did.

I had to. The acoustics were terrible. Music was playing over the speaker system — at one point I realized I was competing with The Stones’s “Satisfaction” — and my audience was from a demographic known to struggle with hearing.

They were the local Women’s Saturday Afternoon Club, a more than 100-year-old social organization dedicated to celebrating the joys of learning. Many of the members were elderly.

But that wasn’t all.

In addition, there were about a dozen disinterested people in the bar area. There were couples, families with kids, and buddies out to watch college basketball. No one in history has ever said, “Hey, let’s go to that friendly corner tavern and grab a bite. If we’re lucky, maybe some guy will be there trying to sell us his self-help book!”

All the elements were there for everyone to tune me out, or for me to go diva and take a pouty hike.

Here’s what I did: I instantly chucked my usual speech, the one with so many heart-warming anecdotes. I decided instead to ignore the audience that paid for me to be there and address the ones who were pissed that I was even there at all.

I just told joke after joke. I tried to fill the room with laughter.

And I did.

I don’t think the extemporaneous speech I gave is nearly as good as the one I usually give, but I learned when the situation demands just being funny is enough.

Because those dear ladies just loved me.

They laughed at all my jokes, stayed fully attentive and surprised me at the end with a wonderful ovation.

Then they lined up to buy books.

And I sold out. The last person in line got the last book. Twenty books, gone like that.

Even better was the complimentary reaction. They said they loved my speech and I was one of the better speakers they’ve ever had. Many bought multiple copies, took business cards and said more sales and speaking opportunities were in store.

Best of all, the bartender said I was a hit. “We thought you were going to be a bore. But you’re a real hoot. Very funny.”

It was all very satisfying.

And now I’m grateful a guy who got shown up by expert home-chicken raiser didn’t lay an egg.


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Monday, April 7, 2014

Saturday, my most humiliating book signing ever!

I’ve crowed about my successes, the loot I’ve made and how book signings featuring me and “Use All The Crayons!” have illuminated my path to authorial fame and fortune.

So I guess it’s only fair for me to share the news when one’s a real stinker. And, boy, Saturday’s was a real stinker.

Or maybe not.

Not a single nose capable of detecting an odor showed up.

In keeping with my book’s message, I was able to find even a silver lining to that.

A friend of mine had mentioned attending to film the whole event for a YouTube commercial highlighting my compelling speaking abilities. Thank heavens even he couldn’t make it.

So it was just me all alone in what is known as — and this is factual — The Quiet Room at the great Carnegie Library in Oakland. I was part of a weekly event called “The People’s University,” a Saturday lecture series that is about to conclude due in declining interest, in no small part now thanks to me.

Yes, me and my book helped put a once-worthy idea on the library equivalent of Double Secret Probation. The librarian may now forever recall the day I spoke at The Carnegie as “The Quiet Room’s Most Quiet Day.”

“I’m so very sorry,” she said with charming sincerity. “I was hoping we’d get a really good crowd for you. The niche speakers do well. We had one a couple of months ago that drew about 80 people.”

What was the topic?

“How to raise chickens in your home.”

Now, why didn’t I think of that?

“There’s a lot of urban interest in raising chickens. He was very specific. He’d talk about things like how to remove worms from a chicken’s claws. People were hanging on his every word.”

How do you do it?

“How do you do what?”

Remove worms from a chicken’s claws?

“Do you raise chickens?”

No, I raise worms. I'm into vermiculture.

I could tell by her reaction it was all starting to make sense.

She felt so bad for me I began feeling bad for her. It’s quite common for empathetic strangers to feel bad for me when they see me in the midst of some petty career humiliation. Really, they shouldn’t feel bad for me.

They should feel bad for my wife!

Pinning down how many I’d hoped would show up is nebulous, but I will say I brought 40 books, which I carried in a great big heavy box all the way from my distant parking space and back, so I did learn a good lesson there.

My next book isn’t going to weigh nearly as much.

About 10 minutes before my appointed time, I decided to do a little on-sight promo in the library cafeteria where about 15 people were gathered in buzzy little groups.

I held my 2-by-3 1/2 foot poster board of the book’s aloft and boldly announced, “Can I have your attention? I’d like to invite you all to follow me over to The Quiet Room where I’ll be speaking about my book, “Use All The Crayons!” And what makes my book so special? This is its actual size.”

About three people laughed out loud. About three people smiled politely. The rest gave the nowadays-normal reaction and simply looked relieved my aberrant behavior wasn’t a prelude to gunfire.

I’m not exaggerating when I say how relieved I was my friend was otherwise occupied — apparently right along with the rest of the entire city of Pittsburgh. He told me the day before another day would likely be better for him.

How prophetic.

Can you imagine that humiliation? He’d have taken up a whole day driving to Pittsburgh, setting up his cameras and waiting in vain for even one person to become the audience.

Experience is teaching me my best and most lively book signings are either at taverns or social luncheons where alcohol is available; my worst at book stores or libraries.

Lesson? People with at least a chance of being impaired are more susceptible to buying my book, and my book is least appealing to sober people who most love books.

Of course, had my friend shown up with his cameras, I’d have felt obliged to hold forth. The results would surely have been interesting.

It would have been like a seance. I would have given my talk with all the requisite drama and he would have panned across the rows and rows of empty seats.

We could have dubbed in some chanted Latin like the kind in “The Omen” whenever Damian was about to off another nanny.

The result would have been so perfectly bizarre it would have a shot at becoming a YouTube sensation.

Especially if smiling souls began materializing in the empty seats!

You know, I might be onto something.

I’m going to set my alarm for 5 a.m. tomorrow to do some brainstorming.

Because as everyone knows the early bird always gets the worm.

And now I’ll know just who to call if one of them ever gets one stuck in its claw.



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