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I’m a terrible promoter.

I really am.

The problem isn’t that I’m lazy, or that I don’t put forth the effort, or that I’m unwilling to put in the time. It’s none of that stuff.

I’m actually not the least bit lazy, my effort-abilities are second to none and I have nothing but time on my hands.

The actual issue is that my personal persona and my business persona get mixed up a lot. A whole lot, actually.

I say stuff I shouldn’t. I put things out there that I should have locked a safe, wrapped in a chain and tossed into the ocean.

As much as it pains me to admit, I’m an idiot.

The fact that I’m writing these very words at this very moment proves I’m an absolute dolt and that I’ll never learn.

Do the followers on Twitter that are interested in my YA novel or my artwork really need to know that I spent the night bent over the toilet due to a nasty bout of food poisoning? Probably not.

Did I tell them? Yep.

Was it necessary to let them know that because of it I spent the entire next day breaking wind like Chris Brown breaks ladies’ faces? Most definitely not.

Was that Chris Brown joke a massive mistake?

You better believe it.

I’m a goof-ball and I don’t know when to stop.

I spend so much time cracking wise and making you feel uncomfortable with awkward-delicious nuggets about my personal life that I sometimes forget I’m trying to sell you something.

Then the bill collectors come calling. Then my wife shakes her head and I pull out the lining of my pockets and shrug my shoulders. Then she hops on-line and types the words “divorce attorney” into Google.

It’s a vicious cycle.

So how do I plan on solving this little problem of mine?

I have to get serious. I have to get more professional.

I’ll need a briefcase of some sort . Maybe some papers to put in it.

Wait, wait, wait - maybe I don’t need the papers at all. I mean, what are the chances anyone will actually ask to see what’s inside, right?

Combing my hair, putting on a suit and brushing my teeth more than once every other day just isn’t going to cut it anymore. It’s not enough. I have to take things to the next level. I’m going to have to make some drastic lifestyle changes.

I’ll need to straighten that hunch in my back and smear that sloppy-creepy grin off my face.

Maybe I’ll even shave.

I’ll have to mind my P’s and Q’s while making sure my F’s and U’s are never allowed in the same sentence together.

I’ll need to be better than the sum of my parts and better than the sum of the sum of those parts.

I’ll have to blog about books and writing, and the writing process and the process of writing.

Speaking of my blog, I’ll need to maintain it a bit more diligently. I guess I should watch that I don’t accept a friend request from anyone and everyone on Facebook. I should also try and make sure current and prospective clients don’t catch wind of my uncontrollable post-puke wind breaking in one of my many unnecessary status updates.

Breath mints will be important.

New shoes too. New shoes are a given. Shoes are the first thing people look at. I heard that somewhere.

No more gobbling on burgers so stuffed with goop the juices leave stains on my shirts. Nope – gonna have to put the kibosh on that one.

I’ll need some new shirts as well.

Maybe I should change my name? It might be smart to change it to something a little more professional sounding.

Max Hardcopy?

How about, Patrick Gitstuffdun?

No, wait…Stephen Nowack.

No one commands respect like a Nowack.

Or maybe I shouldn’t do any of this nonsense.

Stephen Nowack? Seriously? That’s just silly.

Breath mints? That’s even sil