Demo by Home & Leisure

AUTHOR P L AY W R I G H T P U B L I S 1H E R ARTIST

THE RED THREAD

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A RT Click for Directions To My Studio From Where You Are Now

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WRITIN G MAYFIELD August 5, 2017 When I was a kid about 10 years old, grade 5, my neighbourhood was called Mayfield. We knew our neighbours like family and you could borrow a cup of sugar if you needed and we never locked our doors. My best friend was Darrell and lived across the street. Don’t exactly know why we became friends but he came to a birthday party one day. I looked like an Ethiopian starvation person, so skinny, and he looked like a B.C. Lions football player. We were like Mutt and Jeff, inseparable, always looking out for each other. One day Mr. Zary, our math teacher at Our Lady of Peace Catholic school, made us stay after school for talking in class. He was over 30; we never trusted anyone over 30. We’d walk down back alleys on our way home from school and I’d jump over a fence to pick a few carrots just for the thrill. Garden raiding was an art form in grade 5 before some yappy dog would come running off the porch. We’d come out of the alley by the Esso. We used to hang out there ‘cause there was a Coke machine and you could get a little bottle of Coke for a quarter. We’d jump up and down on that hose on the ground to make the bell go ding-ding, ding-ding, until the mechanic would come out and chase us away but we were long gone. We never trusted anyone over 30 ‘cause it would always get back to our Moms. Never trust anyone over 30. That was our slogan. The centre of the universe that’s what the Mayfield shopping centre was. It had a big neon sign in the corner which lit up the block and it buzzed when you walked by. There was a drugstore, a bakery, a hair salon and a café that served the greasiest fish and chips on the planet and they’d put them in little cardboard boxes that dripped with grease and malt vinegar. We loved them. You could sit at the front counter on a small chrome stool with those red vinyl tops that would spin us around and around dreaming that Judy

Lazlowski would come in for a milkshake. I sat behind her in grade 5 and just stared at her pony tail. I was smitten. Later, at ‘The Rink’, she became the carnival queen and I became the little hockey wiz kid. The highlight was when they played Peggy Sue and we’d skate around holding hands. In grade 6 we starred together in our school play ‘The Little Gypsy Gay’, which was a musical and we’d sing the theme song together. Mom sewed our costumes and Judy’s dress. A star was born. Later, I drove through the Mayfield community. Some things never change but when I turn the corner to see the Mayfield shopping centre I realized just how tiny it was. The sign was gone, replace by a 7-11. But then, I was now over 30.

Marketing of Books The Magazine You Watch on Your Smartphone

studio. An artist community to come before your 50 places to go there are sometimes art tours

By Robert MacDonald

With the QuickLook app anything that is on print advertising is now transferred to the digital app

Marketing of books and art with the new Digital systems How To solve the problems of how to market of books with new concepts that have Been developed Make it easy to find all the info when you're talking to somebody have an easy transfer of the complete information of the book reviews how to order it every single detail of the book is transferred instantly Tell your story about the book a 2 to 3 minute interview with the author. Writers Are not marketers Authors have a hard time conveying what the book is about to prospective publishers and buyers this system clarifies it and it's in a simple interviews format

the only happen once or twice a year. This system enables it to be every day so that the prospective buyer can look look at your style and look what you can do for them and then get directions to drive it with the GPS in your phone saves a lot of hassles and headaches

with a simple two digit code giving them all the details to make a decision There are three parts to the marketing system the digital app which is built on the .tel format, the digital magazine with video which is built upon an issuu format ( issue issues for all major magazines Oprah Martha Stewart TIME Magazine to name a few) and the digital marketing which is built on Google tools such as YouTube and 20 other tools The combined effort of all the three ways brings in more business and builds awareness for your

New authors have trouble finding the resources to complete their book this system gives them a digital app which has all the resources within their reach that they can carry on the smart phone When one writer gives a referral to another writer about a editor traditionally they do not have all the accurate information to get that with this system he Have it instantly they can send it with one click of a button giving all the details to connect with that person.

products

What information is on this app? Phone number fax number email website SMS number and push to find map is

and artist services system that

guided by the GPS your phone to drive to their place of business All supporting media that makes them a better choice such as videos education channel interviews with that supplier what can you do for me this system let's the person tell everyone about themselves you get their story instantly. Artists and sculptures have a little different problem which is how to bring customers into their

When a person sees what you do and likes what you do how do they buy with one click dictation directly to the order page whether it's on Amazon or whatever order page you have set up this is designed so you get an instant order because the person has already answered all the questions and they want it.

THE RED THREAD PROLOGUE

Just looking at this fellow is like looking at his future. He wants to turn on his heel and leave.

Tuesday after supper he drives his car to the church, and idles, undecided. There are no lights on in the main sanctuary. He’s relieved. He can get the hell out of there. Then he sees a light at the side door. Someone peeking a head out as if they’re expecting him.

Helen picks up a marker pen and name tag that begins, “Hello, I’m ….”

Damn, he thinks. A small woman—she’s got to be in her seventies, but still trim, buttoned up tight in a pant suit—is marshalling chairs in a circle. The place has a damp, musty carpet smell of religion about it. He used to believe. It’s up in the air now. His faith in anything. “Dr. West send you? Welcome,” she says. “I’m Helen McKinnon.” Then she points to a man sitting limply, eyes downcast. No expression. “My husband, Jim.” The man smiles bleakly, his hand shaking to beat the band as he offers it in greeting.

“Name’s Lewis. Lewis with an “e.” He changed it from the small-town spelling, and his father’s name, “Louis,” years ago. Didn’t want to be a chip off the old block. Helen is making a big fuss setting up. Upsets the donation can; a few coins hit the floor, roll away. “Sorry about that,” she says crisply. She’s got that Brit accent, and is picking up the spilled change. She’s obviously doing this whole shtick for her husband. Devoted. Others are drifting in – and drifting’s a good word for it. They’re shuffling, unsteady on their feet, and their voices are quiet mutters, another Parkinson’s trait. And there’s staring. A lot of staring. Checking out who’s worse. Or who’s not so bad. Yet. Helen doesn’t waste any time. She knows it’s in short supply.

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