Marketing guru M.J. Rose is adamant about one thing–every book needs a good tagline. Patry Francis, author of Liar’s Diary, and I took M.J.’s Buzz Your Book class last spring and rattled our brains to come up with taglines that spoke of not only the style of our books, but also our respective audiences.
The tagline I came up with for Town House is… an eccentric metropolitan tale for the anxious at heart. Not only does this help cement the book in your memory–building brand recognition–it reveals that the story might suit any urbanite (or urbanite at heart) who has:
1) ever been stressed or anxious–a near-permanent state for most city dwellers–and
2) a taste for the offbeat.
The tagline proved to be useful; HarperCollinsCanada has printed it on the back of the book, and my publicist at HarperCollins U.S. is using it in some of her publicity efforts.
Thank you, M.J.
I’ve recently discovered that taglines can be dropped into any area of your life. My very best friend, Jennifer, has a three-year-old daughter named Olivia. Olivia is a wild, redheaded human pinball who could probably do your quantam physics homework if you hadn’t long ago had the good sense to drop the class. Since Olivia was born, she and I have shared a special not-quite-mother-daughter, not-quite-auntie-niece bond. She calls me her Tishie Mummy and I adore her.
Last Friday, Jennifer dragged me out of my office to go shopping. She needed to buy shoes and no mother on earth can focus on footwear with Olivia climbing out of her stroller and tearing out into the crowds with a giggle and a “bye-bye!”
I’d had my eye on a pair of sneakers myself for a few weeks, so I thought I’d come armed with a pocketful of bribery that might keep Olivia in the stroller: a red lollipop, a purple lollipop and a bag of tiny oatmeal cookies.
As Olivia climbed into my car, I told her I had something special for her. “What?” she asked.
I pulled out the handful of junk and showed her. I said, “Do you know why I brought this for you?”
Olivia shook her head.
Tagline alert…”Because Tishie Mummy is the mummy who cares,” I said.
Jen and I left the mall happy, but too tired to speak. We nearly lost Olivia twice, we left Jen’s new Diesel running shoes on a bench, and there was a very real possibility one of us swallowed Snow White’s tiny rubber shoe at lunch. Even Olivia was exhausted, she nodded off in the back seat with her purple sucker poised in mid-air.
When I pulled into their driveway, Olivia’s eyes flew open and she looked at me with a big grin. Then she popped the purple lollipop back in her mouth, looked out the window, and with a wiggle of her toes, she said to no one in particular, “I love my Tishie Mummy. She’s the mummy who cares.”
That’s the kind of brand recognition I can get behind.