The simple, sexy truth about how to “get booked” and “sell stuff.”


Lots of people ask me questions like:


“Got any tips on how to land new clients when you’re self-employed?”

“How can I get people to hire me — and build up a big waiting list, like you?”

“How did you sell out your workshop tour so fast? Did you advertise somewhere, or…?”


These are perfectly reasonable questions …

… with a very simple, sexy answer:


Be really good at what you do.

So good, that people can’t help but talk about you.


That’s it.


You don’t need a complicated marketing funnel.

You don’t need to pay big bucks for advertising.

You don’t need to seduce people onto your mailing list.

None of those things are “bad” or “wrong,” of course. If that’s what floats your boat, go for it.


But at the end of the day, all that really matters is… do you create miracles for people, or not?


I am not trying to be self-congratulatory, here, nor do I consider myself to be a “business” expert, by any stretch of the imagination.

But I am speaking from hard-won experience. And I can tell you this:

In the early days of my business, I spent a LOT of time fiddling about with “contests” and “scholarships” and “discounts” and “free consultations” and “special offers” and all kinds of riff-raff, in a desperate effort to get booked.

God only knows how many anxious hours I spent, fretting about how to woo clients into my world. (“Why won’t they just hiiiire me already?”)

Looking back, all I can say is this:

Instead of fretting and doing weird marketing-ish gimmicks, I sure wish I had spent all of those hours serving people… creating art… and actually making an effort to become better at my work.

If I had done that, I suspect that my first couple of years of self-employed-ness would have been a lot smoother, a lot more rewarding, and ironically, a lot more profitable.

So basically, what I’m saying is this:


Focus on becoming excellent at your craft, whatever your craft may be.


And before long, you will find that you just… start… getting… booked. Naturally.

(How’s that for simple + sexy?)



PS. What’s one thing you could do — today — to become a little good-er at what you do?

(So that people can’t help but talk about you?)


How to ask someone on a date. Also: free smut.


Got a crush on someone?

Do you day-dreamily scribble his name in your diary with hearts and shooting stars all around it?

Do you blush every time you walk into the local coffee shop, and — gulp! — there she is?

You should probably ask that person on a date. Like, today.

This script will help you … figure out what to say.



. . .


Hey [name],

I think you are wonderful and I’d like to take you out on a date.

If you’d like to go out with me, hooray! I will do a happy cartwheel inside my heart.

If you don’t want to go out with me, guess what? Not a problem. I won’t be offended, and I will continue to think that you are amazing.

If you’re on the fence about going out with me, allow me to tempt you with promises of [describe a fun activity] and excellent snacks, such as [describe something delicious] and [one more delicious thing].

Let me know.

[your name here]

PS. My favorite thing about you, right this moment? The fact that you [describe something they do that makes you smile].

Oh, and also your [heart / mind / eyes / soul / whatever you adore about them, most].


. . .


Also: guess what?

I wrote an erotic novel.

It’s called Milk & Honey.

It’s a love story about a writer and a pastry chef.

Think: Fifty Shades of Grey, but with less bondage and more creme brûlée.

Want to read it? CLICK HERE to download the whole book … for free. A deluxe edition (with bonus material) will be for sale, later.

But for now? Enjoy the free smut.




Read More creativity // inspiration devotion // liberty

Why I don’t do … all the things I don’t do.


When you write + work in a relatively “public” way, as I do, people inevitably become curious about you.

I certainly get curious about folks that I see, online + out in the world. (Why did she choose that? What made him go that direction? Are those her real eyelashes? And whatnot.)

People often ask me why I don’t use Facebook, for example. Or why I recently decided to take a hiatus from Twitter. Or why I don’t feature paid sponsors on my blog, like I used to.

I’ve decided to explain why I don’t do … all the things I don’t do. Right here. In one fell swoop.

I hope that my explanations will make you giggle, and inspire you to consider why you do all the things that you do — and if you really need to.

Without further ado …


Why I don’t do …



Because I’d rather be having sex.


Twitter. (For now. Maybe forever.)

Because I’d rather be having sex.


Any other social media.

Because I’d rather be having sex.


Affiliate marketing. (Anymore.)

Because it makes me never want to have sex. (Boner-killer.)


Paid sponsors on my blog. (Anymore.)

Because it just didn’t feel right in my hut. (Heart + gut.)


Complicated product launches.

Because frankly, I don’t release “products” very often. And when I do, I like to keep it simple.

A note on my website. A note to the nice folks on my mailing list. One or two reminders (“Hey, it’s here!”). And … done. That’s enough. People buy, or they won’t. People keep buying, or they don’t.

Word of mouth has always been my strongest source of product sales, client bookings, workshop registrations … everything.

If the mouths aren’t making words, there’s not much I can do to force the words to come out. (Not much that feels good, anyway.)


A big “meet-up” whenever I’m visiting a new city.

Because … sometimes, I just want to eat tater tots alone in my hotel room while listening to Groove Armada, you know?



I bought an ad, one time. It ran on a comedy podcast, and the hosts of the show made fun of me for about thirty seconds and vaguely threatened to sue me (as a joke, of course). It was hilarious. I felt like a star.

I bought the ad because I wanted to support the show + send them some dollars, as a “thank you” for giving me hundreds of hours of laughter in the past. Not because I particularly cared about promoting the product in question.

In retrospect, I may not understand what advertising is supposed to be.


Telesummits, videosummits, hologramsummits, etc.

I used to do them. Lots.

But then I thought, “I never actually listen to these. Why would I want to help create something that I wouldn’t ever … even … use?”

Oh, and … I’d rather be having sex.



I always raise an eyebrow when people start slashing their rates or creating limited-time offers, for no particular reason.

I like my rates like I like my sense of self-worth — unshakable and steadily rising.


Business cards.

I think scribbling my website address on a napkin — with a heart! — is cuter.

Also, I ran out of cards a few years ago and never re-ordered.



Weird things to seduce people onto my mailing list.

I am honored whenever someone invites me to pop into their inbox, for any reason.

I figure, folks want to be on my mailing list … because they want to be on my mailing list.

I try to keep them happy, with a weekly-ish dose of inspiration, writing tips + scripts for life, love + business scenarios.

I give them worksheets. I give them tools. (But I basically give all of the same stuff to the folks who visit my website, too.)

There’s no “secret grotto” that people sashay into, once they step onto my mailing list. It’s just one of two channels that folks can use, if they want to receive the “stuff” that I create. Nothing more.


Instant, right-away responses to emails.

Because I believe that it’s important to teach people how to treat you — which includes how to communicate with you.

I value gracefulness, kindness and sane, humane expectations.

I try to model the type of behavior that I’d like to see in the world.

Which means that I generally don’t answer emails immediately, and I’m perfectly fine with somebody taking their sweet time to answer mine. (Patience is hot.)



I’ve tried a lot of things in my life. Like flying helicopters. And doing juice cleanses. And working in public radio. And trying to be a resume designer (oh, lord…)

Oh, also, for six years I was convinced, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I was a lesbian who would never-ever-ever-ever be attracted to a man, ever. (My boyfriend finds this quite amusing. So do I.)

What I’ve come to realize is that beliefs and desires can — and do — change. All the time. And that’s OK.

Knowing this, I try, very hard, not to speak in absolutes.

I am a “never say never” kinda gal. I like the color gray.

But I’ve also come to realize that the more you strip down your writing, your work and your world … the more you realize how much you don’t need to do.

Except to be nice, be helpful, and create little miracles for people.

And that …

I can + will do.

(And so can you.)




PS. What are you ready to NOT do, anymore?


Honoring a life. Choosing the right story.
My thoughts on how to write a eulogy.


“Alex: I was wondering if you have any advice on writing a eulogy, especially for someone you were very close to?

I’m struggling with how I feel and what to write. I don’t want to write a ‘shopping list’ of memories and great qualities. Could you help, please?” –Jo


First of all, Jo … I hope that you’re OK. I’m sending you a full-body hug.

To be honest, I’ve never written a eulogy before. Not a formal one, anyway.

I can say this, though:

When I think about people I’ve loved, who are no longer here, I generally don’t think about their “accomplishments” or “accolades.”

I remember what they taught me — and how they made me feel.

I remember how Uncle Adam made me feel like it was OK to be completely ridiculous and silly, in public — without caring what other people might think.

Adam had Tourette Syndrome, a neurological disorder that causes uncontrollable physical tics and outbursts. One of his tics was to yell curse words. We made a deal — when I was about six years old — then whenever he said “shit!” in public, then I could say it, too. We’d do it together, bellowing out of the open windows in his car, and laugh hysterically. We were quite the pair.

I remember how Great-Aunt Mimi taught me that you can grow old — really, really old — but still keep a young, playful heart.

Mimi lived in her own home — and drove her own car — well into her nineties. She swam every day, played card games, and met friends at her favorite Jewish deli (she always got a toasted sesame bagel, sliced into thirds, instead of in half. More surface area for jam, that way.) When she died, she was ready. She had lived well, and had no regrets.

I remember how Grandma Helen always made me feel welcome in her home, and taught me the meaning of “hospitality.”

Helen had a special fold-out cot and a sleeping bag with my favorite canine cartoon characters — the Pound Puppies. She kept Kraft American cheese singles in the fridge (because I loved them) and chilled the salad plates before dinner (because “that’s just how it’s done.”) My parents jokingly call me “the Martha Stewart of the family,” and looking back, I’m sure I inherited my love of simple domestic pleasures … from her.

I’ll bet you remember a lot of things about the person you lost, too.

You say that you don’t want to “write a ‘shopping list’ of memories and great qualities,” and that’s understandable.

Instead of making a list, perhaps you can share just one story.

A story about what that person taught you — and how they made you feel.


“_____________ was the kind of person who always made you feel _____________.

_____________ taught me how to _____________, and taught me the true meaning of _____________.

(As a perfect example: I’ll never forget that one time that we _____________.)

Because of them, my life is richer. Because of them, I know that _____________ is what really matters.”


I’ll leave you with this brilliant reminder, from a woman who is deeply missed by so many:


“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

―Maya Angelou


Good luck, Jo.

When you speak from the heart, you really can’t go wrong.

I know that whatever you choose to say … will be just right.



Still trying to “find your voice” as a writer? Um … That’s not how it works.


“Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.” –George Bernard Shaw


There seems to be a myth percolating through certain parts of the writing world that everyone is born with a naturally amazing + perfectly-formed “writing voice” …

… but cruel “society” stomps it out of you, with all those darn rules and creativity-crushing expectations!

Alas! You just need to “find” it again!

Um, no.

Your “voice” is something you create — not something you find.

You weren’t born with a naturally amazing + perfectly-formed writing voice, any more than my brother was born with a naturally amazing + perfectly-formed capacity to play the saxophone and compose award-winning jazz pieces.

He created his voice as a musician, through daily practice, for decades. He’s still practicing. Always will be.

As a writer, you need to create your voice, too.

Creating your writing voice doesn’t have to be grueling or unpleasant, of course.

You can refine it by scribbling poems on bar napkins … by sending a sexy text to your sweetheart … by setting a two-minute timer and pouring your heart onto the page … by polishing up your bio … by writing a long overdue “thank you” note to someone you admire … drumming up a new blog post … or by crafting an email, with just a little extra love + care.

Our lives are saturated with words.

Opportunities to practice writing — to create your voice — are everywhere.

Seize the chances + enjoy the process.

And remember:

You can’t “find” something that hasn’t been created, yet.