Friday, August 16, 2013
SELLING SHOE LACES
When I put on my sneakers, yank the laces -- tug extra hard on them -- I think of Joe Busby.
When I bought my latest new pair of sneakers, the laces that came with them were too long,
Click and visit what I found on the internet.
I bought two pairs of strong, correct length laces for $1.26 + $3.00 for shipping. I emailed my thanks to the company, asking, "Who's the owner? How do you guys break even?"
Somebody replied immediately in an email, and said:
"Joe Busby was a manager for Honeywell. for ten years in Dayton and moved to Cincinnati. He started the shoe lace business for various reasons -- two reasons being he wanted to be able to raise a family and work at the same time and also his wife had a full time job and was traveling a lot as well. (Honeywell International Inc. headquartered in Morristown, New Jerseymm produces commercial and consumer products, including home thermostats, electronic security systems, and turbo-chargers for vehicles.)
"He selected shoe laces because it allowed him to buy and sell. Thus when he quit his corporate job he switched from buying and selling to making and selling at the same time and created a niche market for himself."
Hey, howdy-di- do, Joe Busby -- I am a blogger, writing short essays -- creating them and promoting them on Twitter and Facebook so that they'll be read.
Actually, I prefer writing novels. However -- having written and published six novels that are selling, (not very well) on Amazon, observing that people are reading less and "blogging" with their photos, expressing their ideas with "likes" -- I think it doesn't make sense to devote myself to writing a new novel. (My goodness, it takes a year or more, to write a novel -- you can create a post for a blog in five to eight hours.) .
So I strain my brain every day, figuring out what to blog about. I wonder if Joe Busby felt what I feel -- sort of bored, frustrated, purposeless -- when he was working at Honeywell?
Oh boy, I could write a book about how to figure out what to write about, and write about all the things nobody told me about growing older -- like white socks.
Years ago, I laughed because my mother, even in the summer wore white socks when she retired for the night. Mom didn't tell me, nobody ever mentioned the leg cramps that we get (my husband gets them too) if we don't wear socks.
Hey -- right now -- wow now-- today, I could start a seventh book -- a big-fat-ever-expanding narration about stuff that nobody warned me about. What fun to research it -- get folks to share what's bugging them, and sell it -- like Busby -- 2 cents, + postage. Hey-yay yay -- that oughta keep me creatively percolating, for a year or two or ten.