God knows I have never been a schmoozer. I dated one and saw him trip over himself upon meeting someone with money or a modicum of connections to someone who was connected to someone with a trust fund and an interest in being a benefactor for some lone weirdo project organizer - "artist" would be an inauthentic word for this person.
I have committed to getting my novels published in some kind of way. Thought about self-publishing and quickly dismissed it. It smacks of vaudevillian antics on the train: what time is it? It's show time! Hey, do you like esoteric novels? Oh. How about novels that read like the Jerry Springer show? Ok. Oh, yeah. That's interesting. This is your card? Cute; it's got a turtle on it and you only write books about turtles? Huh. That's very interesting. So, do you want to buy my novel or . ..
Yeah, I am picturing an ugly little scenario. One in which the artist/marketeer/salesperson risks humiliation and boredom to reach out to the wrong audience.
There is some kind of way to do it.
I may have to break out the rhinestones and little black dress.