Lee Schreiber plans to increase his visibility April 5th by teaching a mediabistro seminar. He has many other good tips for you, so why don't you sign up?

As a writer, I am a "bleeder." That is, words come like droplets, squeezed out in an often painful and always painstaking process. I struggle to perfect the im-perfectable. And yet, when it comes to publishing a book, the writing is the easy part. (And, in the ultimate scheme of things, it is not even the most important part.)

For a mid-or lower-list author, Catch-22 is the operating principle. Big houses only shell out big (advance and promotional) money to big-name scribes. So, while big business begets even bigger bigness, we small fry are left to rely on: luck, serendipity, Oprah and/or The New York Times.

Of course, there are always a few no-names who bust through on the strength of word of mouth. And on whose mouth can one most rely upon? Your own.

Oh, no, not self-promotion!? It is so tacky, unseemly, and fundamentally uncharacteristic for sensitive-artiste types, in particular, to toot their (our) own horns. Besides, my dad always told me that it was poor form to call too much attention to oneself. "Have these people no shame?" he would say to the TV image of a Trump, a Schwarzenegger, or (fortunately, he passed away before) a Hilton shilling unabashedly for themselves.

And yet, even the most quixotic freelancers in publishing know the deal: The most important part of this (or probably any) business is sales. And what's the No. 1 method for accruing sales? You sell.

While it may run counterintuitive to the reasons most of us became authors (to avoid direct contact with the public), some of us have been known to hit the road and hawk our works directly to the consumer, relying on the cooperation and coordination of middlemen like, say, local radio stations and bookstores.

But most first-person bookselling occurs on the phone, or via snail/e-mail. There's a slightly more specific, and highfalutin, name for this kind of salespersonship, in which you get on the horn and computer to transmit your message to friends and contacts. It's called Marketing. Your pitch should be distilled into no more than a couple of a high-concept sentences, the gist of which is: I've got this compelling, important, newsworthy, marketable product... please tell your friends and contacts about it. (It's available at most local bookstores, as well as Amazon and BN.com. )

When shy, prideful, writers like me finish a book, we need a break-some physical and emotional distance from the exhausting process. I'm certainly not up to hopping right into a rental car and driving out into book country with a trunkful of product.

Certainly if you've any desire to sell more than a dozen copies to your friends and contacts, you must get out there and do something... if not to expedite an immediate financial transaction, then at least to try and expand your (and your product's) public profile.

Like it or not, you've expanded into a Public Relations campaign. Whether you use the assistance of a high-priced professional or not, your aim is the same: Be seen in the gossip columns. Be heard on the talk shows. Be read on the op-ed pages. Be relentless at getting get the word(s) out to influential friends and contacts in the media. Be Trump.

Finally, we come to the last technique in the typical sales arsenal-Networking-which is little more than joining groups and organizations (like the one that sponsors this site), in addition to attending pertinent parties, functions, and events.

Again, there are those folks who are totally comfortable in social situations (though, again, they're not usually people who spend a lot of time working alone). And they're usually natural (or self-made) promoters who have little trouble exploiting their legion of co-networkers (especially the more powerful ones) for professional gain.

More power to them.

I've tried the quiet, classy sell with moderate to poor results. None of my first eight books earned out their advance. I could always rationalize that, Well, at least I had my self-esteem.

Screw that.

This past year, I produced two hardcover books: 1) POKER AS LIFE (Hearst), in which I share the vast storehouse of knowledge that I learned at the poker table, and applied them to easily digestible rules about love, work, money, friendship, and even self-awareness. I said that. Critic Jesse Kornbluth said this: "Schreiber's scary-smart book [says]: 'Poker is primarily about psychology, in which the perceptive, intuitive and observant student of human nature will usually be materially rewarded at the end of a session (or a month of sessions), while the psychologically dense or unexamined will remain cash, and insight, poor.' Trust this man. (Well, not at a card table...) He put himself through college playing cards, and I'd be willing to bet it wasn't a community college. He has played at every level. He has read a book or three-he quotes philosophers with the same flair as he cites poker gurus-and he can writing a charming sentence."

2) THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY (Volt), a memoir written in real time about reconnecting, after 20-plus years, with the college sweetheart who ultimatum-ed me: "Marry me, or I'll find someone who will." (I didn't; she did.) I believe it's my best book, by far. Esquire Editor-in-Chief David Granger also had some nice things to say: "Schreiber has dared go where no man (in his right mind) has gone-his romantic past-to ask his now-married first love the questions most of us are content to leave unanswered. The result is a detailed-rich account of love and loss that is never (well, rarely) sentimental, often hilarious, and always smart. Schreiber's a guy's guy who has the balls (and the chops) to write what we've all thought and felt, but have been reluctant to say out loud. He captures what it feels like to grow up, lose and win (in sports, poker, and in relationships); how to relate to our fathers, and how not to sweat the small stuff. He does it with self-deprecating humor, and such poetic precision, that it's a pleasure to kick back, relax, laugh, think and totally relate."

I'm (obviously) getting successively better, and less embarrassed, at tooting my own horn. But the music still sounds a little sweeter when you can get somebody else to play along.