Publicity vs. Advertising; Know the Difference

“I count on you for advertising,” said the nice lady on the other end of the line.
Count to ten before you say anything, I thought to myself.
I know she didn’t mean it. She just didn’t know any better.
What she meant was, she counted on me to help her get the word out about her events.
She wanted publicity. And I wanted her to have it.
Most folks don’t know the difference between publicity and advertising.
Publicity is free. Advertising costs money.
You can imagine why that difference is crucial, especially with small town newspapers feeling the crunch of spiraling costs of paper, dwindling revenue from classifieds, and the general encroachment of the web on the news business.
Asking for free advertising is a sure way to make an enemy out of any local newspaper editor worth his salt.
A while back, I sent a press release to a newspaper in our region, which they graciously printed for a particular organization. For free. It was publicity.
The next time our organization had a meeting, one dear lady complained that another nonprofit organization was getting more attention than we were.
Don’t say a word, I thought to myself.
Later that day, I called a sales person at that paper and asked what the cost would have been if we had paid for it.
$800.
At the next meeting I pointed out what the free press release was worth.
Just for the record, there are some spots in the newspaper that are not for sale at any price.
Just so you’ll know, I write this column for free because I have a thing for community newspapers.
When nonprofit organizations demand publicity or want a price break on advertising, one experienced newspaperman in Central Texas puts it this way.
“You may be nonprofit, but I’m not.”
Advertising is the engine that drives the train. Publicity is a comfy passenger car that gets people places. It can also contribute to a better newspaper and a better community. Publicity has its place.
One word of advise, though, if you want to stay in the good graces of the newspaper editors and publishers you know, don’t call up asking for free advertising.
They want to pay their employees. They are in business.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.

Slithery snakes, sexual abuse, and being brave

I have a fear of having a snake show up in my garage.
Lest you think I am paranoid, this actually happens in my neighborhood from time to time. If you live in the country, you know what I mean.
I am not afraid of snakes in my yard and have learned to identify the common East Texas varieties.
I know I can take a deep breath, get my shovel, and cut the heads off the venomous varieties. I’ve done it so often that I am confident that I am the smarter, faster adversary.
But there is something so claustrophobic about meeting up with a snake, of any variety, in close quarters. It gives me the creeps and makes my skin crawl.
I have a very beautiful friend who has the cleanest, most ship-shape home I know. She is the last person on earth to find a snake in the garage, especially since she lives right in the heart of Tyler, surrounded by neighbors, neatly fenced yards, and concrete curbing.
Not like out here where we live, surrounded by woods, pastures, and oil top lanes.
One day she found a snake in her domain, all right.
And not in the garage, either.
That snake found his way to her master bedroom and was relaxing near her bed! Imagine the panic.
That was the snake’s final and most deadly activity – for him.
My friend’s brave and dashing grandson had the snake decapitated in no time.
On any given week day, in courtrooms all across the US, victims of sexual abuse are taking the stand to testify, often about close friends and trusted family members.
You may wonder how parents could not notice, but the truth is, just like snakes, sexual predators are sneaky and slithery.
This column is dedicated to the young victims who have the courage to testify.
Thank you for taking another snake out of action.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at checklistcharlie.blogspot.com.