Saturday July 21, the biggest date in the literary calendar. On that day, the seventh and final instalment of the Harry Potter books, The Deathly Hallows, will be published at 00.01 BST. Will Harry save the whatsit? How does Ron cope with Wizardybob? Can Hermione find the secret ancient flask-type-box-type-thing?

Hordes will take to the streets dressed in capes; small babies will camp outside bookshops in Oxford Street; men will sell commemorative fruit and the Queen will appear from the balcony at Buckingham Palace, dressed as Sir Ian McKellen. Or perhaps, in a self-reflexive moment, Helen Mirren.

It doesn't actually matter what the book is like; it could be a facsimile of an Edinburgh Chinese takeaway menu - but what is assured is that it will sell in its millions and the surrounding press burble will be mammoth. Or someone will interview a mammoth, because it will have probably read the work too.

All well and good, roll on HP day! etc. However, I have just found that my children's book, Operation Ward Ten, is out the week before. The marketing budget is, presumably, 1,000,000 times less than Bloomsbury's. It will be swamped, almost literally, by this literary event. It's difficult enough, blah blah blah, for children's book to get any publicity... placement on a bookshelf in Borders alone does not guarantee sales (you have to get on "the table" or the controversial "recommended" shelf to shift yer units).

So what is to be done for all of us, in this dreaded position? (I can't be the only author in this predicament, can I?) What are top tips for dealing with the huge barrage of Potteriness? As I sit in my office (ie the café round the corner), I ponder...

1. Placards. Protest comes in many forms, but the best way to get your voice heard, say many, is waving a bit of cardboard around on a stick. If it worked for the people of Portsmouth, and their fight against paediatricians, it can work for us lesser-known authors. Picketing Waterstone's or even a sit-in at Ikea could also be a good idea. 2. Period costumes. Walking round as Lenin or Napoleon, telling the kiddies off, to distract them from the Rowling epic. 3. Viral marketing. Make a sentimental movie of a dog tripping up over a lot of Harry Potter merchandise, then having to go to hospital to have its legs removed. Send it to everyone who works in an office and post it on YouTube. Job done. 4. Cats. To adequately change the law, so that each Harry Potter novel is sold for £175 and no less, I propose that a bunch of cats invade the Houses Of Parliament and take over. As our feline friends have no interest in books*, they will not mind being told to do so, in exchange for warm blankets at night. Thus, far too pricey, no one will buy the book in any meaningful quantities. 5. Blackmail. Note to self: haven't thought this through properly yet. 6. Murder. When pushed to the limits, think about the Greats of dissent. Take Valerie Solanas. Andy Warhol had lost the script to her play Up Your Ass, so she decided to shoot him. A great way to bump him off, if she had hit her target properly. A decent way, also, to gain publicity and get banged up in chokey. If you like that sort of thing. However, killing JK Rowling would not only be deeply illegal but morally wrong, for all sorts of reasons. 7. Adopt a studied stance of a "complete lack of ambition". This could be the most effective. A pamphlet, detailing the slothful flaneur who cares little for public acclaim and/or sales, could accompany this tactic. But, ultimately, this might look like just too much effort. 8. Write a blog about it. ... Er.

If you have any more ideas, let me know.

* I am confidently assuming this.