If only it worked like this...
Monday, 18 July 2016
Thursday, 19 May 2016
Was just wondering whether anyone who reads this has any experience of Unbound? Seems to be, for books, what PledgeMusic is for albums. Anyone used it, either as an author or as a pledger? (Pledgee, maybe?) If so, how good/bad/indifferent was the experience?
Wednesday, 20 April 2016
Both Cold and Turn Around Where Possible are free from Amazon from today, for five days. You can get them here.
I don't often blog about free promotions, because it would get a bit repetitive, but I'll make an exception this time, because it's conceivable that this could be the last occasion these will be free. I'm thinking about bundling them, with some other stories, into a new collection of short fiction, and withdrawing the standalone titles. The collection won't be free.
Get 'em while they're hot, is what I'm saying.
Thursday, 14 April 2016
I self-published my first title, Dark Steps in August 2011. Since then, I have sold some books. Here's a graph to prove it.
You'll note that I have removed the scale from the Y-axis, but essentially this equates to just over 300 sales across five titles. In the same time period, I have given away, completely free, over 9,000 copies through various channels, nearly all Amazon Kindle Select promotions.
Giving books away for free is fine, I guess, and, barring miracles, writing is never going to enable me to give up the day job. That's fine, I accept that. Fortunately, that's not why I write. But, you know, <plug class="shameless">if you wanted to buy a book sometime, well, that would be fine too...</plug>
Footnote: wondering where the title of this post comes from? Wonder no more. And yes, Euro Itchy & Scratchy Land is a perfect metaphor for sales of my books.
Friday, 1 April 2016
Monday, 8 February 2016
Friday, 5 February 2016
Whilst I let the first edit of the novel-length work "rest" for a while, I've started something new. A short story, no less (and certainly no more). At present, it begins thus:
I've never lost a coin toss. I know how that sounds. But if I'm going to record this at all, I'd better be completely honest from the outset, and qualify that: I've never lost a coin toss by chance.
There was that one time you see. I was captain of the school second eleven football team. Nine games into the season we were unbeaten, and I'd naturally won all nine coin tosses. Before our tenth match Mr Smith, the reluctant geography teacher whose sole purpose as our coach was to ferry us around the county in the lesser of the school's two minibuses, concluded his usual pre-match pep talk ("Go and win boys!") with a question: did I know what the odds were of winning nine coin tosses in a row? His Irish accent softened the question, and his mouth was smiling, but his eyes weren't.
"No sir," I replied.
"One in five hundred and twelve," he said. "Long odds, that."
I don't think I said much in return, possibly I tried to laugh about it as I ran on to the pitch to catch up with my team-mates. And of course I lost that day's toss, just - it was surprisingly hard to remember, counter-intuitive even, to nudge heads but call tails. As I trudged back out of the centre circle, I risked a glance at Mr Smith - he was staring directly at me, and no part of his face was smiling.
I'm three and a half thousand words in now, and the story has bitten me. It has traction, I think (hope). What do you think?