It's 9AM
What would make your life easier?
If 5000 people who read this newsletter every day sent me just $1, my life would get easy fast.
Or if those same 4990 who read the free stuff every day would buy just one book, life would get easy.
Or more complicated, since that revenue would go right back into growing more stuff-
My suspicion is everyone would feel the same.
I don’t really think it’s wishful thinking.
Rather it’s wondering about the what if’s.
My goal is to stop doing other jobs, and focus on the book business, which includes audiobooks on Youtube.
And I’ve got the plan for it in place.
The reason I think it would be easier with the book sale or thank you gifts is because I could trade time.
Time I spend doing other things for time spent in front of the computer.
And a certain peace of mind.
Yet…
I have competing interests, not just in the books, but in a never ending honey do list that includes a hundred tasks.
Some big, some small, but all taking time.
Plus bigger plans that involve going places and doing things to make some of the improvements/plans/and wishful thinking I’ve done for a dying town take a step closer to reality.
Maybe.
These aren’t new problems.
I’ve discussed some of them with you before, especially the time part.
And they aren’t unique.
Every small business owner faces the same things.
Where do they put their focus.
What should they concentrate on doing.
Part of my problem is reading about other authors doing way more with a lot less.
What are they doing different?
Advertising.
And there is a component of luck involved too.
I know some of what the problem is on my end.
Time. Lack of resources. And I get frustrated.
Because while I am doing grunt work, I also am applying to other jobs, which pay more, which while still limiting time would allow me to leverage some stuff.
But I’m still running into the same problem.
No one is responding.
Jobs get posted, my resume and experience is a direct match, I shoot it off into the ether…
And crickets.
Which makes me curious about why they say there are so many open jobs, but no employer responds.
And that makes me want to double down on the book business, which requires that the people who read the books buy the books, hence the constant shilling and encouragement.
I’ve told you this Substack was supposed to supplement the JOB so I could trade time there for time here.
I’m so grateful for the ten folks who have subscribed and send them a free book or book collection each week as a token of my gratitude.
I saw an acknowledgement page in a book I’m reading, and wondered why I haven’t done something like that too.
So they get a spot on it, and maybe even a character name in a book.
I’ve even told you how I started thrift selling stuff from my storage unit and closet so I could save up to pay for ads, and marketing and more.
Everything takes time.
Plus I don’t worry.
The new Amazon account is going up this week, and though there is a pen name attached to it, you’ll get the link for the promo.
That means in about 60 days, I’ll make a few bucks.
All the other sites are getting the back list, and books have started selling.
Sure, it’s only a couple of bucks right now, across a few places…
BUT a promo would shoot that up into double digits, maybe, and that’s ten sites paying out 10 bucks each.
It doesn’t sound like much, but that’s the stair step approach to it all adding up to support my very minimalist lifestyle.
It will grow.
I think my biggest problem is writing in so many different genres.
Or maybe it’s expectation.
I write in the genres I read and I read a lot, which makes me want to write more.
And I know practice will never make it perfect, but it does make for learning more and getting better.
Like all things, I’ll figure it out.
But oh man, if it was easy…
October Big Book Bonanza Giveaway
Chapter 1: Shelter
Life had a way of settling into a grim routine.
Wake up, pour a cup of black coffee, stare out the window at the grey dawn, and force myself into the grinding machinery of the day. I was just another nameless father, trudging through the numbing motions of existence.
A life as monotonous as the ticking of a broken clock.
But even the most mundane lives can take a turn for the sinister, and mine was about to take a plunge into the abyss.
It all began with a whisper, barely audible at first, then gradually growing louder until it was a deafening roar in my ears.
The news reports were the harbingers of doom.
They were cryptic, shrouded in secrecy, and laced with fear.
The anchors on TV, usually so polished and composed, stumbled over their words as they tried to convey the magnitude of the threat. "Stay inside," they urged, their voices trembling, their eyes wide with terror.
The unknown threat hung in the air, a palpable presence, suffocating like a stranglehold.
It was a menace that lurked in the shadows, nameless and faceless, yet it held the power to paralyze an entire nation with fear.
I watched the images on the screen, scenes of chaos and panic unfolding in cities far away, and something deep within me stirred.
My children were with her, with my ex-wife, hundreds of miles away in a different state.
I hadn't seen them in months, and the custody arrangement meant that they spent most of their time with her.
I knew she had her own demons, her own battles to fight, but they were my blood, my responsibility.
The thought of them, alone and vulnerable, sent a shiver down my spine.
I had to act, to do something, to ensure their safety.
My small, house suddenly seemed like a fragile shell in the face of an impending storm.
With each passing moment, the walls closed in, and the weight of my helplessness pressed down on me like a leaden sky.
I began with the windows, the vulnerable portals through which danger could seep in.
I nailed wooden boards over them, the sound of hammer against nails echoing through the empty rooms. It was a crude defense, but it was all I had. Desperation lent me strength, and I worked with a feverish intensity, sweat pouring down my face, hands blistering.
I raided the pantry, gathering canned goods, bottled water, and anything that could sustain me through an unknown siege. It was a futile effort, I knew, but it was better than sitting idle, waiting for the darkness to descend. The stench of fear lingered in the air, and it tasted like bile in the back of my throat.
Outside, the world had changed. The streets, once bustling with life, now lay deserted, as if the very asphalt had absorbed the terror that had sent people fleeing indoors. The eerie silence was broken only by the distant wail of sirens, a haunting reminder of the chaos beyond my shelter.
Night descended like a shroud, and I huddled in the dimly lit living room, the flickering candles casting elongated shadows on the walls. Every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind outside, sent shivers down my spine. I felt like a trapped animal, my senses heightened to the point of agony.
Hours turned into days, and I listened to the radio for any scrap of information, any glimmer of hope. But all I heard were the same dire warnings, the same pleas to stay indoors, and the same ominous reports of an enemy that remained unseen.
The nights were the worst. Alone in the darkness, with only the feeble light of candles to ward off the encroaching shadows, I thought of my children. Were they safe? Were they even aware of the terror that had gripped the world? I couldn't bear the thought of them facing this nightmare alone.
And then, a call. A ring that shattered the stillness of the night, jolting me from fitful slumber. I stumbled to the phone, my heart pounding in my chest, my fingers trembling as I lifted the receiver.
It was her, my ex-wife. Her voice was strained, filled with a fear I had never heard before. She told me they were trapped, holed up in a small apartment, the walls closing in around them. The unknown enemy was out there, prowling the streets, lurking in the shadows, and they were running out of supplies.
I felt a surge of desperation, a burning need to protect my children, to bring them back to the safety of my shelter. But I was hundreds of miles away, separated by a world that had crumbled into chaos.
I promised her that I would find a way, that I would come for them, no matter the cost. It was a promise made in the darkest hour, fueled by a father's love and a determination born of desperation.
As I hung up the phone, I knew that the unknown enemy was not the only threat we faced. There were dangers lurking in the darkness, waiting to pounce on anyone who dared to defy the shadows. But I had a purpose now, a reason to fight, and I would stop at nothing to reunite with my children and bring them to the safety of my shelter.
The battle had just begun, and I was prepared to face whatever horrors lay ahead. The unseen enemy may have shrouded the world in fear, but I was determined to pierce the veil of darkness and reclaim what was rightfully mine.