It's 9AM

Is it Time Yet?

I’ve been running a week behind all summer long.

That’s what it feels like.

Summer is usually a busy routine, but when we went to San Diego in June, it threw off something.

Now, my routine is still the same, but everything seems to be happening one week later.

Weird, right?

I know there was a holiday that turned into a four day weekend for other people in the house.

Sometimes when they stay home I can’t get any work done because of time demands and honey do’s.

Without the honey.

Maybe it was the heat too, which put some days in a haze, or maybe it was the expectation of something happening.

And it didn’t.

Which is why I’ve said before, have zero expectations, and you’ll never be disappointed.

Easy to say.

Hard to do.

Just a quick example.

There are 11,000 people on this newsletter list.

Only around 5500 open and read it every day.

Pretty good.

Except only ½ of 1% ever click a link inside the newsletter.

For free books.

For paid books.

For promos.

For videos.

For anything.

My expectation was it would be a little higher.

The reality is it never is.

Which is my fault.

I had an expectation.

It led to an outcome.

Hence the feeling.

My marketing background tells me it’s “the offer.”

I’m not writing a compelling enough offer to tantalized the follow through.

My writer background tells me it’s the story.

The intro and characters aren’t good enough for follow through.

But the responses I get from ½ of 1% tell me that most of the time, the daily stuff is on point.

I am vexed and perplexed all because I have/had an expectation.

It extends beyond 9AM.

I send out an offer for sponsors and get no response.

Or a plan to a man in the city government and get no response.

And as I am a man who is responsible, the no response means I’m doing something wrong.

The hardest part is figuring out what.

And why.

I was taught to find the answers to the journalist’s questions and that can lead to a better outcome.

Who. What. When. Where. And Why.

Then the how.

If you can uncover one, it leads to the next, and that’s the story.

In marketing.

In fiction.

In life and business and almost anything.

Maybe the secret to life isn’t 42.

Maybe the secret is Why.

Figure that out, and the rest is gravy.

Like why does it feel like summer has flown by and I’m one week delayed on everything?

Or the more important question of the day…

How do I make up what I missed?

Another Message for you

Growing More Each Day

And

A Pint of Problems - a Jake Burbank Mystery

Needs Must - Old Magic book 3

Read Echoes Free

The city lay abandoned, a desolate wasteland overrun by the walking dead.

Streets that once pulsed with life now echoed with eerie silence.

One man moved through the shadows like a phantom, his steps measured and cautious, each footfall a whisper against the cracked pavement.

His heart pounded like a war drum, the rhythm of survival.

His name was lost to the ruins, a relic of the past.

A survivor, he navigated the treacherous streets, his mind a finely-tuned machine of caution and calculation.

With a makeshift pipe in hand, he slipped through the shattered entrance of a convenience store, a realm of potential salvation.

A glint of metal caught his eye – a blade resting on the counter.

A prize in a world where survival meant adapting.

He swapped the pipe for the blade, its weight a reassuring presence in his grip.

As he gathered supplies, a distant noise reached his ears – a guttural moan, a shuffling of feet.

The undead were close, an ever-present danger.

He hurried to the back of the store, eyes scanning for escape routes.

A window, broken but still viable, beckoned him.

But a realization chilled him – the window was barred with planks, a barricade against both the living and the dead.

Panic bubbled up within him, threatening to engulf his rationality.

He searched the dimly lit storeroom for a solution.

Beside a pile of discarded items, a roll of duct tape lay forgotten.

A spark of inspiration ignited in his mind.

He tore a strip of tape, his hands moving with practiced speed despite the tremor that threatened to betray him.

The blade glinted as he cut the tape into thin strips.

Methodically, he affixed the tape to the glass, improvising a lattice of makeshift hinges. The tape held, and he reinforced the center with another strip. The makeshift hinge was crude but potentially effective.

Bracing himself, he pushed against the window. The glass resisted, the hinges creaking under the pressure, but they held long enough for him to squeeze through. He emerged outside, the world a canvas of desolation, painted in shades of gray and red.

But he was not alone. A younger figure stood nearby, watching with wide eyes. The man glanced at the boy, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "See that, kid? That's how you get out of a tight spot."

The boy's eyes were a mixture of awe and trepidation. "You're amazing," he whispered, admiration clear in his voice.

The man chuckled, a bitter edge to the sound. "Survival's not about being amazing, kid. It's about being resourceful."

He scanned the surroundings, his gaze settling on a forgotten bicycle nearby. "And sometimes, it's about getting the hell out of dodge."

With purpose, he mounted the rusty bicycle, his movements fluid despite the machine's protests. The boy followed suit, his own bicycle creaking as he pedaled alongside the man. The wind ruffled their hair, a reminder of life in a world ruled by death.

As they rode, the man's words flowed like a river of experience. He regaled the boy with tales of close calls, of near misses with the undead and clever tricks he'd learned along the way. The boy listened with rapt attention, absorbing every word like a sponge.

But danger was never far away. A wrong turn led them into a trap, a horde of zombies closing in on them. Panic surged through the man's veins, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm. He tried to backtrack, but it was too late.

The boy's voice cut through the chaos, a note of determination in his tone. "Follow me!" Without hesitation, he veered off the road, leading the way into an alley. The man followed, his faith in the boy's instincts outweighing his doubt.

They navigated the narrow space, their bicycles clattering against discarded debris. The sound of pursuit echoed behind them, a relentless reminder of their vulnerability. The man's mind raced, a million thoughts and scenarios playing out in a matter of seconds.

And then, salvation appeared before them – a small opening in the alley wall, an escape route. The man's heart soared as he pedaled harder, the gap drawing nearer. But just as victory seemed within reach, disaster struck – the boy's bicycle wobbled, and he crashed to the ground.

Fear clawed at the man's throat as he skidded to a stop. He turned, ready to go back for the boy, to face the horde together. But then he saw it – the determination in the boy's eyes, the fierce resolve that mirrored his own.

The boy scrambled to his feet, his bicycle forgotten. With a primal scream that defied his age, he charged at the approaching zombies, wielding a broken pipe. His blows were clumsy but fierce, each swing a testament to his will to survive.

The man's heart swelled with a mixture of fear and pride. He joined the boy, his blade flashing in the fading light. Together, they fought back the tide of death, a united front against insurmountable odds. The man's words from earlier echoed in his mind – survival was about being resourceful, about adapting and never giving up.

Finally, the last of the undead fell, silence settling over the alley like a heavy shroud. The man and the boy stood side by side, their chests heaving, their bodies battered but alive.

The man clapped the boy on the shoulder, a genuine smile gracing his lips. "You did good, kid."

The boy grinned back, his adrenaline-fueled energy still palpable. "Just being resourceful, right?"

The man chuckled, a genuine sound that seemed to chase away the shadows that had clung to them. "Yeah, kid. Just being resourceful." And in that moment, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the city of the dead, they knew that as long as they had each other, survival was not just a possibility – it was a promise.

Ready to cut loose and tie one on?

Here’s your copy of BATTLEFIELD Z – the COMPLETE BOXSET.

Grab it today.