On Saturday morning I awoke to find I had sold four books
overnight. I felt like Mo Farah. Meaning successful of course, not athletic. I’m not sure how sales go for the rest of you
indie authors out there, but if I make double figures in a day I have to sit in
a quiet corner to recover. Not that I am complaining. When I first published
Thrift I was mostly hoping that I would not be inundated with hate mail and
fired by an irate headmistress. Second one could still happen. She downloaded a
copy for holiday reading. I reminded her several times that it was fictional
and that actually I am an excellent teacher. She has probably forgotten and is
currently drowning her kindle in a swimming pool in Provence.
When it comes to sales, Amazon play some cruel games. Sometimes
they seem to flood through propelling me to the dizzy position of the top two thousand
in the chart. I start checking house prices in Chelsea. Other days some gremlin
in the system means that sales are lost for hours and I watch as my book
plummets thousands of places taking my aspirations with it. Emotional stuff.
Occasionally I Iike to work out how many sales I need a
year to be professional. It’s a pointless activity and time that would be
better spent actually writing. At the current price I need around 40,000. That’s
a lot. But you have to dream big, right? I like to dream big. That’s why every
morning I wake up, roll over and log into Amazon. And I always will. Just in
case. Anyone else?
