To paraphrase Jeff Albertson: Worst. Month. Ever.
It’s official. Though I’ve had an impressive streak of low-sales months going for a while now, July 2014 takes the cake. I’m usually pretty vague about my “official” sales numbers on this here blog. Chalk it up to me encouraging my theoretical readers to use their imaginations. Or to my deep personal shame. In any event, you could count my July sales on the hand(s) of a passerby giving you either the peace sign or flipping you the notorious (and rarely called-for, but very-much appropriate in this case) double bird. I’ll let you do the math.
In my defense, I was volunteered to cover an off-shift at work last month, so I was pretty much in jet-lag mode from the time the fireworks were launched until the time the rent was due. [Insert tiny violin music here]. I never really adapted to this relatively minor life-change, so my heretofore consistent promotion schedule (basically tweeting links to my books late at night) was wildly altered for like four weeks.
Now that my weak excuse is in the books (pun intended), I’ll get to the rancid meat of the matter: If I want to be a successful self-published writer, I have to do the work. This glaring fact hit me about three-and-a-half weeks into my four-week sojourn into Jet-Lag Land. I can’t flail around like a dying moth at eight in the morning and expect the sales to come. I need to make Twitter an everyday thing, and I need to improve on the promoting myself thing. Also, I should probably get better at writing. That might help. In time.
Writes and Submission 