Nothing interesting happened this last week. Unless you count crawling the net to find book bloggers to maybe review my book, possibly favorably, in the future at some point. Yeah. If anyone’s interested in da biz of self-publishing, let me break it down for you. Pretend your book is a drop of water. Put it in the ocean. Now, try to point out that drop of water to a friend.
Good luck with that. So I’m “marketing” and reaching out for reviews to try and point a spotlight on it. But even if I get that spotlight, it’s like still just a tiny blip of water in a big ocean. It’s already been mixed in when I put it there. Sooo, like, fuck. Who’s bright idea was it to put my drop of water in there?
Anyway, here’s something less depressing: my dogs. The foxy-looking one is Dexter. He’s a dickhead, but he’s the world’s okayest dog. The cute, spotted one trying to jack my food is Arya. She’s cool most of the time, except when she gets excited when I first come home and runs at me full speed to nut check me. That part hurts, a lot.