The Day I Thought I’d Made It As A Writer

The sun shines on every dog’s arse at least once.

It’s a saying that a friend of mine regularly uses, and it aptly illustrates me on the 27^th December 2023.

My tail was not only up but wagging frantically, exposing my derriere. It being December, if the sun was out, it would not have been for long and would have likely failed to warm said exposed arse.

Nevertheless, this was the day when the stars aligned and the algorithm starting beating in time with a Jon Lymon-type tune.

All that preamble basically means that this was the day that, to date, has seen me earn the most money from book sales.

It followed my annual Boxing Day Bonanza, where I make quite a few of my books free to purchase for people who’ve got new Kindles to fill and time to fill them.

The Glorious 27^th as I’ve just named it, was the only time where I kept refreshing my sales dashboard and saw the numbers change almost every time. A phenomenon I would have to have continued forever, obviously. But of course, it did not. I don’t know why or how it stopped, but stop it did.

Nevertheless, for a moment, I thought the sky was the limit sales-wise. The chickens had come home to roost or whatever the correct cliched phrase is to use in this instance.

But after a few hours of glory, the tail stopped wagging and lowered and the dog returned to his basket to sulk and await the next feeding frenzy.

It felt good to experience such healthy sales. And of course I tried the same thing the following year without quite as much success. I think I made about 6 quid.