Thursday, November 17, 2011


I sold 429 copies of Cinco de Mayo last year. It's great, in a way, because I think I personally met everyone who purchased a copy. There's no way Dan Brown can make that claim, eh? E-books account for just 21 Cincos sold. Not the digital revolution I've been hearing about. Perhaps I don't attract early-adopters, which is a difficult position for a new author.

A cheery person by nature, there really isn't a great way to spin 429 unless . . . unless it's the size of the engine you're dropping into your '69 Mustang. Now that's a different story. The story I should've written. Hitting the open road, burning a gallon of dead dinosaurs every 8 miles, to make thunder and speed. The roar of a 429, not the whimper. If only I could adjust my vocation to meet my numbers. Ha. Then I'd go for batting average. Even better.