The Tooth Fairy

Below is a short story set in the same world as my novella Crash. It shows the collapse of society from the perspective of characters that don't feature in the book. I hope you enjoy it.

The Tooth Fairy

Looking over his shoulder at their burning house, Josh turned to his brother. “Do you think they’re coming back?”

Archie, at seventeen, was three years older than Josh. “I don’t know. Maybe, but it’s been three days, and we can’t wait in a house that’s on fire.”

“So what shall we do?”

“We’ve got to go to Nana’s. If any of our family are still in London, that’s where they’ll be.”

“I think we should stay here.”

“And wait where, Josh? In case you hadn’t notice, they set fire to our fucking house!”

A lump rose into Josh’s throat, and he stared at the floor through blurry eyes. “I dunno. I just want to make sure we’re here when Mum and Dad come back.”

Archie’s words stabbed at his heart. “And what if they don’t come back?”

Before Josh could reply, Archie put a hand on his shoulder. “Get down!”

Hunching with his brother behind a low wall, Josh listened to the sound of the approaching voices. A couple of them were deep like men’s voices, but most of them had the prepubescent squeak of children. Shivering in the cold, Josh looked at his brother, who placed a finger over his closed lips. The accompanying frown told Josh to shut the fuck up.

It was hard to stay quiet with both the cold and adrenaline trying to wobble his body. Stuttered breaths shot out of him and turned to condensation as the voices got closer. He could suddenly hear their conversation.

“Where are we going now, Sam?”

“Back to the shop.”

“But we don’t have any food.”

“I know.”

“Well, what are we going to do about food?”

“Unless you want to fight someone for it, then fuck all. I’m not against having a scrap, but I don’t fancy our chances against fully grown men. We’ll find something tomorrow.”

“But the supermarkets have been picked clean.”

A slapping sound made Josh flinch. The second voice then said, “Ow! What was that for?”

“For you being a cunt. Stop giving me problems. If you have some solutions, then share them with the group. Otherwise, shut the fuck up!”

The voices were getting closer. Josh and Archie had picked the wrong place to hide. Forcing his eyes shut, Josh listened to the collection of footsteps scuffing over the road surface.

“Well, well, what have we here?”

Opening his eyes, Josh saw a group of about twelve boys—half of them were from his school.

Looking down at the pair, the boy who seemed to be leading the group smiled. “Archie McCartney, how are you doing, mate?”

Turning to his brother, Josh watched Archie stand up and shake the boy’s hand. “How you doing, Sam?” He then nodded at several others in the group, and a series of head nods and flicks returned his gesture. Pointing down at Josh, Archie then helped him to his feet. “This is my brother—Josh.”

When Sam held his hand out, Josh shook it but remained silent. There was something in the way his brother held himself that told Josh this boy wasn’t to be trusted.

Throwing, Archie said, “So what’s happening around here?”

Sam leant forwards as if he hadn’t heard him correctly. “Huh?”

Looking around, buildings burning, shops smashed, Archie waved a hand over the devastation. “What’s happening here?”

“Where have you been for the last two weeks?” When Sam looked at the collection of boys, and a couple of them sniggered.

“We’ve been at home, haven’t we, Josh?”

Josh nodded.

“Mum and Dad told us not to go out, so we stayed in. They said there was trouble on the streets.”

“There’s more than fucking trouble, Archie. London’s fucked! After the economic crash, everything went to shit.”

Josh stood in the almost empty space and looked around. The dolls in the abandoned shop looked weird naked and with some of their limbs missing. The store had been picked clean save for a few dirty items of clothing on the floor. All that remained was the long checkout desk. Most of the tills that should have been bolted to it had been smashed off. A few lopsided signs hung from the Styrofoam roof tiles saying things like ‘Two T-Shirts for £22’.

“Should we be here, Archie?” Josh asked, his voice echoing in the sparse room.

Archie frowned. “What?”

“This shop doesn’t look like somewhere we’re meant to be.” Pointing first at the stainless steel rails, then at the empty display tables, Josh said, “It’s private property.”

“Shops don’t exist anymore, Josh.”

“What do you mean?”

“Money doesn’t work. Without money, why would there be shops? When there’s no profit to be made, no one gives a fuck about anything.”

Keeping his mouth shut because he didn’t really know anything about business, Josh cleared his throat. “I’m cold, Archie.”

“So am I. We just have to deal with it.”

Heat suddenly stung Josh’s eyes and his world blurred.

When Archie looked at him, he tutted. His face then softened and he put his arm around his younger brother. “Don’t worry, mate. This is just a stopover on the way to Nana’s. It’s only for one night. I want to make sure we’re off the streets while it’s dark. The city isn’t safe.”

After looking around again, the empty space lit up by the moon shining in through the windows on the other side of the building, Josh shrugged. “Where are we going to sleep? There are no beds or sheets.”

“We’ll have to sleep on the floor; it’ll only be for a night.”

A shiver ran down the length of Josh’s body. “But it’s cold, Archie.” When he saw Archie ball his fists, he flinched, but the expected punch didn’t come.

“Look, Josh. Everything’s shit at the moment. It’s not all corn flakes and Saturday morning cartoons anymore, okay? Things have changed. We just have to deal with what’s going on the best we can.”

Staring at the grubby floor, Josh didn’t reply.

“Okay?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Josh finally nodded. “Okay, Archie.” Speaking more quietly, he added, “Sorry.”

Walking over to the window, Josh glanced out at the moonlit street. “It’s strange to see Oxford Street without any lights, don’t you think?”

Frowning as he continued to look around, Archie didn’t reply. Instead, he walked over to the middle of the shop.

Following his brother, Josh asked, “Do you think Mum and Dad will be there?”

“Where?”

“Nana’s. Do you think Mum and Dad will be at Nana’s?”

Looking at his brother for a second, his frown softening, Archie shrugged. “Who knows?”

“What will we do if they’re not?”

“We’ll think of something else. Everything’s changing, and we have to learn to adapt if we’re going to stay alive.”

Josh’s reply caught in his throat when he heard footsteps downstairs—a lot of footsteps.

Archie’s eyes were wide as he looked at the broken escalator. He’d heard them too.

When Josh heard the sound of men’s voices, he started to shake. There were other voices, but they sounded younger, a similar age to Josh.

The heavy footsteps clattered on the metal stairs, and Josh jumped when Archie hooked his arm around him. They both stared. Waiting. There was nowhere to run.

When the first of the gang reached the top, Josh saw that he was no older than about seventeen. When the rest of the gang appeared, filthy and dressed like savages, Josh guessed that he was the leader because of his age. He was clearly the oldest in the group of about twenty boys.

When he saw them, the older boy stopped dead and put his arm out to prevent the others from passing him. “Who the fuck are you?”

“We’re—”

“It doesn’t matter who we are,” Archie said, pushing Josh behind him.

Looking at his gang, the leader laughed and turned back to the pair. “Of course it fucking matters. You’re in my shop, you mugs.”

With a pounding heart, Josh watched his brother clench his fists again. If it came to it, Archie would smash the shit out of this boy. Archie was one of the strongest people he knew, but could he take on all of them?

“This ain’t your shop. You don’t own it.”

The boy shook his head and laughed again. “First night out on the streets, is it? What happened? Your parents were taken away from you? Raped? Killed?”

Looking up at his brother, Josh teared up. “What are they talking about, Archie?”

Putting his hand on Josh’s shoulder, Archie looked back at the boy. “No. None of that happened.”

“Then why are you out on the streets on your own? Where are your parents?”

“They went out. For food…” Josh’s stomach lurched when he heard the resignation in his brother’s voice, “three days ago.”

Grabbing a boy next to him, who was no older than seven, the gang leader shoved him forwards. “This is Reece. What happened to your parents, Reece?”

Dropping his eyes to the floor, Reece replied, “They went out for food.”

“Tell them how long you waited for them to come back.”

“Ten days.”

Sighing, the leader pointed at Reece. “We found this poor cunt starved half to death. He was picking through bins for food.” Turning to his gang, he added, “Raise your hands if your parents went out and didn’t come back.”

The air left Josh’s lungs as half the group raised their hands. Sad and hollow stares levelled at him.

“Keep your hands up if you think your parents are still alive.”

All of the hands went down.

Wearing a sneer, the leader laughed. “Your parents are dead, boy. Or worse! The sooner you face it, the sooner you can focus on learning how to survive in this new world. It’s shit out there, and you need to get streetwise pretty fucking quick. I don’t mind you staying here just for tonight—we have fuck all worth stealing—but I want you gone tomorrow. Understand?”

Archie nodded.

“Oh, and be careful of the Tooth Fairy.”

“The Tooth Fairy?” The words had left Josh’s mouth before he’d thought about it, and Archie shot him a dark glare.

The boy laughed and shook his head. Brushing his shaggy hair away from his eyes, he looked from one of the brothers to the other. “Oh dear, you have a lot to learn.” Twisting so he could address his gang, the moonlight lighting up just half of his face, the boy said, “The Tooth Fairy’s mental, ain’t he, boys?”

A lot of the gang nodded and grunted noises of agreement.

“He walks this street at night, and he gets you when you’re sleeping. He slips into your nightmares and makes sure you never wake up.” Lowering his voice, making Josh lean forwards to hear better, the boy continued, “If you listen hard enough, you can hear the jingle jangle of his pockets.” Pushing his finger to his lips, he added, “Shhh. Listen.”

The faintest sound of jangling came from outside, and the grin on the leader’s face fell to the floor. “Oh fuck.” He turned to his gang and whispered, “He’s here.”

The gang went into a near silent frenzy, all of them scattering across the shop floor with the light pattering of shoes against tiles. They all positioned themselves to watch from the windows. All of them hidden in the shadows.

Shaking his head, Archie laughed. “They’re just trying to scare you, Josh.” Despite his confidence, he still walked quietly to the last available window.

Josh followed, the grit on the floor crunching beneath his feet. If they were trying to scare him, they were doing a pretty good job.

In the doorway of an abandoned shop was a tramp covered in rags and blankets. He was huddled in the corner for warmth, and he was surrounded by empty beer cans.

Pulling his brother in tight, Archie leaned in so close that Josh could smell his stale breath as he whispered, “See? There’s only a tramp out there. It must have been his beer cans rattling in the wind.”

The jangling continued, but everything surrounding the tramp was still. The sound wasn’t one of aluminium on concrete; it sounded more like broken crockery in a bag.

When Josh looked up the street and saw a man walking down the pavement, he grabbed his brother’s arm. The slim figure had something hanging from his hand, and it looked like a hammer. He was heading straight for the tramp. “What’s he going to do, Arch?”

Archie put his finger to his lips.

When the walking man got closer, it was easier to see him clearly. He was wearing a trench coat that looked damp, and Josh imagined it stinking of mould. Poking out of the bottom of his trench coat were dark trousers and shoes. It was impossible to see his face for shadow, and just when it looked like the moon would reveal it, it fell into shadow again. The only thing Josh saw was his stubbly neck.

The man stopped next to the tramp, and the jangling stopped too.

Moving closer to his brother, Josh could feel that he was shaking too.

When the man lifted his weapon, the moonlight confirmed it was a hammer. In a blink, he brought it down. Crunch! The tramp didn’t have time to scream.

Hunched over the tramp, the Tooth Fairy threw several more wet thuds into the pile of clothes in the doorway before standing back and panting.

To get a better view, Josh stood up and moved closer to the window.

The Tooth Fairy then pulled something from his trench coat pocket.

Pushing the tramp’s damp rags aside revealed a dark, glistening mass of hair. The Tooth Fairy leant in, and shoving the thing he’d pulled from his pocket into the man’s face, he twisted. After two tugs and a wet pop, the Tooth Fairy stepped away.

Putting the pliers back in his pocket, he held the tooth up to the moon. It seemed like he was watching it for an age before he shifted his gaze. His glare landed on Josh.

Josh’s balls pulled tight, and it took all of his concentration to hold onto his bladder. His heart pounded.

Dropping the tooth into his pocket, the Tooth Fairy continued staring. It was easy to see the filthy man’s face now. Stubbly. Stained with blood. Hooked nose. Dark eyes. Really dark eyes. Sticking his thumb out, he sneered as he drew it across his throat like an imaginary knife. Staring for another minute or so, he then walked away. The tingle of hundreds of teeth accompanied his footsteps.

Once he was out of sight, Josh felt an explosion of pain in his right arm. “You fucking idiot!”

Rubbing it, Josh scowled at his brother. “Ow!”

“What were you fucking doing? You were right in the fucking light. He’s seen you now!”

Stepping from the shadows and bringing the smell of dirt with him, the leader of the gang said, “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Gulping dry air, Josh shook his head.

“He’s marked you, bruv.”

Stepping into the boy’s personal space, Archie said, “Don’t be fucking stupid.”

The boy shrugged. “You don’t have to take my word for it, but I’ve seen it before. You’ve been marked. The next time you close your eyes to sleep, you’ll hear the jingle-jangle of the Tooth Fairy.”

“Look, mate—”

“I ain’t your mate.” He pointed at Josh. “Especially now the Tooth Fairy’s seen him.”

“Whatever. Just fuck off, yeah?”

“You’re in my home.”

Their conversation stopped making sense to Josh as his world spun. He only realised what they were doing when Archie grabbed his arm and said, “Come on. We’re going.”

Allowing his brother to lead him down the escalator, Josh heard the boys shouting down to them, “Sweet dreams!”

As they walked across the ground floor of the shop, chased out of the building by laughter, Josh dug his heels in, making Archie stop. “Wasn’t he the man that burned our house down?”

Archie nodded. “Yeah, he was. Now let’s go before the lunatic comes back and burns this place down.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t safe to walk the streets at night.”

Turning to face his brother, Archie grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Listen to me. Nowhere’s safe, Josh. Dad said something to me before he left. He said that everything’s changing now—that we couldn’t trust anyone or anything. All we can do is love one another. Make sure that the other one’s all right, and expect change. He said he loves us—they both do.”

Pouting, Josh said, “He also said they’d be back.”

“Maybe they have gone back. Maybe we’ve just missed them.”

“Don’t say that, Archie.”

“What could we have done? Stayed in a burning house? The point is, he said we need to adapt. Nothing stays the same; it just happens to be moving quicker now than ever. Dad said as long as we love each other, then we’ll be okay. Love is constant.”

“I miss Mum and Dad.”

It was the first time in a long while Josh had seen Archie cry. Wiping his eyes, his big brother said, “I miss them too. I love you, Josh. Now let’s go before that lunatic comes back. All we can do is focus on getting to Nana’s.”

With the sting of tears spreading across his eyeballs, Josh followed his brother out of the building.

What Not to do at a Job Interview

Below is a short story from the world of my first novella Crash. It’s a post apocalyptic series, although this story is set before the world fell apart. It's a job interview with one of the main characters of the book. I hope you enjoy it. 

What Not to do at a Job Interview

Dean sat at the round table in silence, his mouth dry. On the other side, the interviewer studied his notes. Circular placemats were randomly scattered over the highly polished surface. Lifting his glass of water from one of the mats, Dean took a sip of the chilled liquid and placed it down again. The cold gulp soothed his throat but landed hard in his anxious stomach. Staring at the orbs of condensation rolling down its side, he focused on his breathing to calm his nausea and only looked up when the interviewer spoke.

“Mr Brown?”

Dean laughed. “Mr Brown was my father; please call me Dean.”

The man stared for a second, his moon face blank. Looking back down at his sheet, he cleared his throat.

The muscles in Dean’s back tightened and his shoulders lifted to his neck. Sweat left his armpits and rolled down the sides of his ribcage. Who does this cunt think he is?

“So you’ve been unemployed for the last eight years?”

A hot flush burned Dean’s face. Pulling at his collar did little for his tight throat. Staring at the man, Dean ground his jaw and nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you mind if I ask why?”

The reaction jumped from his mouth. “Because I can’t get a job, can I?” Jesus, pal. It’s not fucking rocket science.

The door to the office was behind the interviewer, and Dean stared through its porthole window. There were several women in the adjoining office taking turns glancing in at him.

When he looked back, the man’s eyes and mouth were spread in wide Os.

Letting the tension fall from his shoulders, Dean raised his hand. “I’m sorry.” Coughing cleared the wobble that threatened to ride his words. “It’s just… I’ve been through this process so many times.” He looked down and picked a flake of wood away from the desk. The top may have been polished, but the edges looked like they’d taken a battering. “I want a job, which is why I’ve come to so many interviews. But it’s a bit of a kick in the teeth always being told no. It’s not like I’m trying to become the fucking prime minister or anything.”

The man flinched when Dean swore.

“I know I didn’t finish school, so my CV looks like shit, but if no one will give me the chance, how can I prove myself? Besides, they’re only crappy jobs.”

“You think this is a crappy job?”

“It’s Biffa. Not NASA.” Dropping his right hand beneath the desk so the man couldn’t see it, Dean clenched his fist so tightly his arm shook. The fury put a shimmer in his voice. “I mean, it’s only picking up bin bags.”

Straightening in his seat, the interviewer stared at the part of his desk that had been ever so slightly vandalised and pushed his round glasses up his button nose. “This job is actually quite hard, Mr Brown. Physically demanding. Early mornings, etc.”

“You saying I ain’t got the strength to lift bin bags?”

Showing Dean his palms, the man said, “Firstly, you need to calm down.”

A heavy frown crushed Dean’s view.

“Also, I’m not saying that at all. I’m sure you have the strength, Dean, but can you get up in the mornings? Can you handle having a boss tell you what to do?”

“I can,” Dean’s lip lifted in a snarl, “as long as the cunt don’t mug me off.”

Glancing at the round clock on the wall, the man sighed and said, “Right, we’re going to run through some scenarios. Is that okay?”

The tension fell from his back and Dean stared down as he ran his finger in circles on the desk. “Fire away, chief.”

The man straightened his papers. “Okay, it’s three in the afternoon, and your shift is due to finish. However, it’s been a long day and you still have another hour’s worth of work to do. Do you, A—”

“I’ll stop you there, pal.”

The interviewer paused.

“I’ll do whatever extra hours you need me to do. As long as it’s on the overtime sheet, that is. I’m not one of those people that work for nothing. If you have too much work and not enough staff, that’s your problem. But keep filling my bank account, and I’ll work like the fucking Energizer Bunny.” Dean’s throaty laugh bounced around the room.

The man kept his eyes lowered. “It’s the night before your day off, and you get a phone call asking you to work. What do you do?”

“It depends what I have planned for my day off. If I can change it, I’ll do that and come into work.” Laughing again, he added, “As long as it ain’t winter. Who wants to get out of bed in February?”

Putting the paper down, the man closed his folder. “Thank you, Mr Brown. We’ll be in touch.”

Dean’s jaw fell. “That was a joke, man.”

“That’s fine. We’re done with the interview though.”

“But there are more questions there.”

“Um…” the man paused. “There are, but we don’t always ask them all.”

“Why don’t you just tell me now that I haven’t got the fucking job? I’m a big boy—I can handle it.”

“To tell you the result of the interview now would be unprofessional and against company policy.”

The deep breath did nothing to still Dean’s rampaging pulse. “Unprofessional my arse. You just haven’t got the stones for it, pal. Telling a man to his face that he doesn’t have the job ain’t unprofessional; that’s the excuse of a coward.”

The man stood up. His round belly pushing against the buttons on his shirt. “Thank you, Mr Brown. We’ll be in touch.”

Remaining in his seat, Dean stared up at the man. One well-timed jab on the chin would knock the cunt sparko. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me straight. Have I got the job or not?”

The man lifted the phone on the table. It was an old rotary phone—maybe he thought he was retro. Sticking his finger into the hole for the number nine, he spun the dial. “I’m going to call the police unless you leave now, Mr Brown. I will not be held to ransom in my own office.”

Standing up so quickly his chair scooted out behind him and fell over with a loud crash, Dean stared at the man. After a few seconds, he left the room and slammed the door on his way out.

The revolving doors ushered him into the warm, stale room. The hot choking smell of old photocopiers caught in his throat. Walking over to Martha’s desk, Dean sat down.

The pad of Post-its she was scribbling a note on were small suns. They were yellow, circular and had happy faces printed on them. Smiling, Martha asked, “So, how did it go?”

Dean looked around. “This room stinks of piss and desperation. I ain’t like these mugs in here, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take a look around you. The carpet’s filthy, the job boards are emptier than a Tory’s heart, and half of the people in here look like they’d struggle to spell their own fucking name. This is a place for alcoholics and losers.”

“And the unemployed,” Martha reminded him.

Turning away, Dean caught the eye of a man at the desk next to him.

Clenching his fists, Dean tilted his head to the side. “What the fuck are you looking at, pal?”

After holding his glare for a second, the man then looked away.

Too fucking right!

“This place is full of arseholes.” Dean sipped his lukewarm coffee and screwed his face up at the muddy taste. Lifting the round Styrofoam cup, he said, “When are you going to stop serving this instant shit?”

“This isn’t a coffee shop, Dean. Anyway, the man said you swore at him in the interview. He said you were openly hostile.”

“Like fuck! We were having a bit of banter. A joke about overtime. Okay, maybe I did swear, but the rest of it was all good fun. Until he asked me to leave.”

“Do you even want a job, Dean?”

“Of course I want a fucking job! When those Conservative arseholes get into power, I won’t have a pot to piss in. Why do you think I’m going to so many fucking interviews? But if no one will give me a fucking chance…”

“You’ve got to stop swearing for a start.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!”

Martha’s jolly face turned stony. Pointing a wrinkled finger at him, she said, “I’ve been doing this job for thirty years, son. I think I’m qualified to tell you what to do. You need to stop swearing in interviews, and you need to tone the aggression down. Otherwise, you’re never going to get a job.”

Returning the gesture, Dean pointed his finger back at Martha. “You’re sending me to a bunch of shitty job interviews and telling me to jump through hoops. I’m doing that, but I’m still getting told to fuck off. Do you realise how fucking demoralising it is for me to be rejected so many fucking times? To repeat the process knowing I’ll just get turned away again. I know what’s on the horizon—we all do. It’s a political party that want to force us out to work by fucking us up the arse. I ain’t afraid of work, but what do we do when we can’t get a fucking job because no one will employ us? It’s a vicious circle. Give me a job, and I’ll fucking do it. I’ll go every day.” After a heavy exhalation, he said, “I’m fed up of being mugged off by clueless twats who think they know how to run a fucking country.”

Sighing, Martha said, “Dean, you’re the only person that can get yourself a job, but you have to work on your interview technique.”

“I’m trying, Martha. But where do I start? There’s no fucking funding and every job has over a thousand applicants. I’m climbing a greasy fucking pole here.”

Spinning the wedding ring on her finger, Martha then flicked through her Rolodex and removed an index card. “Here. The council are looking for litter pickers in the town. They have an open day tomorrow.”

Looking at the card wobbling at the end of Martha’s outstretched arm, her bangles hanging down, Dean snatched it away. “Here we fucking go again. See you next fucking week for some more shitty coffee and another fucking lecture.”

Exiting via the revolving door, Dean crossed the street without looking and was ushered across by a cacophony of horns. Flipping the bird in the general direction of the noise, he entered the local pub.

Frank, the bartender, lifted his head. “The usual, Dean?”

Sitting on the round stool, Dean nodded. “The usual,” he said as he slid the coins across the bar.

Results for Kindle Nation Daily Ad

So having recently spent $99 on a Kindle Daily Deal ad on Kindle Nation Daily, I thought I'd report back my results from it.

I must say that my book only had five reviews on Amazon.com when I placed the ad, and three of them were two stars, so I'm sure if it was reviewed better then it would have sold more.

The picture below is from Amazon.com - The spike in sales is due to the ad. I was averaging 3 sales a week on the .com site, and because of the ad, that went up to 34. The profit on $0.99 is about $0.35 per book.

The next picture is for Amazon.co.uk (where my reviews are much stronger) - I sold less on the UK site the week the ad was out than I had the previous week - 88 sales as opposed to 113. Having been in the top 10 for post-apocalyptic on the UK site, I was getting good sales anyway. Is it fair to assume it had no impact? I'm not sure, but it certainly didn't seem to.

I appreciate that many factors impact the sales of a book and I'm sure my reviews on the .com site didn't help. However, all I can do is present the information as I've experienced it.

601 Sales - How Will A Kindle Nation Daily Ad Affect My Sales?

I saw 500 sales as a big milestone and should have written this post then. But now I'm at 601, so I thought I'd report how the sales have been going.

I have an advert with Kindle Nation Daily due out at the end of this week (27th September). I've opted for the Kindle Daily Deal at $99. My sales are pretty poor in the US so I'm hoping this advert will give a boost to them. To break even at my current sale price, I need about 250 sales.

Visibility

It seems to me that visibility is the most important thing with Amazon. I talk about Amazon because I've had three sales on Kobo and none anywhere else.

From release, Crash has been in the top 50 for post apocalyptic Kindle books. This seemed to help the book tick along nicely and was generating sales of one or two copies a day. Halfway through August I dropped my price to $0.99 and £0.99. You can see the impact below on my sales figures and visibility. I've been in the top 10 post apocalyptic kindle charts and the top 50 for horror overall for about a month now. This extra visibility has coincided with a huge leap in figures. Although I have to sell lots more copies to make the same money, that's currently happening. So my book is being seen by more people and I'm making more money. I don't plan on keeping my price this low forever, but while the sales are good, I'll leave it as it is.

This screenshot was taken this morning (this is relatively low for my average):

My highest rank for each category has been 6 for post apocalyptic, 23 for kindle horror and 30 for horror overall. This is on the UK site. 

I also wanted to report a detailed breakdown of my sales figures because I've not done that yet - August was when I dropped my price. I decided to drop my price while I already had some chart visibility. I could see Crash slipping out of the charts and I hoped it would give sales a boost.

June

I released my book towards the end of June.

UK site - 16 copies sold.

US site - 13 copies sold.

July

UK site - 35 copies sold.

US site - 28 copies sold. 

August 

UK site - 154 copies sold.

US site - 24 copies sold. 

September (so far)

UK site - 314 copies sold

US site - 14 copies sold

Reviews

I've never had the chart visibility in the US and my average reviews aren't enough to get me much attention. I assume this is why my sales on Amazon.com aren't great. 

Next Blog Post

In my next blog post I want to show the figures after a Kindle Nation Daily ad to see if it was worth the $99. 

Nearly Three Months as a Self-Published Author - Sales Figures Included

So it's coming up to three months now as a self published author and I thought I'd continue to track my progress.

I've made a few changes in the past few weeks that have massively affected my sales figures.

Categories

After watching my book get into the top thirty on the Post Apocalyptic and Dystopian charts on Amazon, I realised that the categories were so close I should probably change one of them. I figured that I'd be catching a lot of the same audience with those categories, so I changed Dystopian, because I was scoring slightly lower in this one, and moved it over to horror.

Price

I also noticed that my sales had started to plateau. I decided that I want my first book read, and while I'm not prepared to drop it to free, I dropped it to $0.99. This made a huge difference. My sales figures took off. I've made more money than before over the past few weeks and my book is reaching a lot more people. In the past two weeks, I've sold over 100 copies each week.

I've obsessively watched my book climb into the top ten and it's into its third week and it's still there. My peak was chart position no.6. I'm currently at no.9 on Post Apocalyptic (Amazon UK).

Negative Reviews

This is predominantly UK sales. I've had a few negative reviews on Amazon.com that have almost ground my sales to a halt. I've written a very violent book so I'm not surprised that it's polarised opinion. Despite the negative reviews, I have been contacted by readers to say they enjoyed the book and can't wait for more.

I also did something I thought I'd never do this week. I responded to negative criticism. I've had several negative reviews and most of them have been the reviewers opinion. For me, it's fine if someone doesn't like the book. Everyone sees the world through their own lens and enjoyment of a work is entirely subjective. However, I received this review from one person:-

As I understand it, there should be a plot and a theme to a novel. This book had none and was also lacking in depth, meaning or reason. I get the impression that the author just wanted to get feedback (any feedback) to try and get his book spoken about...if that was the reason for it, then well done! If it was to write something worthwhile, then I feel this failed totally. Not an enjoyable read.

To which I responded:-

Thanks for reading my book and leaving your thoughts. I don't normally reply to reviews because everyone sees the world through their own lens and enjoyment is a subjective thing. It's not my place to tell people they are wrong or to defend my ego. 

However, on this review you have asked if there is a point to this book so I wanted to take the time to explain why I've written it. 

This book is about the social construction that is money and how insubstantial it is. The only value it has is what we attribute to it as a society and it could easily become worthless. 

It's a look at how the poorest in UK society are being punished and blamed by the contemporary media for the state of things at present. Labels like 'Good hardworking families' are banded about as if those who can't be measured by their financial contribution are worthless. It takes this venom and turns it around on those they perceive to be the ones laying blame. Although the main looter, Dean, is a psychopath using a cause to vent his violent tendencies - Much like some of the EDL members have been doing of late and other hate groups. 

It's also a look at how class identity isn't a reflection of those within the class, more a group identity that is based on judgments and prejudices - from both sides. It doesn't reflect the individual, yet sweeping generalisations are made. Those being punished - Like Michael - don't deserve it, but we live in a polarised society where these judgments are made. 

Finally, the level of violence is a look at developing countries, such as The Democratic Republic of Congo, and the atrocities happening there on a daily basis (while I accept this book is very dark, I couldn't go as far as what's actually happening in places like the DRC). It's a look at how low humans can go when there is a motivation to control and dominate - as many wars have demonstrated. (See the UK and US bombing of Dresden as an example). In The DRC's case it's for minerals. In Crash's case, it's for food. 

Again, I can't speak to whether you enjoyed the book or not but I'm thankful that you read it and took the time to review it. You asked the question, so I wanted to give you the answer.

Thanks again

Michael

Should I have responded? I don't know. It's not something I plan to make a habit of. 

Sales Figures so Far - Since June 20th:-

Amazon - 446 copies sold. 
Kobo - 3 copies sold.
Smashwords - 0 copies sold.

I'm pleased with my figures for less than three months. The negative reviews sting but I'm developing a thick skin pretty quickly. Again, I expected it with this book. My next one is much less violent, so it'll be interesting to see if it generates the same reaction.