In my ongoing attempts to get people to buy my damn novella, I did a dirty and terrible thing. No, I didn’t touch someone’s foul regions. I found a website that promised to make people find my book and I paid them fifty dollars to do so.
Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, when the fuck is Chase Gioberti going to return from the dead and put everything right in Falcon Crest? And the answer to that is – soon, my sweet and cuddly ones. Very soon.
So, the website. It’s called Book Daily, and what you do is you make an account and a profile page for your book. Then you pay them fifty dollars and sit back and fretfully wait. The site has an impressive mailing list and sends out a newsletter every day highlighting a few chosen books. And very, very occasionally, one of those books is yours. The idea is that those occasional mails, and your book being always visible on their site, will give your sales that knee in the groin that they need.
Now. Here’s the first problem. The vast majority of people using the service and getting the daily email newsletter are writers themselves, with books on the site. In other words, slightly crazy people who don’t buy other people’s book and just spend their time and money convincing people to buy theirs. Not the best audience ever.
The other problem: the books these people write are shit. They are excrement. I dutifully checked each and every book I was mailed and not once did I see one that wasn’t an appalling literary abortion. They were all terrible. TERR-I-BLE. If you don’t believe me, go on, have a look. Lots of bizarre Christian novels, for some reason. Lots of heart-stoppingly awful detective books. And some books so incomprehensible I’ve actually come to view them as poetry. Like this masterpiece.
Here, to back me up, are some numbers. The image below shows my exposure on the Book Daily site:
However. Over the course of my campaign on the Book Daily site, I had ten sales of my novella. Not ten per day, or ten per orgasm. Just ten. And two of those I bought myself. Sorry, but I did. And, of the other eight, I can’t even be sure they all came from Book Daily.
For fifty dollars, I could have bought forty copies of my book and “sent it to friends”. Or I could have got a nice massage. Or bought a kilo of mouldy cheese. Spending it on Book Daily was not worth the money.
In summary, take your fifty dollars and shove it anywhere you like – into a donkey, over a rainbow, up your own arse. Just don’t give it to Book Daily.