Book updates: Free promo for a couple days has brought some attention to The Sins of Dom. It's #85 or so in both UK and US best seller list for thriller.
I think I could be better at self-promotion. But, I'm not. I am satisfied just to write and publish. Writing is akin to raising children, instructing children--this same kind of feeling--rewarding that way. A job that's well done, a complete and utter feeling of satisfaction, fulfillment. When I don't write for a few days, a story sits there, unattended. And I feel antsy, careless. It calls me back like the child seeking attention. Then when I return to it, I find areas to tweak, enhance, delete. It's a piece of art, fickle and flexible--evolving into itself, taking on a life of its own, outside of me. I don't plan. It just happens. And when it's grown big enough, I send it off, out of the nest.
Writing is always solitary--you sit with your work and words, alone, like the teacher in the classroom, or the stay at home parent. What you say, how you say it, matters enormously. There is no one there to consult, no one to tell you it's right or wrong. You have faith, a divine pulse--a moral conscience to guide you.