I haven’t posted for some time because there has been precious little to say.
My Goodreads Giveaway cost me the price of 10 books. So far, in return, I have received one very kind 5 star review. Its £70 price tag seems high, and consumed many of my royalties earned to date, but it is worth its weight in gold to a writer who desires praise from people he doesn’t know from Adam.
Having sold 140 copies – almost halfway to my 300 target – sales have flatlined, throwing a bright light on my lack of marketing strategy which extends only to social media.
This has had an upside for me, the discovery of Instagram and how to make content for it.
thebumblingboy has only 90 followers but high levels of engagement, and of course reach is important in terms of awareness raising. It is impossible to tell if this activity has inspired even a single sale, but creating and posting is fun and quick, and allows me to respond to events and dates in the calendar.
So I will let the pictures do the talking. Here are the nominations for my very own Instagrammy.
Not so long ago I had a life expectancy to die for and lived in the High Lands where it’s always summer. I was 56 but looked 26 and could buy anything and everything. I could go where the hell I liked, even off-world to resorts where inverted sail boats navigate the waters way above your head. All thanks to the man who’d orphaned me when I was 5 years old and left me a couple of billion and some hot patents by way of recompense.
Murder and money had made me an instant A-list Sleb, famous at first for being so young, so alone and so wealthy, a mysterious Golden Child, silent and wide eyed. Later I became one of the planet’s most eligible bachelors. And then, as years passed by, I gained notoriety for being reclusive and unattached. You see, I wouldn’t, couldn’t play the game. I was solitary and introverted and reluctant to share my life and likeness with modern madness.
In the end I gave people the creeps, Slebs and Plebs alike, and started to get plenty of bad press. I was the focus of hate campaigns and death threats. In truth I was a single man worth a fortune, but universally acknowledged to be in want of a life.
Mark Gorton has been watching films inspired by the game of golf and devised a unique ratings system to inform your viewing choices. Eagle: Must watch Birdie: Jolly good Par: OK Bogie: If you have nothing better to do Rough: Avoid at all costs
It’s the 25th anniversary of ITV Granada’s This Morning. This auspicious date has made me think of my time spent working in the bizarre continuum television refers to as Daytime.
I worked on This Morning for more than eighteen months and, for reasons that now elude me, allowed myself to be lured later to the BBC’s Good Morning with Anne and Nick.
Suddenly I found myself on the other side in a war of attrition that would not end until one of the opponents was completely destroyed. I needed all my wits about me to devise ever better Celebrity Flat Pack Challenges, build up “star guests” who frankly often surprised us by being still in the land of the living, and think of some kind of antiques that expert Eric Knowles hadn’t already explained and valued. Oh, and write captions that might keep students watching – over footage of our chef making soup, The Hand that Rocks the Ladle. For an item about looking after privets, Postcards from the Hedge. And for a piece about budget lingerie, Going for a Thong.