I have decided to come out of the closet and admit to being one of the most selfish, arrogant and protective authors on the planet. Yes, you heard it first right here on social media. Let the chips fall where they may and damn the torpedoes.
I don’t like criticism in any form and forget about me giving away my work for free. There is nothing on this planet that is free and yet people are always looking for the freebie bin. Move on chumps, when I work…I get paid.
I don’t have an agent because I am the agent. I don’t have a publicist because I am the publicist. I don’t have reviews because I won’t allow it. I don’t have squat because I like it that way. Am I the greatest author on the planet? Why yes I am, and proud of it.
Am I going to repost another authors work on social media, no – they don’t pass my work on. Am I going to participate in stupid workshops to make me a better author, no – I don’t need to, I’m already at the top of my game. Am I going to help my competition, no – that just doesn’t make sense.
The only authors who really sell books are the ones born with a silver spoon up their booties. None of them had to work to get where they are. There were, and are, a bunch of lazy bums with rich relatives. My break will come when a movie producer reads my work and realizes that they have found the greatest author on the planet.
I really don’t understand why I can’t sell my book. It’s fabulous because after I self-published, I couldn’t put it down. I read the whole thing in one sitting – that’s the sign of a great book. My family and friends say it is the best novel they have ever read. I shouldn’t have to do anything but watch them fly off the shelves.
Web page…I don’t need no stinking Web page. Book signing parties, I don’t need them either. All I need it that one big break and everyone will see my talent and greatness. I don’t need anybody; I am a published author.
It’s a fool’s paradise,