Over the years, I have traveled extensively and kept journals, with the idea that one day all of those places would become locations in books. Notebooks filled with odd characters, people and incidents observed, and whole tracts of stories written when the on the spot inspiration has been a driving force.
All of this is the basis of the first three novels, Sunday In New York, set, of course, in New York, probably my favorite city in the world, “Echoes From The Past’ equally set in New York, Brooklyn Heights and Philadelphia. The third, The Devil You Don’t, travels through Europe, starting in Geneva, moving to Rome, then Sorrento, and then to Venice.
Now, my passion to write is fuelled by travel and fine dining. When I take a break from these, I get to torment my three wonderful grandchildren whom I actively encourage to read as much as they can, and more recently to also write.
As for almost every other writer, I would not be able to do any of this without my wife who has put up with my moodiness, the times when I'm locked away in a room trying to push out another 2,000 words, and yet despite everything still puts up with me.
I wish I could say the same for our cat. Alas, I am still trying to work out how to be his friend!
What are the essentials for writing an X (formerly Twitter) biography
…
The X (formerly Twitter) bio is your digital elevator pitch. It has a strict limit of 160 characters, so every word and symbol must count.
The most essential elements for an effective X biography focus on telling visitors who you are, what you offer, and what they should do next.
Here are the key essentials:
1. The Core Information (Who & What)
Your Value Proposition: Immediately state what you do, what you tweet about, or the benefit people get from following you. Don’t just list your job title, but explain the impact.
Bad: Digital Marketing Specialist
Good: Helping small businesses decode SEO and grow their online presence.
Keywords: Use terms related to your industry or niche (e.g., #FinTech, Data Science, Fantasy Author) to make your profile searchable.
2. Personality and Trust
Show Your Personality: Inject your unique voice, whether it’s professional, witty, humorous, or inspiring. This makes you memorable.
Example: “I write books about dragons 🐉 and argue with people about coffee ☕.”
Social Proof (Humble Brag): Briefly mention a notable achievement to build credibility.
Examples: TEDx Speaker, 10K+ Followers, Host of Top 10 Podcast, Featured in Forbes.
3. The Call-to-Action (CTA)
Direct the Next Step: Every great bio should tell the visitor what to do. Use a simple, direct instruction. This is often paired with the single clickable Link in Bio.
Examples: Get my free guide ⬇️ | DM for collabs | New video every Fri!
Use Emojis: Emojis are essential because they save characters, add visual flair, and break up text. Use them as bullet points or to replace words.
Be Concise: Eliminate filler words and be ruthless with your editing.
Use Line Breaks: Separate different ideas (e.g., Who I Am, What I Do, CTA) onto new lines for easy scanning.
Utilize Other Fields: Remember that your Name (50 characters), Location, and Website Link are separate fields and do not count against the 160-character bio limit. Use them all!
The Sweet Sound of Appreciation: Why the Indie Writer’s Toughest Battle is Visibility
“There’s nothing like an appreciative word from a satisfied reader.” — Peter Mayle
For anyone who has ever poured their heart, soul, and countless sleepless nights into writing a book, Peter Mayle’s words hit home with piercing accuracy.
There is a unique, almost magical high that comes from hearing someone say, “I couldn’t put your book down,” or “Your characters stayed with me for days after I finished.” That single review, email, or social media comment makes every deleted chapter, every plot hole, and every moment of self-doubt entirely worth it. It’s the fuel that keeps the indie engine running.
Yet, for independent authors, there is a massive, often exhausting caveat to this joy.
As Mayle so eloquently noted, the appreciation is the reward. But the hard part—the mountain that every indie writer must scale—is simply getting that book out into the world so someone can actually read it in the first place.
Let’s talk about the invisible half of the indie publishing journey: the battle for visibility.
The Myth of “If You Build It, They Will Come”
In the traditional publishing model, authors often hand off their manuscript and let massive marketing machines, established distribution networks, and bookstore shelf-space do the heavy lifting.
In the indie world, you are the marketing machine.
When you hit “Publish” on Amazon KDP, IngramSpark, or Draft2Digital, a wave of profound relief washes over you. You did it! The book is live. You share the link on Facebook, tweet about it on X (formerly Twitter), and wait for the deluge of sales.
And then… crickets.
This is the harsh reality check every self-published author faces. The internet is a vast, deafeningly loud ocean, and a newly published indie book is a single drop of water. Without a traditional publishing house’s budget or pre-existing retail partnerships, the book won’t sell itself.
Suddenly, the writer has to pivot from being a creative artist to wearing a dozen unfamiliar hats:
The Social Media Manager: Building a brand, posting aesthetic reels, and engaging with a community.
The Media Buyer: Figuring out the labyrinthine worlds of Amazon Ads and Facebook Ads without burning a hole in their wallet.
The Publicist: Pitching book bloggers, podcast hosts, and reviewers who are already drowning in requests.
The Data Analyst: Staring at click-through rates, conversion percentages, and ranking algorithms trying to decode why book sales are fluctuating.
It’s an immense amount of unpaid, non-creative labour that happens after the manuscript is finished.
Why Discoverability is the Ultimate Indie Hurdle
Getting a book “out there” isn’t just about uploading a file to a retailer; it’s about discoverability.
The Sea of Competition: Thousands of books are published every single day. Standing out requires an eye-catching cover, a compelling blurb, professional formatting, and zero grammatical errors. Even with all that, you still have to catch a reader’s eye.
The Review Catch-22: Readers love reviews. They validate a book’s quality before buying. But to get reviews, people have to buy and read the book. Breaking this loop is one of the toughest challenges for a debut or mid-list indie author.
Algorithm Anxiety: Amazon’s algorithm is the gatekeeper most indie authors obsess over. Understanding how to trigger “Also Boughts” and rank well in specific niche categories requires a mix of strategy, timing, and sheer luck.
The Joy Makes the Struggle Worthwhile
With all of these hurdles—the marketing costs, the algorithmic mysteries, the relentless hustle—why do indie authors keep doing it?
Because of what Peter Mayle talked about.
It’s the email from a stranger on the other side of the planet saying your story helped them through a tough week. It’s seeing a five-star review from a reader who “gets” the deeper themes you worked so hard to weave into the narrative.
Indie publishing is hard, gruelling work. It requires thick skin, business acumen, and an unshakeable belief in your own work. But when you finally bridge the gap between your hard drive and a reader’s nightstand, and that appreciative word finally comes in?
There truly is nothing like it.
Are you an indie writer currently fighting the visibility battle? What has been your biggest struggle (and your greatest triumph) in getting your book out into the world? Let’s chat in the comments below!
Parisian Odyssey: Making Memories in 24 Hours at the Eiffel Tower Subtitle: How to Craft an Unforgettable Day in the City of Light
Paris—the city where every cobbled street hums with history, every café table holds a story, and every landmark feels plucked from a dream. But when time is your most coveted luxury (and you’re stuck with just 24 hours), where do you begin? While the Louvre, Notre-Dame, and Montmartre all clamour for attention, there’s one icon that transcends mere sightseeing: the Eiffel Tower. More than a landmark, it’s the heartbeat of Paris. Here’s how to make your brief stopover a day you’ll remember forever.
Morning: Conquer the Iron Lady
Start your day early at the Eiffel Tower to avoid crowds. A pre-booked ticket to the top is non-negotiable—trust us, skipping the queue will save precious minutes. Ascend the 125 meters to the second floor for a panoramic view of the city: the Seine slicing through neighbourhoods, the distant dome of Sacré-Cœur, and the green sprawl of the Bois de Boulogne. If you’re energetic, the 164 steps to the first level (1,710 total to the top) are free, though the lift is worth it for efficiency.
Pro Tip: Grab a pastis or croissant from one of the restaurants on the first floor. It’s breakfast with a view!
Midday: Stroll the Champs-Élysées Backdrop
The Eiffel Tower isn’t an island—it’s a focal point for some of Paris’s most iconic scenery. Walk west toward the Champs-Élysées, a 1.2-mile boulevard that’s the epitome of Parisian glamour. Stop at the Arc de Triomphe for a photo (and climb for an even more divine view), then cruise past luxury shops like Dior and Louis Vuitton. You don’t need to spend a cent—just bask in the je ne sais quoi of Parisian elegance.
Unexpected Detour: Veer south to Trocadéro Gardens, a sprawling park with fountains and shaded paths. It’s a peaceful respite and the perfect spot to picnic with a baguette and fromage from a nearby market.
Afternoon: Seine Secrets and Hidden Gems
By 3 PM, head to the Seine River. The Eiffel Tower is visible from nearly every bridge here, but two spots are must-sees:
Pont d’Iéna (military museum) for a photo-perfect view of the tower against the sunset.
Rive Gauche Promenade for a leisurely walk past Left Bank cafés and the Institut de France.
If time allows, hop on a 1-hour Seine River cruise. As the boat glides past bridges and monuments, the Eiffel Tower will loom like a guardian, its silhouette contrasting with Haussmann-era architecture.
Evening: Twilight Magic and Farewell Glows
As dusk falls, make your way to Port de la Conférence (just south of the Eiffel Tower) or Pont National. Here, you’ll witness the tower’s daily ritual: a sparkling display every hour, where over 20,000 bulbs twinkle for five minutes. It’s romantic, awe-inspiring, and utterly unique to Paris.
Culinary Finale: Dine at a Seine-side restaurant like Le Jules Verne (inside the Eiffel Tower, reservations essential) or Café de l’Escargot for a jazz-tinged bistro vibe. Either way, you’ll cap off your day with the tower as your backdrop.
Why the Eiffel Tower?
In a day, you can’t do everything in Paris. You can’t visit every museum, every bakery, or every cabaret. But with the Eiffel Tower as your anchor, you’ll experience the city’s soul:
Iconic Energy: It’s the symbol of Paris you’ll recognise in movies, music, and literature.
Versatile Vibe: From bustling tourist hub to tranquil riverside retreat, it adapts to your dream.
Time Efficiency: Its centrality lets you explore adjacent neighbourhoods without exhausting yourself.
A 24-hour stopover is fleeting, but a day spent weaving through the Eiffel Tower’s orbit? That’s an hourglass filled with light, history, and memories.
Final Thought: Paris isn’t just seen—it’s felt. Choose the Eiffel Tower, and let it sweep you off your feet. After all, you’re not just visiting a city. You’re stepping into a masterpiece.
It was in the news, and seemed odd to me, that a word such as clip would have any significance beyond that of having a haircut, but apparently, it does.
Maybe they’re referring to the clip of ammunition for a gun?
But for us, a clip can be part of a haircut, letting the scissors loose.
And for those children who had a father who was a hard taskmaster, you would be familiar with a clip around the ears. It can just as easily be used, say when a car clips another car when the driver loses control.
There’s a horse that runs at a fast clip, and can be anything for that matter that moves quickly.
It can be a spring-loaded device that holds all your papers together. Or just about anything else for that matter.
You can clip an item from a newspaper, aptly known as a news clipping.
it can be a portion of a larger film or television programme, but to me, sometimes, when a series has a clip show, an episode where someone reminisces and we see clips from previous episodes.
And last but not least, clip the wings of those so-called high flyers at the office.
In the distance, he could hear the dinner bell ringing and roused himself. Feeling the dampness of the pillow and fearing the ravages of pent-up emotion, he considered not going down but thought it best not to upset Mrs Mac, especially after he said he would be dining.
In the event, he wished he had reneged, especially when he discovered he was not the only guest staying at the hotel.
Whilst he’d been reminiscing, another guest, a young lady, had arrived. He’d heard her and Mrs Mac coming up the stairs and then shown to a room on the same floor, perhaps at the other end of the passage.
Henry caught his first glimpse of her when she appeared at the door to the dining room, waiting for Mrs Mac to show her to a table.
She was in her mid-twenties, slim, with long brown hair, and the grace and elegance of a woman associated with countless fashion magazines. She was, he thought, stunningly beautiful with not a hair out of place, and make-up flawlessly applied. Her clothes were black, simple, elegant, and expensive, the sort an heiress or wife of a millionaire might condescend to wear to a lesser occasion than dinner.
Then there was her expression; cold, forbidding, almost frightening in its intensity. And her eyes, piercingly blue and yet laced with pain. Dracula’s daughter was his immediate description of her.
All in all, he considered, the only thing they had in common was, like him, she seemed totally out of place.
Mrs Mac came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She was, she informed him earlier, chef, waitress, hotelier, barmaid, and cleaner all rolled into one. Coming up to the new arrival, she said, “Ah, Miss Andrews, I’m glad you decided to have dinner. Would you like to sit with Mr Henshaw, or would you like to have a table of your own?”
Henry could feel her icy stare as she sized up his appeal as a dining companion, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He purposely didn’t look back. In his estimation, his appeal rating was minus six. Out of a thousand!
“If Mr Henshaw doesn’t mind….” She looked at him, leaving the query in mid-air.
He didn’t mind and said so. Perhaps he’d underestimated his rating.
“Good.” Mrs Mac promptly ushered her over. Henry stood, made sure she was seated properly and sat.
“Thank you. You are most kind.” The way she said it suggested snobbish overtones.
“I try to be when I can.” It was supposed to nullify her sarcastic tone, but it made him sound a little silly, and when she gave him another of her icy glares, he regretted it.
Mrs Mac quickly intervened, asking, “Would you care for the soup?”
They did, and, after writing the order on her pad, she gave them each a look, imperceptibly shook her head, and returned to the kitchen.
Before Michelle spoke to him again, she had another quick look at him, trying to fathom who and what he might be. There was something about him.
His eyes mirrored the same sadness she felt, and, yes, there was something else, that it looked like he had been crying. There was a tinge of redness.
Perhaps, she thought, he was here for the same reason she was.
No. That wasn’t possible.
Then she said, without thinking, “Do you have any particular reason for coming here?” Seconds later, she realised she’d spoken it out loud, hadn’t meant to actually ask, it just came out.
It took him by surprise, obviously not the first question he was expecting her to ask of him.
“No, other than it is as far from civilisation, and home as I could get.”
At least we agree on that, she thought.
It was obvious he was running away from something as well.
Given the isolation of the village and lack of geographic hospitality, it was, from her point of view, ideal. All she had to do was avoid him, and that wouldn’t be difficult.
After getting through this evening first.
“Yes,” she agreed. “It is that.”
A few seconds passed, and she thought she could feel his eyes on her and wasn’t going to look up.
Until he asked, “What’s your reason?”
Slightly abrupt in manner, perhaps, because of her question and how she asked it.
She looked up. “Rest. And have some time to myself.”
She hoped he would notice the emphasis she had placed on the word ‘herself’ and take due note. No doubt, she thought, she had completely different ideas of what constituted a holiday than he, not that she had said she was here for a holiday.
Mrs Mac arrived at a fortuitous moment to save them from further conversation.
Over the entree, she wondered if she had made a mistake coming to the hotel. Of course, there had been no conceivable way she could know that anyone else might have booked the same hotel, but she realised it was foolish to think she might end up in it by herself.
Was that what she was expecting?
Not a mistake then, but an unfortunate set of circumstances, which could be overcome by being sensible.
Yet, there he was, and it made her curious, not that he was a man, by himself, in the middle of nowhere, hiding like she was, but for quite varied reasons.
On discreet observation, whilst they ate, she gained the impression his air of light-heartedness was forced, and he had no sense of humour.
This feeling was engendered by his looks, unruly dark hair, and permanent frown. And then there was his abysmal taste in clothes on a tall, lanky frame. They were quality but totally unsuited to the wearer.
Rebellion was written all over him.
The only other thought crossing her mind, and incongruously, was that he could do with a decent feed. In that respect, she knew now from the mountain of food in front of her, he had come to the right place.
“Mr Henshaw?”
He looked up. “Henshaw is too formal. Henry sounds much better,” he said, with a slight hint of gruffness.
“Then my name is Michelle.”
Mrs Mac came in to take their order for the only main course, gather up the entree dishes, and then return to the kitchen.
“Staying long?” she asked.
“About three weeks. Yourself?”
“About the same.”
The conversation dried up.
Neither looked at the other, but rather at the walls, out the window, towards the kitchen, anywhere. It was, she thought, unbearably awkward.
Mrs Mac returned with a large tray with dishes on it, setting it down on the table next to theirs.
“Not as good as the usual cook,” she said, serving up the dinner expertly, “but it comes a good second, even if I do say so myself. Care for some wine?”
Henry looked at Michelle. “What do you think?”
“I’m used to my dining companions making the decision.”
You would, he thought. He couldn’t help but notice the cutting edge of her tone. Then, to Mrs Mac, he named a particular White Burgundy he liked, and she bustled off.
“I hope you like it,” he said, acknowledging her previous comment with a smile that had nothing to do with humour.
“Yes, so do I.”
Both made a start on the main course, a concoction of chicken and vegetables that were delicious, Henry thought when compared to the bland food he received at home and sometimes aboard my ship.
It was five minutes before Mrs Mac returned with the bottle and two glasses. After opening it and pouring the drinks, she left them alone again.
Henry resumed the conversation. “How did you arrive? I came by train.”
“By car.”
“Did you drive yourself?”
And he thought, a few seconds later, that was a silly question; otherwise, she would not be alone, and certainly not sitting at this table. With him.
“After a fashion.”
He could see that she was formulating a retort in her mind, then changed it, instead, smiling for the first time, and it served to lighten the atmosphere.
And in doing so, it showed him she had another, more pleasant side despite the fact she was trying not to look happy.
“My father reckons I’m just another of ‘those’ women drivers,” she added.
“Whatever for?”
“The first and only time he came with me, I had an accident. I ran up the back of another car. Of course, it didn’t matter to him that the other driver was driving like a startled rabbit.”
“It doesn’t help,” he agreed.
“Do you drive?”
“Mostly people up the wall.” His attempt at humour failed. “Actually,” he added quickly, “I’ve got a very old Morris that manages to get me where I’m going.”
The apple pie and cream for dessert came and went, and the rapport between them improved as the wine disappeared and the coffee came. Both had found, after getting to know each other better, that their first impressions were not necessarily correct.
“Enjoy the food?” Mrs Mac asked, suddenly reappearing.
“Beautifully cooked and delicious to eat,” Michelle said, and Henry endorsed her remarks.
“Ah, it does my heart good to hear such genuine compliments,” she said, smiling. She collected the last of the dishes and disappeared yet again.
“What do you do for a living?” Michelle asked in an offhand manner.
He had a feeling she was not particularly interested, and it was just making conversation.
“I’m a purser.”
“A what?”
“A purser. I work on a ship doing the paperwork, that sort of thing.”
“I see.”
“And you?”
“I was a model.”
“Was?”
“Until I had an accident, a rather bad one.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
So that explained the odd feeling he had about her.
As the evening wore on, he began to think there might be something wrong, seriously wrong with her because she didn’t look too well. Even the carefully applied makeup, from close, didn’t hide the very pale, tired look, or the sunken, dark-ringed eyes.
“I try not to think about it, but it doesn’t necessarily work. I’ve come here for peace and quiet, away from doctors and parents.”
“Then you will not have to worry about me annoying you. I’m one of those fall-asleep-reading-a-book types.”
Perhaps it would be like ships passing in the night, and then he smiled to himself about the analogy.
Dinner over, they separated.
Henry went back to the lounge to read a few pages of his book before going to bed, and Michelle went up to her room to retire for the night.
But try as he might, he was unable to read, his mind dwelling on the unusual, yet compellingly mysterious person he would be sharing the hotel with.
Overlaying that original blurred image of her standing in the doorway was another of her haunting expressions that had, he finally conceded, taken his breath away, and a look that had sent more than one tingle down his spine.
She may not have thought much of him, but she had certainly made an impression on him.
One Day in London: Making the Most of Your Stopover
Are you lucky enough to have a one-day stopover in the vibrant city of London? With so much to see and do, it can be overwhelming to decide how to spend your limited time. As a seasoned traveller and blogger, I’m here to share with you the one place to visit that will make your day in London truly unforgettable: The British Museum.
Located in the heart of the city, the British Museum is one of the world’s greatest museums, housing a vast collection of artifacts from ancient civilisations. With a history spanning over 250 years, this iconic institution has something for everyone, from history buffs to curious travellers.
Why The British Museum?
Unparalleled Collection: With over 8 million objects on display, the British Museum boasts an incredible collection of artifacts from around the globe, including the Rosetta Stone, the Elgin Marbles, and the mummies in the Ancient Egypt gallery.
Iconic Landmark: The museum’s stunning Greek Revival architecture is a work of art in itself, with its grand entrance, sweeping staircases, and beautiful courtyards.
Free Admission: The British Museum offers free admission to all its permanent collections, making it an accessible and budget-friendly option for travellers.
Central Location: The museum is conveniently located in Bloomsbury, within walking distance of several major tube stations, including Holborn, Russell Square, and Tottenham Court Road.
Must-See Exhibits
The Rosetta Stone: This ancient Egyptian artifact is one of the museum’s most famous objects, and for good reason. The stone’s intricate hieroglyphics and Greek inscriptions helped scholars decipher the secrets of ancient Egyptian language.
The Mummies: The British Museum’s Ancient Egypt gallery is home to an impressive collection of mummies, including the famous Gebelein Man, who is over 5,500 years old.
The Elgin Marbles: These stunning marble sculptures from the Parthenon in Athens are a highlight of the museum’s Greek collection.
Tips for Visiting The British Museum
Plan Your Visit: With so much to see, it’s essential to plan your visit in advance. Consider purchasing a guided tour or using the museum’s mobile app to navigate the collections.
Arrive Early: Beat the crowds by arriving early, and take advantage of the museum’s peaceful morning atmosphere.
Take a Break: The British Museum has several cafes and restaurants on site, offering a range of refreshments and meals. Take a break and recharge before continuing your exploration.
Conclusion
If you only have one day in London, make the most of it by visiting The British Museum. This world-class institution offers a unique and unforgettable experience, with its incredible collections, stunning architecture, and rich history. Whether you’re a history enthusiast, a curious traveller, or simply looking for a memorable experience, The British Museum is the perfect destination for your one-day stopover in London.
So, what are you waiting for? Book your ticket, grab your camera, and get ready to discover the wonders of The British Museum!
A single event driven by fate: after Ben told his wife, Charlotte, he would be home late one night, he left early and, by chance, discovered his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.
A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?
A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.
A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife and the people who are around her.
After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.
From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little, Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.
The Sweet Sound of Appreciation: Why the Indie Writer’s Toughest Battle is Visibility
“There’s nothing like an appreciative word from a satisfied reader.” — Peter Mayle
For anyone who has ever poured their heart, soul, and countless sleepless nights into writing a book, Peter Mayle’s words hit home with piercing accuracy.
There is a unique, almost magical high that comes from hearing someone say, “I couldn’t put your book down,” or “Your characters stayed with me for days after I finished.” That single review, email, or social media comment makes every deleted chapter, every plot hole, and every moment of self-doubt entirely worth it. It’s the fuel that keeps the indie engine running.
Yet, for independent authors, there is a massive, often exhausting caveat to this joy.
As Mayle so eloquently noted, the appreciation is the reward. But the hard part—the mountain that every indie writer must scale—is simply getting that book out into the world so someone can actually read it in the first place.
Let’s talk about the invisible half of the indie publishing journey: the battle for visibility.
The Myth of “If You Build It, They Will Come”
In the traditional publishing model, authors often hand off their manuscript and let massive marketing machines, established distribution networks, and bookstore shelf-space do the heavy lifting.
In the indie world, you are the marketing machine.
When you hit “Publish” on Amazon KDP, IngramSpark, or Draft2Digital, a wave of profound relief washes over you. You did it! The book is live. You share the link on Facebook, tweet about it on X (formerly Twitter), and wait for the deluge of sales.
And then… crickets.
This is the harsh reality check every self-published author faces. The internet is a vast, deafeningly loud ocean, and a newly published indie book is a single drop of water. Without a traditional publishing house’s budget or pre-existing retail partnerships, the book won’t sell itself.
Suddenly, the writer has to pivot from being a creative artist to wearing a dozen unfamiliar hats:
The Social Media Manager: Building a brand, posting aesthetic reels, and engaging with a community.
The Media Buyer: Figuring out the labyrinthine worlds of Amazon Ads and Facebook Ads without burning a hole in their wallet.
The Publicist: Pitching book bloggers, podcast hosts, and reviewers who are already drowning in requests.
The Data Analyst: Staring at click-through rates, conversion percentages, and ranking algorithms trying to decode why book sales are fluctuating.
It’s an immense amount of unpaid, non-creative labour that happens after the manuscript is finished.
Why Discoverability is the Ultimate Indie Hurdle
Getting a book “out there” isn’t just about uploading a file to a retailer; it’s about discoverability.
The Sea of Competition: Thousands of books are published every single day. Standing out requires an eye-catching cover, a compelling blurb, professional formatting, and zero grammatical errors. Even with all that, you still have to catch a reader’s eye.
The Review Catch-22: Readers love reviews. They validate a book’s quality before buying. But to get reviews, people have to buy and read the book. Breaking this loop is one of the toughest challenges for a debut or mid-list indie author.
Algorithm Anxiety: Amazon’s algorithm is the gatekeeper most indie authors obsess over. Understanding how to trigger “Also Boughts” and rank well in specific niche categories requires a mix of strategy, timing, and sheer luck.
The Joy Makes the Struggle Worthwhile
With all of these hurdles—the marketing costs, the algorithmic mysteries, the relentless hustle—why do indie authors keep doing it?
Because of what Peter Mayle talked about.
It’s the email from a stranger on the other side of the planet saying your story helped them through a tough week. It’s seeing a five-star review from a reader who “gets” the deeper themes you worked so hard to weave into the narrative.
Indie publishing is hard, gruelling work. It requires thick skin, business acumen, and an unshakeable belief in your own work. But when you finally bridge the gap between your hard drive and a reader’s nightstand, and that appreciative word finally comes in?
There truly is nothing like it.
Are you an indie writer currently fighting the visibility battle? What has been your biggest struggle (and your greatest triumph) in getting your book out into the world? Let’s chat in the comments below!
What starts as a search for a missing husband soon develops into an unbelievable story of treachery, lies, and incredible riches.
…
It was meant to remain buried long enough for the dust to settle on what was once an unpalatable truth, when enough time had passed, and those who had been willing to wait could reap the rewards.
The problem was, no one knew where that treasure was hidden or the location of the logbook that held the secret.
At stake, billions of dollars’ worth of stolen Nazi loot brought to the United States in an anonymous tramp steamer and hidden in a specially constructed vault under a specifically owned plot of land on the once docklands of New York.
It may have remained hidden and unknown to only a few, if it had not been for a mere obscure detail being overheard …
… by our intrepid, newly minted private detective, Harry Walthenson …
… and it would have remained buried.
Now, through a series of unrelated events, or are they, that well-kept secret is out there, and Harry will not stop until the whole truth is uncovered.
I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.
The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Chasing leads, maybe
…
It was rather an anti-climax to see the cat, Herman, come slinking out of the bedroom, down the passage, and then stop just at the edge of the room to look at the visitors.
He must have been hiding in her room all this time, and when he’d heard the door close, he thought it was safe to come out.
Jan saw him and held out her hand, “Come on, Herman, you’re safe now.”
He didn’t seem to agree and sat down just back of that invisible line in the sand that he wasn’t, yet going to step over.
But he did meow a few times, just to let us know he wasn’t pleased.
“Now that you’ve seen the cat, what were you thinking might be of significance?”
“I don’t know. The fact he considered the cat his might have been significant in some way.”
Herman was back on his paws and taking tentative steps towards Jan. Each time he stopped, he looked sideways at me, waiting. Perhaps he thought I might attack him. It would be the other way around.
“Doesn’t trust me, does he?”
He took a step back at the sound of my voice.
“Don’t listen to him Herman, you’re safe here with me.”
He looked at her, the same expression on his face he gave me. Talk about the original poker face. I doubt anyone could guess what he was thinking.
A few more steps, then about a yard away he stopped again and sat. He then spent the next few minutes looking at me. Was this a test to see who blinked first? I knew who would win that contest. Not me.
Jan moved slightly and he jumped, and moved back several steps, looking warily at us both now.
“We’re not going to win him over, are we?”
“Maybe, maybe not. There are a bowl and some food in the other room. Put some in the bowl and bring it to me.”
Ah, the way to a cat’s heart is through his stomach. I think the only thing relevant to that statement was that he was male. I did as she asked, handed her the bowl, and resumed my position, far enough away for him not to consider me a threat.
He watched me leave the room and return again, and I think he recognized the bowl, and that we were about to trick him into submission.
She put the bowl down next to her and patted the floor.
“It’s your favourite, Herman.”
Yes, head movements, and was he sniffing to see if he could recognize what was in the bowl? Maybe he was hungry after being hidden away. Would starvation overcome a fear of strangers?
A minute later we had the answer. He was hungry and tentatively came over before smelling what was in the bowl before starting to eat.
Jan patted him.
“Works every time,” she said.
Both of us realized at the same time that Herman had a collar, slightly lost in the fur. And she had the same idea as I did, that the collar might be significant.
She removed it as gently as she could without startling him, and then looked at it, around the outside, and then on the inside, and a sudden change of expression told me she found something.
“VS P4 L324. What do you think that means?” she asked?
“Whatever it is, it’s a reminder that’s significant to O’Connell, or it is a message to someone if anything happened to him. I expect that might mean it was a message to you. You shared the cat so, clearly, he thought at some point in time you would look.”
“If he was expecting me to decipher it, then he must have seen something in me that I can’t.”
“You would work it out in time. The point is if he hid that in plain sight, believing that if anyone came, they would take no notice of the car, then what else might he have hidden. Does the cat have a bed?
“Not at his place, he used to sleep at the end of his bed. But I put out an old blanket.”
How did she know the cat slept on the end of O’Connell’s bed? I wasn’t going to ask, but if they were more than just friends, perhaps he had confided some details of what he was doing.
“In your room?”
“In the spare room where you found the food.”
I went back to the room found the blanked tossed in a corner, put there by the person who searched her flat no doubt, because I couldn’t see the cat doing it, not unless he was extremely bad-tempered and had super cat powers to move objects multiple times heavier than he was.
I picked it up and immediately had cat hair on my clothes. Good thing then I wasn’t allergic to cats.
Then, I had a feeling someone was watching me. I was right, Herman had come back to see what I was doing.
“Just straightening it out for you,” I said.
The death stare didn’t change. He just stood there looking at me. Or was he looking through me at something else, like a ghost? It was slightly unnerving.
I felt around the edges and suddenly, in the middle of one side, where the manufacturer’s label was, it felt like something was under it. On closer examination, I could see the stitching had been removed for several inches in length and then crudely sewn it back together. Inside what would be a pouch, I could feel something under the material, and with a little more twisting, I thought it might be a tag.
I’d seen a pair of scissors in the kitchen and came back to get them. Jan was busy trying to position the wet part of the towel over her head. After I’d finished with the blanket, I would fetch her some Panadol.
I gently cut the crude stitches and then wriggled the item out. It was a card with a number on it, 324. That was all that was printed on the card. Not what it was, who it belonged to, or what it represented. I went back into the room where the cat was now sitting on her leg.
“There was a card sewn into the blanket. It has the number 324 on it. That would make it…”
“… a check for a post box, or safety deposit box, or a storage locker.”
Not exactly what I was going to say, but close enough.
Then she said, “It’s the same number on the collar. L324. Locker 324. Somewhere defined by VS and P4.”
“Do you have a computer?”
“Not here. Do you?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll go into the office and use one of theirs. I assume you can do the same?”
I could, but I wasn’t quite sure what or who would be waiting for me,, now that I knew I couldn’t trust Nobbin.
“To be honest, I don’t think it’s safe for me. It’s probably better if I don’t, not until I can find out who is who.”
Either of the two, Nobbin or Severin could be on the wrong side, maybe even both of them. I was surprised that Severin didn’t drag me off when he came for Maury. Perhaps I was still useful to him in the field as a second string to finding the USB.
I helped her to stand.
“No time like the present. I’ll let you know what I find if anything. Are you going to stay here?” she asked.
“No. Severin knows about this place and might come back. We’re done here. I’ll make sure the cat gets out. I don’t think you should come back here unless you have to.”
