#self publish

Amazon notified me a while back that prices for paperback would be going up.

"So is everything else" I thought. "Not a big deal"

I also double-checked that I was still within the minimum listing price for Amazon. Yup! All good! (Trying not to charge my readers an arm and a leg for my books)

Well, I went to check today (admittedly, it's been a while since I've had a sale, but I saw that someone bought my full trilogy and I was excited!!)

Guess who went from making $3.50 a book to making only 6 cents?

Don't believe me? Have a look:

(Also please tell me why it costs $5 to print, I'm charging $10 a book, and I'm still somehow only getting 6 cents? Why is Amazon taking so damn much?)

I thought they would increase the cost of printing and adjust the overall cost on their end so I still made 30-50% royalties

NOPE.

So, in case you're dumb like me (and trusted Amazon), please go check your listings!

Word of mouth > blind search

Queer content may be hidden or shadowbanned, it also might just be overwhelmed by more popular authors and algorithmically popular works. Specificity is your friend but searching for specifics on [website that sells books] is less likely than finding specifics on [book rating site] or [social media]

IT'S NOLAN'S BIRTHDAY!

Which means from now until the 22nd, Dr. Malice is FREE!

Looking for a fun and spooky read for Halloween?

Celebrate with Dr. Malice, a fully indie published book for teens and up! If you enjoy 80s retro mysteries all about arcades and the ghosts that haunt them, give it a read!

Dr. Malice will be free from now until the 22nd! Check it out and support an independent author!

I’ve just finished my third manuscript and I’m searching for thoughtful beta readers. It’s a slow-burn, character focused story about confronting the past and living with the choices we make.

My dad, my real dad, puts a hand underneath my left knee. He lifts and spreads my legs apart. I clench my eyes shut. Cool metal touches my hole. It presses forward, not with force, but with enough pressure that it only takes a moment for the muscles to give way and let the intruder in. With a hiss, my eyes fly open. It doesn’t hurt, but the feeling is always a surprise. The metal goes in deeper than I’m used to.

The vibrations start. A heavy moan deflates my lungs. The bullet presses against some new thing. My ass clenches. I can feel it in my balls or my bladder. I don’t know which one. It doesn’t matter. It feels weird and wonderful and scary. Is that the prostate?

Claude smiles. “Found it,” he says. He pulls his finger out. Oh! It wasn’t the wire that was so thick inside me; it was his finger. His finger? Before I can say something, he pushes it back in. It burns and stretches my insides. My back arches a little. A whimper spills from me. “You okay?” he asks, sliding his finger back out a little.

There’s no telling which is better, his finger or the vibrator. I don’t know why my cock is still soft. Is this that whiskey dick thing? I’ve never had that before. Or maybe it’s because my dad is fingering me. Maybe my cock knows not to respond to that.

The finger leaves. “Water?” Claude asks as he stands.

My hands lash out before I can think. I grab him by the wrist.

DEAR, by Michela Marianecci, is a collection of letters written to everything that never wrote back:

To the body, the mind, the soul, to God and grief and the father who left too soon.