Numbers Lie
An unbalanced division of effort and effect
Hey! Are you okay?
In the rush to get through the day, a meeting, another call, or just a trip to the store, the first person we forget is ourselves.
Any misstep in the schedule of events has the shadows of doubt quickly creep in. With even less than a single ounce of compassion, that leads to a harsh flavor of guilt.
Self-awareness of the selfish desire to be okay.
A desperate need for balanced books when it comes to personal well-being and external responsibilities.
So, the motions keep us going.
A routine to turn the wheel.
Another date marked on the calendar.
But at least I love when it rains.
Worse still, the quality of experience never matters. All it takes is a clean spreadsheet to quantify the minutiae. Every desire and wishful gaze needs to file the proper paperwork.
Void and null when there’s a miscalculation, the burden of proof is on you. The steep price of admission needed to continue to exist involves opaque fees and backroom transactions.
Then when all is said and done, the final decision depends on the mood of the clerk on that particular day.
The fear of an incomplete dossier is stronger than the will to live.
Middling Miser
I want to share some of my own numbers.
Not the existential emotions about how I feel, but the cold hard facts related to Nightly Noise and my books.
This is my traffic for this substack over the last 90 days and some useful information to contextualize everything.
I publish once a week every Monday (Sidereal Times Issue One being an exception)
The highest single day peak is 72 total views on July 15 (Getting Well)
The lowest single day trough is 0 total views on July 19 (Getting Well)
I have 83 total subscribers, 6 of which are paid
The average open ratio for my emails is about 40%
I’ve gained 5 and lost 2 free subscribers over this time period
Now, how does this translate into book sales?
Green is Lux Aeterna with a “spike” when it was released on July 25/26
Red is Rhean
Yellow is Revification (which also had 31 pages read on Kindle Unlimited)
The numbers don’t paint a very promising career for me as an author.
I also have been active in promotion across social media for my books as well, but it’s very obvious that has had little to no impact on sales or reads.
I shared some thoughts on that in a quick video if you have a minute to spare.
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What I would add to that now is that there has also been no activity about or around my books, my writing, or me as an author from anyone other than myself.
I believe that would go a long way in not only helping others find me, but in legitimizing my work.
It’s one thing for me to say what I’ve done.
It’s another for a third party to confirm it.
Hopeless, Timeless
There once was a troll who lived under a bridge. Not just any bridge, mind you, this was a bridge that went between the Town of Yesterday and the City of Tomorrow.
His name was Tom and he was covered in green fur. His eyes were red and above his brows stood two stubby yellow horns. His clothes were torn. All he could wear was the trash thrown off the side, the scraps of old shirts and lost pant legs that he would then sew together.
Tom was content with that simple life, but the people who passed that little spot under the bridge were always afraid of Tom and his mismatched outfits.
“Why are you living down there, Troll?” A young boy with soft brown hair and big brown eyes approached Tom. He wore a big coat to help protect his skin against the autumn winds, and his curiosity overpowered any fear that kept his friends far behind the fence on the bridge. “Aren’t you scared and cold?”
Tom smiled at the boy and shook his head calmly. This was a rare day indeed for the troll under the bridge. “I am not cold for I have plenty of clothes. And I am not scared, for I have nothing to fear.”
“I heard you were human before you started living here.” The boy slowly inched closer to Tom’s home covered in grass, moss, and an overabundance of trash trickling down from the bridge.
“I seem to remember something like that as well.” Tom laughed and shook the air with that jubilant force. “But I’ve since stepped out of time. I’m happy to be here and not worry about all the silly little questions you humans all seem so preoccupied in answering.”
“My name is Tommy!” The boy suddenly blurted as he stepped into the edge of the shadow cast by the big bridge. “Nice to meet you… I don’t think your name is Troll?”
“No, it’s not!” Tom laughed again into the cold air, shaking the bridge and causing something of a commotion for the commuters going to and from their office and work.
“Well, what’s your name?” Tommy asked with another step into the moss and mold.
“My name is Tom. So, I suppose you’re something like my little brother.” Tom laughed again and grinned, bearing his sharp teeth and frightening little Tommy.
“You sure do look scary, Tom.” Tommy braved his fears and opened his eyes to get a better look at his big brother. “But I guess you do look happy.”
“I am neither happy nor sad, Tommy. I just am and it seems humans hate me for that.” Tom and his chorus of laughter caught the attention of one of the residents from the City of Tomorrow.
An older man in a brown suit and tie with no hair on his head got out of his car and walked down that worn path to find little Tommy talking to Tom the Troll.
“Hey! Don’t get so close, kid!” The man ripped Tommy from under the shadows and brought him back onto the more familiar path leading back up to the bridge. “It’s dangerous here, especially with that thing always torturing us.”
Tom couldn’t help but laugh again. The older man covered his ears and closed his eyes in fright. Tommy, on the other hand, simply smiled and joined in the echoes bouncing off the bottom of the big bridge.
“Look Mister, Tom isn’t scary! He doesn’t want to hurt us!” Tommy pointed at Tom and then asked the old man a rather simple, but difficult-to-answer question. “What’s your name, Mister?”
“What? Why would you ask me that?” The old man rubbed his bald head in frustration. He wanted to get back to work and was cursing himself for caring at all about what was happening under the old bridge.
“Thomas? Is that you?” Tom looked at the older man, moving his eyes over the familiar face. The curiosity Tom remembered in a younger Thomas’ eyes had dimmed into a faint light. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.”
“How do you know my name?” Thomas and his confusion drew him closer to the troll. His brown shoes were quickly stained by the green moss, but he didn’t care in that moment. He had stepped out of time. “Why would the troll under the bridge have anything to do with me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Tom laughed again and Tommy joined in the fun, adding his high-pitched giggles to the song drifting across the water. “Or have you forgotten who you are?”
For a fraction of an instant, Thomas remembered the boy who once wandered with his friends. He saw the bright light of curiosity in his younger eyes. He could feel the warmth of hope in his chest and the powerful force of love in his lungs.
“I won’t play your games, troll!” Flustered, Thomas shook his head and turned around.
“Do you remember me?” Tom the Troll stood up and his horns scraped against the bottom of the bridge. “Thomas?”
The older man’s hands began shaking. He could feel something familiar in the fear cast by the shadow of the troll. Somewhere deep inside his soul, he still held tightly to the memory of his lost dreams. Those long years after his inner child died, but he still refused to move on.
“We need to leave here, Tommy.” Thomas steadied his hand and dragged Tommy back up to the top of the big bridge.
“Mister Thomas! Stop! I want to play with Tom!” Tommy struggled against the force of the older Thomas, but he was just a child. Too young to fight back. And when he found his feet, they were both back on the bridge and Tom the Troll was hiding again.
“Stay out of trouble, kid. I wouldn’t want to have to explain to your mother what happened to you.” Thomas let out a loud sigh and drove off in his car toward the City of Tomorrow.
Tommy was quickly engrossed in a retelling of what happened to all his friends. “And then I stepped into the moss and Tom was laughing!” They were soon walking back to the Town of Yesterday, smiling and sharing their own rumors of the rumbles.
Tom the Troll cried until the bridge was flooded after the visit from Tommy and Thomas. For the first time in a long while, he remembered who he once was and who he would one day be.
What did he know that his brothers forgot?
The End
Without a miracle, I’m afraid I will likely need to stop these weekly newsletters and my foolish attempts at becoming a legitimate author.
My audience is smaller than small and by no means a means to an end. The passion I put on the page has led to emotional, financial, and personal instability that can no longer be ignored.
I wish my predictions would not come true, but the numbers don’t lie.
Perhaps I’ll find a balance, likely morphing Nightly Noise into less and less exposition around my goals and nothing more than the short stories.
That is a reasonable path, but one that still does not lead to a profitable, fruitful, and worthwhile career.
I have no answer, but I at least am aware that the void into which I’m screaming does not pay for food and rent.
That’s a dramatic exit, because I’m currently living a drama.
Even with the weight of these burdens, I’m still searching for stories.
We’ll see where it goes in the weeks to months to come.
Until next time.
—JMB