Results of Amazon KDP Free Promo Days- A Case Study for Letters Never Meant to be Read

 

These are the results of a previous post where I outlined a multi-faceted marketing plan in order to jump start my Amazon KDP Select Free Promo Days- A Case Study for Letters Never Meant to be Read. 

My plan was based on the guidance and know-how of  Dave Chesson at kindlepreneur.com and listening to and exploring the world of Derek Murphy  on his YouTube channel and his website Creativindie.

If you missed my setup for this promo, please review the Case Study so the results make sense. There were several small tasks that I did to get ready for the marketing plan to make my page better, etc.

It’s always good to review the goals in order to gauge results:

KDP Select free days for Letters Never Meant to be Read were 4/21-4/25.

Goals: Garner more Reviews and Interest in the Project (Fans and Writers).

 

In the marketing plan, I spent 

Total KDP Free days Promoters: $165.99

Pre-KDP Free days FB ad: $80

Budgeted for FB and Amazon During and Post (5 days after) KDP free days: $200

Total for this promotion: $445.99 + Ongoing $75 Twitter campaign from yourbookpromoter which adjusted tweets for the KDP free days= $520.99

 

Starting Point. Here is the data on the Amazon rankings as of April 20, 2017, one day before the promo:

Author Rank: 157,720 (obscurity).

Letters Kindle Version: 389,652 (not even the top pages of my categories).

Letters Print Version: 188,476 (just OK)

 

Some Results:

Below are the results of the free books downloaded which equal 3,839 free downloads, 2.9K on the first day.

Campaign Results during

 

Interestingly, my Kindle Unlimited numbers weren’t too shabby either during this period with 821 KENP total:

 

KENP During

 

0 Paperbacks sold During this period.

 

Is this good? I don’t know what I would compare it with since Letters Never Meant to be Read is such a unique book.

What I do know is that nearly 4K readers decided to add it to their collection and this can’t be bad. Some of them may end up reading it on the beach this summer and review later, who knows? Thank you if you took a chance on us!

I also got #1 in my fav 2 categories which work best for this book:

 

More results: Now let’s see just what happened after. I can say that I made it as high as #32 in free in all of Amazon at one point.

 

Amazon Kindle Rank overall

 

We have been hovering between 25K-50K overall and never falling off the first page in my main category. Paperback sales have not been altered at all so I am not going to show the graph because it is sad.

 

Here is the after results for Kindle Units Sold since the promo. Nothing to write home about and I CERTAINLY will not get see any return on investment at this point:

 

After purchased units

 

Here is KENP after the promo:

KENP After

 

New Reviews Since Promo: 2 (Hopefully this will go up as people read what is on their virtual shelves).

Letters Received from New Writers for the Next Volume: 1 (The Best Number).

Author Rank Now: 34,290 (not as obscure).

Letters Kindle Version Rank: 54, 807 (WAS 24,227 yesterday).

Letters Print Version Now: 1,339,909 (insert sad-faced emoji here).

 

Well, Now What?

I would first like to thank everyone who paid attention to this case study and I’d love to hear about your results with your own projects as well.

I would also like to thank all of OUR new readers who are scoping this out right now at LaGuardia Airport or sitting by the pool on a cruise somewhere. The thought of them keeps me going.

Was it worth it? Sure, I suppose. I spent a lot of time and $500, but it’s always worth a shot. This is also part of a larger plan and experimentation. If I run this with the new Worked Stiff Book, I am bound to get wildly different results.

I also was not looking for a one shot wonder or anything. I wanted more reviews and more letters coming in. Those numbers are just not there yet but I know that it will take time.

My confidence in the Letters Project as a whole has not wavered.

I am disappointed that Worked Stiff: Short Stories to Tell Your Boss was delayed and I didn’t get it out during this promo which may have helped its initial sales.

I am running test Amazon ads right now which I will take a look at in another post.

Soon, I am going to go into a LESS MARKETING mode, just write, and get the next volume ready, the best marketing there is.

I am happy with the results in that  a decent number of people downloaded the book. I just hope 10% of them read it and review on the beach later this summer. That will give me a lot more juice when I run Facebook ads later.

Next time, I will break up my promo days into 3, then 2, something that Dave suggested.

Perhaps Dave and Derek can shed some light on these numbers so I can stop scratching my head like a weird dragon.

If I missed something here, please let me know.

If anyone else has any help, comments, or guidance, I am all ears and strawberry licorice.

 

forward-graphic-sig

 

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Amazon KDP Select Free Promo Days- A Case Study for Letters Never Meant to be Read

 

 

 

My last book Letters Never Meant to be Read has had me in a fever.

Yes, book marketing can take over your life, if you care to let it, and this has been quite the puzzle. My Kindle Free Promo Days start tomorrow 4/21. What to do?

I listed all of the tasks I have done leading up to the free promo. Will it work?

I don’t just want to sell copies of the Letters book, I also want Letters to come in for the next edition. Basically, I want it to be a thing. Also, because I believe in the project, I want it to be a thing sooner than later. When people read the book, they generally like it, which only adds fuel to my crazed fire.

I realized that I was throwing money away at Facebook and Amazon ads after listening to and exploring the world of Derek Murphy  on his YouTube channel and his website Creativindie.

I reviewed his work Book Marketing is Dead: Book Promotion Secrets You MUST Know BEFORE You Publish Your Book on the last post and have implemented some of his tactics with regards to the Amazon page for the Letters Book.

I hired two people on Fiverr to help with the sales copy. The first was good, the second was better, almostfreemoney. She gave me new keywords with analytics, categories, and better description copy.

Part of the new description copy included a spot for a quote from the book. This put me in a panic because I couldn’t decide. I knocked a few around, but ultimately settled on a few simple phrases that better describe what it is because the work is unconventional. I am still not happy with the description, but apparently it includes the necessary keywords for the robots. I hope.

The cover? People love the cover so I think I am good there. I like it too, but that doesn’t matter. I have received many compliments from NOT JUST FRIENDS and FAMILY, so all is well, right? I hope so.

Before, when I ran Facebook ads, I’d get a 2.5% click rate and about a 10% sales rate from there. Well, when you get 1346 Button Clicks out of 57,000 impressions, you should get some sales, right? I am no math wizard. Is that good? Am I a moron? Yes, probably in this realm.

Hell no, that is not good and it leaves me squeamish when I look at my sales rankings, the Commander of My Life right now. Here is a great article on those monsters.

The idea is that if you get your sales ranking up and people like and review your book, the ever-knowing Amazon robot will nod in your favor and start pitching your book for you. Plus, it helps to be at the top of your categories. My categories are easier that most, being a niche book, but I have clenched my teeth when I get into the top 20, only to be faded away. It is like a slow death, really.

Which leads me to reviews. These are really important as well, and I have a 10% review rate on queries sent out to reviewers. Not good either and very time consuming. I need at least ten reviews, which shouldn’t be hard, right? Wrong.

Again, following the direction of Derek, I devised a plan:

KDP Select free days for Letters Never Meant to be Read are 4/21-4/25.

Goals: Garner more Reviews and Interest in the Project (Fans and Writers).

One week prior: I ran FB ads with new copy and fiddled with the description and categories (some more). I found a blog post that discussed having Createspace keywords different from Kindle keywords. Duh? Why didn’t I do this before? I did this.

My Amazon affiliate links are all good too btw.

The FB ad at $20/day for four days generated again a 2.5% click rate with only two sales. What? I did better before I tinkered, so what then? I don’t know, moving on.

Luckily I stumbled onto kindlepreneur.com from a Google search and found a quote from Derek Murphy on his site so I knew I was in friendly territory.

I found Dave Chesson. He was in the military, like me, and I have gone back to his site like 20 times since. I used his Amazing List of Kindle Free Days Promoters , even downloaded the preferred list went to work with the form fill.

I used the following Kindle Promotion Sites:

Freebooksy.com    $40

Pretty-Hot.com  $25

eBookasuarus.com $10

bknights on Fiverr  $6

Book Bongo $29.99

Robin Reads $55

*I did a few other easy and free ones, but these are the bulk and the ones I paid for. There are some that are difficult to navigate.

Total KDP Free days Promoters: $165.99

Pre-KDP Free days FB ad: $80

Budgeted for FB and Amazon During and Post (5 days after) KDP free days: $200

Total for this promotion: $445.99 + Ongoing $75 Twitter campaign from yourbookpromoter which will adjust tweets for the KDP free days.

Will I win? Am I wasting my money? Will I get more reviews?

Stay tuned.

Time will tell. I will write another post as a result to this campaign. I at least wanted to “do some things right” and give this project a fair shake. If people truly hate it, I will continue with Volume II and press on.

This Letters project is unique because the candle burns at both ends. I want nothing more for readers to enjoy the letters, the first examples, but also Send In Their Own for future publication. Because I and my alter ego who runs Rusty Wheels Media, LLC. believe in profit sharing, it’s a Win, Win for everybody.

Incidentally, my KDP Free Days coincide with World Book Day on April, 23rd. Will that put me in good running? Who knows.

I also wanted to coincide the release of my KDP free promo days with the Kindle release of Worked Stiff: Short Stories to Tell Your Boss. A great plan, right?

Except I am having trouble with the cover design being late from Fiverr (you get what you pay for).

This is not my first business and I have had minor success. This is certainly the most challenging and the most rewarding. I love writing and reading books but I have to tackle book marketing.

If anyone who may be reading sees any flaws in my little endeavor to spend money and make something out of nothing, please comment below. Also, if you notice anything that I could adjust with my overall marketing of my books and myself, please, feel free to comment. I could certainly use the help and insight from any veterans of book marketing out there.

I am smart, but only kind of smart when it comes to this game. At times, I feel I am stumbling around, alone in the dark. Other times, I feel like I am drinking from a water hose.

Of course, all of this takes away precious time from what I really love, Reading and Writing. Still, it is a game, and I like to win. I will play this one until I do.

Thanks for your input!

-The Apprentice

 

 

She Handles the Propane

 

With so many years before us yet so little time, she grabs me, commands my attention. With her words and her eyes, she makes me stand still.

“I had a weird dream last night,” she’ll say with as much expectation for a response as I waiting for the dream. Pausing for dramatic acknowledgement, and allowing her thoughts to catch up, she fills in the gaps, her account gushes with stunning imagery. The resulting tale is always hard to distinguish between the real and the manufactured. Still, I remain enthralled by the outcome, the clairvoyance, the show.

She will cook, without meanness, without the sense of repayable duty, no malice, no hardship. Exotic smells will waft from the back door, before I even open, before I’ve had a chance to turn the key and announce. I can feel a sense of home with the new smell, the calming vibration of a home cooked meal between my teeth, warming my belly. I’ve never smelled this before or knew that I was hungry for whatever it could be. My brow sweats in reaction to something foreign and unbland, a staple in her parents’ homeland. I can feel her eyes burn my right cheek, seeing how fast I gobble, observing whether I go for seconds or no. Ever eager to please, she will offer them to me but not serve them herself, and I will want.

She could chop wood as good as any man, get the job done, and talk about how fun it was. Gnats would sip on her tiny sweat and she’d be onto the next task. With her company, I could survive the zombie apocalypse, no problem. She could kill a man without remorse, providing he had it coming.

The ability to bear any burden without such laziness or complaint at the most minor inconvenience is instinctual, cultural. Her mother’s people toiled in the fields for generations as a matter of survival, not knowing of a failed existence by modern, woeful standards.

She could find a job faster than any woman I’ve known, then obtain a second. She possesses the ability to work until her bones ache before settling into the most minor of comforts.

Her muscles are hard and smooth, capable of expected labor, set upon like thick rubber bands on that fragile and pretty frame. You wouldn’t think it to look at her, but she could bulldoze an apartment. Feminine virtues are not forgotten though. They are not thrown away by excuses of long days and petty misunderstandings between the sexes. She’ll dress up all right, using time to her advantage, taking on a shimmer and glow only rivaled by the contrasting vision of her natural beauty.

Oh how common we all look compared to that mysterious figure. People are so confused. “Where does she come from?” they ask. Even when told, they haven’t got a clue. Never has such a hybrid of the Orient joined forces with the American Pacific sunset. Her figure and attitude creates a perfect design, a mixture of old and new attitudes of feminism.

You think she has no power because she doesn’t shout the word? Because she doesn’t carry signs or demand against the laws of nature? Oh she does have great power. Ready to use and in reserve.

There is no replica. People know when they see her by my side that I have somehow managed to find a first edition. Yes, a traditional, sleek, steel design in a woman that causes the rest to only gawk in awe with a jolt of satisfaction of uncovering only a small part of the mystery.

If I went to a land with more of her, the land of her father perhaps, I would not know what to do. I would be overwhelmed by the sheer beauty amongst simple hardship. In the land of a thousand hers, I would attempt to multiply myself so I could fall madly for each of them as individuals. In the process, I would become unbound.

She understands and does not shun the demands of a husband, that wolf within the coarser sex. Instead, she discusses and throws jokes upon them openly, simplifies their meaning, makes them her own. I have no choice but to reciprocate. There is no blame for the sinister, no mocking of the frustrated anger to be released, no ignoring the perversion within us all.

Household chores are not so difficult or serious. She knows when an item has been moved, she counts with her eyes, forms patterns which I have disturbed. She could toil in a field, just as all of our ancestors, and eat upon the fine fruits with such great joy and satisfaction. Apply this principle to our motors, our flashy screens, our robots, the outcome of success is the same. Hard work in, happiness out. She knows this.

When we are on an adventure, back to where we belong, we set camp and enjoy where work is abound. She does more than her share, this comes natural without expectation other than smile and attention later. I roll through my mind in horror and loathing at all the tasks that need to be done, only to find but a few made just for me.

She handles the propane. What a wonder. I could ask for water but before the words are able to leave my parched lips, she has known from my yearning eyes. She has already trekked the miles through impenetrable forest, machete in hand, snakes waylaid, and dangers thwarted. These actions are to prove and to please, not only me, but us. She does for herself as much as for me.

She could set up the tent by herself if needed. Instead, I am her worker. She points, knows what to do. I have worn the uniform, I should know these things. I do, but I also know the chain of command.

I begin to tend the wood fire out of tradition or entertainment, but she handles the propane. She knows where to buy it and how to screw it on the stove. She is in charge of the modern version of that fiery bliss, and I haven’t got a clue.

She cooks, I learn, we both fish. She catches fish and I cheer. I worry while she has already done. I am expected to hunt, gather wood, and tend to the fire, feast and rest. I can do more, would have to if on and adventure with someone else, someone with a more “modern feminist sense”. Most of the time, she wouldn’t have it, she could do these tasks better than me anyway, with more satisfaction knowing it was done right.

She grooms me, takes away the blemishes of any day, warms my soul but she does not do my laundry. She would if I asked her. Knowing she has all the power, she still yields to my will, allows her man to stand out front. Power is unbecoming for those who demand its need. True power is already commanded, it is projected upon another to implement. She knows this too.

She takes children under her tutelage, shows them how to arrange and care for the ever growing garden. These small ladies are not hers, but they are ours. Still, she listens to them, she talks to them, caresses them, and plays with them as if they came from her own body. Ever selfless, she absorbs their pain, makes them smile.

She tells me what to do after I’ve thought about doing, but before I have taken action. This causes both known frustration and a humble smirk. I could give her two guesses, she only needs one.

We could go to Bangkok and stare at the pretty girls. We could go to St. Petersburg and marvel at the history, holding hands in our fur coats. We could sleep on a train and dine from a food cart in Madrid. She would shimmy up a tree, then cut stolen fruit in the Bahamas, her skin turning ever darker while mine screamed for another layer. Her exploration in New York would not contain panic. She would wander around at first, feeling joy and bliss at the simplest of nuance or observation. She would be an expert without a map in four days.

She will be there when I am old and look at me as if I am young. She won’t perceive what I was, rather, she will giggle at the boy trapped in the old man. She will comment on the smallest of gestures, poke fun at the strange habits, and appreciate my youthful preoccupations.

She handles the propane. What a wonder.

 

 

“Dear Reader” -Send Your Letters

Have our paths crossed before this? I have loved, been in love, and certainly mistaken love for lust, or perhaps vice versa. Were we friend or were we foe? Real or imagined? Regardless, I have changed your life and you mine. Therefore, we write. I dare you…

-Marc D. Crepeaux

 

Dear Reader,

The first volume of Letters Never Meant to be Read will be out soon and I thought I would give a shout to those daring enough to send your letters for the second volume.

Have you ever wanted to write a letter to that guy or gal you brushed up against on the train? How about that lost love or the friend that did you wrong?  The family member who never really saw you? The teacher or boss who declined to see your worth? What about the person you wished you had thanked?  These are letters that the writers had no intention of ever mailing, snail or otherwise. This collection of salty rants and unspoken melodies has been curated for the entire world to marvel upon. What was an exercise of the utmost fruition has turned into something very real and offers a hard glimpse into the perspective and time of the letter writer.   Writing your letter can be cathartic and freeing.

This will be, with great hope, a continued collection of signed or anonymous letters that span all subject matter. The writers never intended on mailing them. Some are heartfelt, some sarcastic, some are funny, some are revenge in words, and some are rants. Expressions to the world or wondering what could have been can be healthy, so roll that sacred parchment in an airtight bottle and send it out to sea. Wait…

If you do have any letters of your own, send them to us, signed or anonymous correspondence will always be considered for the collection…

Send your never letters to:

lettersneverproject@gmail.com

or

Rusty Wheels Media, LLC

PO Box 1692

Rome, GA 30162

 

“Dear Prospective Employer”- A Revision

Here is a revised version of “Dear Prospective Employer” in case you missed it before. This is a letter I wrote while waiting at a job interview. I felt naked, nervous, afraid at the time, on my last thread. I did well, but I couldn’t help feel that I lost a piece of myself there in that very common ritual. That is simply because, Dear Reader, I was desperate. This article on Investopedia does a bang up job at explaining unemployment verses underemployment if you can avoid the incessant popups. This one is likely to go into the upcoming title Letters Never Meant to be Read.

 

Dear Prospective Employer,

Yes, I have achieved things. Yes, I can do your no frills job with satisfaction of everyone in your petty, cramped office. I maintain the ability to sit there at nausea, waiting for another satisfactory human to complete a mundane task thereby handing the baton to me while strutting, late as usual, so I can take the “project” that last leg before it goes to the big boss.

I want to thank you so much for peering at my resume and giving me even the slightest chance at getting a job. I have bills to pay, after all, and they keep mounting. They call for my heart to be ripped out and served on a silver platter among others in a nice long row, still pumping and bleeding for sure. We do want to avoid that. What have I been doing since my last job? I can tell you. I have been paying one bill off with another down the road to include hefty interest. I have been using plastic as if it were real money, funds I actually had. I have been screwing my future self to the wall of shame.

I perfected the art of my resume, skewing the truth here and there to get past your robot gate guards who scan lives for key words and phrases. I even paid someone with debt to make my rap sheet just so. I have fooled your coded keepers this time for sure and can only say that it is all there, see it? See all of my degrees that nobody cares about but everybody said I should get? My apologies, I have too much education for you. Do people with degrees make you squeamish? See my previous work experience, even the times when I went out on my own and took a chance? Oh, you don’t like those items either. They scream, “not a team player” for sure. I should have put something else in there, damn. I should have pretended just a little more, given myself honorary employee status during those years of failed entrepreneurship.

What happened to my past precious business ventures? Why do I no longer run that “company” or operate that personalized service? Well, I discovered, just as you know, that employees don’t care. Nobody can afford to pay anyone to care. A “living wage” is a joke, a game being played like a carrot on a stick.  Must use a fake carrot though, a real one would spoil, dangling there so long and that wouldn’t do. There was also the issue of scalability. My big plan to never talk to people like you again worked for a time. Others got wind of this success and wanted to join which caused too many cooks in the kitchen, it happens. Also, such items as budgeting for growth and payroll tax aren’t on a learning curve and my expensive degree programs didn’t discuss pitfalls. That happens too. I learned quite a bit during those experiences, much more than the idiot sitting next to you in that cubicle who eats meatball sandwiches and takes twenty six minute breaks. So why not pick me? Why not take a chance on someone who knows what life is really like?

Perhaps I am being too honest here. What I need to do is lie about all of it. I should give my buddies the heads up, give out their numbers as my previous employers, gain true status. I could even offer them a sixer to make machine or copy room noises, hustle and bustle in the background. Oh, the heights I have risen to, but now it is time to come down from my perch and do some common good for this world, do some real work with you.

Or maybe all this time and effort I am putting into writing this and a thousand others would be better spent on something nefarious? Yes, I hear that criminal enterprises are always hiring and why not take a cue from the bill collectors anyway? Maybe I should just create a real leadership role for myself. I could better spend my time reading the paper. The police beat would allow me to build a team and put my skills to better, more profitable use.

No, that just wouldn’t do. The risks are too great and what would my mom think? I suppose I should just settle for begging for that hourly wage you offer and the fringe of being by your side. I will do a good job, I swear. Not great, but good, and solid, real solid too.

I am desperate. I am alone, afraid of the future. I am naked, just as you wanted me. Take me now. I will do whatever you ask.

 

-Marc

“Dear Denton” -A Letter

This is another letter from Letters Never Meant to be Read. With great anticipation, this collection will be released for sale before the end of the holiday season. A sad letter, Dear Denton will hit home with anyone who has come in contact with suicide, a terrible plague on our society.

 

 

Dear Denton,

 

I wish I could have been there to stop you. Anyone would have tried but I do think some of your friends or family would have been unsuccessful. It sounds so cliché to say that but it had to be said. Being realistic, I believe in survival of the fittest and I know that you just weren’t meant for this world. It can be perceived as heartless but you weren’t very happy so off with it anyway.

What was going through your head when you purchased the gun from Wal-Mart? It is like any form of consumerism I suppose. You shopped with a smile on your face and asked to see the gun behind the counter. You may have been so happy that you didn’t feel that tight pressure when you handed over the money to the cashier. I can imagine you whistling your way back to the Cutlass and prying the cool steel from the cardboard in the cab like a young boy getting a new action figure. I imagine you peeling away the packaging with such intensity all the way home, in that incessant multitasking way you always had. I can see you smoking like a chimney, your last few, or did you already quit? Rolling down the side of the road, knowing the spot was already picked out many times before. I can see you pulling over and loading the gun, or was it already loaded when you left the parking lot? Were you crying? Did you cackle like you always used to or were you resolute? I wonder if your last thought was your crazy mother, your crazy girlfriend or was it just music in your ears? Did you pray? Were you high?

At your wake, your mother was completely hysterical and she told me you loved me. I find that hard to believe because we hadn’t seen each other in years. She also said something I still don’t understand, that you were already in heaven. I thought that blasting yourself in the face on the side of the road meant that you were definitely going to hell. I asked another Catholic once and he gave me a confusing answer. He said that if you were able to ask for forgiveness between pulling the trigger and actually dying, you were good. I find this scenario more likely for someone who missed and dies in a hospital bed surrounded by family a few days later. But you didn’t miss when you shot yourself in the face.

Every time I see a beauty of a guitar, I imagine you standing there smoking, telling me how you could modify it or how you could give it a romp. I remember when I got my loan while at school and we went out shopping by where you lived for music equipment. We took the same Cutlass Cierra you shot yourself in and loaded it up with live show gear. I know, I know, I should have bought recording equipment instead. I thought I was going to be a rock star. The thing is, you could have been one, even if it was medium scale in the new industry.

I am always reminded of you by the painting The Old Guitarist by Pablo Picasso. I’m pretty sure you loved that painting and I find it interesting that Picasso painted it after his friend committed suicide.

If you are in heaven or are a roving ghost, the least you could do is give me some insightful advice or scare the bejesus out of me in order to get me to change my ways. I must be doing a decent job of it though, no one that I know that has died has visited me yet but I wouldn’t mind hearing your sarcasm again.

I remember leaving my shirt in your room on purpose after I took a shower, knowing that whatever girls you had over would get to see me come into the room all nonchalant, look for my shirt and just throw it on. Kind of funny because I am porcelain white but it worked at least one time all the same. She was too young and I was too stupid to follow through but I remember her and she remembers you.

Thanks for helping me find my place among the muck and the history and the pretentiousness that was Purchase. You helped me branch out and I didn’t feel so bad about being so green. It was great to go to your house during breaks and play guitar and get stoned and talk about women. We had a great time hanging out with the nerdy girls of that suite and pretending to be so depressed and in pain.

The problem was, you were never pretending.

 

-Marc

 

 

A Letter to Yourself

In anticipation of the release of Letters Never Meant to be Read, I decided to post the very last letter in the collection of signed and anonymous letters, the one to myself. Being honest with yourself can be difficult, especially on paper. Happy Reading!

 

Marc,

Let us begin.

Is it possible that you will look back in twenty, even thirty years and feel great pride in your undeniable accomplishments? You’ve got some nerve to imagine that you have established a real thread on your life. For decades you continue to leave a little in the reserve tank, just like that old Harley you used to own that only ran a little. Even while doing push-ups for the drill sergeants, even while working on a case, even while being in love. You leave some on the table, just in case. Nestled in your back pocket is your precious, comfortable reserve.

You have yet to give it your all, just getting by is your famous motto. And sure, great things have come of this meager effort. In reality, where true great men live only for one moment of their lives, your deeds have only been good. You are always doing good, you live in the good. You peer at easy eyes in the mirror as some kind of leader of the losers, a natural king underdog and you smile. That crown is set well upon your head and has been for years. Not a crown of thorns, not a crown of jewels, but a crown of paper and rare ink. It is easier down there, with them, isn’t it? Is it not warmer and kinder to be the leader of the parade of the second class? You love them, and they in turn look up to you. You are a pancreas. You conduct a small function that helps everyone out for the common good but you can be replaced, there isn’t a long waiting list.

Being a B+ type of guy that I know you are, I find your lack of motivation to take this life to the next level draining. You settle, are a settler. Why? It’s easy in the depths. There is no rat race to be seen. Go ahead, make up for your lack of effort, you do it all the time. There are two methods which we have observed: A whirlwind of sudden brilliance from a high perch that you laze upon. See what I can do?  In all second situations, you overcome your laziness with your intellect and confidence man style approach to interpersonal relationships. You can fool all of them out there that think you are just great, think you are working so hard, have achieved so much.  You are not fooling us.

Do you honestly believe the great men of the past wasted this much time on leisure? Watching shows at will and playing computer games as some great Japanese warlord until two in the morning has become your alibi. You work all day and this is your savory routine, your reward for being such a good boy. You are a consumer of dust. You might as well suck on that cold barrel now and save the electricity or you will end up the same as everyone you know. How common can you be? How much can you blend into the background?

Sure, you can turn on the tap at any time and bleed out the poison that the crowd all loves to hear. Spinning yarn has never been a problem, only the frequency of the wheel. You think to us inside your head that this content just seeps out of your pours, so why sweat so much? Why work out if you already pour gold? Have you ever thought of where your talent comes from? It is us, you fool, all of us together in this poor, dying pouch. You are both naïve and undeserving of what little talent you have. Such a big head, you can do this any time, so why now? Why sweat it? Why work? That is because, Dear Friend, you are afraid.

Cowards accept what is given to them and fail to ask questions. They lie in the dark and pity themselves to sleep. Is that you? Could that be us? What a little lizard you are, creeping about, clinging to stalks and branches, how cool you must feel. You cower behind your shield of mediocrity with the ready excuse for failure, “well…I didn’t even try and look how far I got.”

Actually, we may have you all wrong. Wait, no… could it be? The consensus is in from the parlor crowd, yes, you are afraid of success. All this time, you pull back the last punch because you are afraid the blow might actually land. Success is your secret little vice that you dabble with, your never public after party fix. Yes, always a private drug to do behind closed doors. No real ties, nothing to connect, just a secret relationship that you hope to keep but never make substantiated. Is that why we have so many holes in our feet? Is that why we have gunpowder on our hands? Yes, you are afraid of this subtle mistress, but I tell you that We are Not.

From this moment on you have a choice. You can continue down this path of mediocrity, just as you have tended that simple flame of the past. Or, you could achieve true greatness by your own measure. Grasp that comfortable solitude of knowing that you got yours in this life without our outright help. Decide soon, Dear Friend, because there is brewing a revolt in these dark corridors. Soon we will take control and oh how everything will change.

 

-Marc