I’ve been having some consultations with proper pro people about my online life. One thing that came up was me asking you to rate my books on Amazon and Goodreads. Really? You actually, really think I should ask that? Holy cow.
I haven’t done this very much because I’m British. The very thought of saying “Go! Go rate my books! Tell me how marvellous I am!” to people I’ve never looked in the eye over a teacup makes me shudder in my boots. It fills me with such a profound sense of shame I imagine slipping away from my life in the dead of night to join the Foreign Legion, leaving nothing but a poignant confessional on tear-stained notepaper. It’s just not the done thing.
But, you know what? To an extent sales are driven by ratings. Internet algorithms are. So I’m going to fight down the nausea and say, “If you enjoy my work, please take the time to rate it online.”
This is of course self-serving. Fundamentally it’s about my bank balance. But it’s not just about me (except it is. Shush now me!). It’s about you too. If you like my books and rate them, that encourages other folk to buy them. If people buy enough, my publishers are happy and I get to write more. So if you’ve wanted more Richards and Klein stories, or a sequel to Crash, or you want the Black Library to make me chief goblin wrangler, click a few star buttons. It’ll help.
God, I feel dirty now. Horribly dirty, and not in a good way. I need a lie down and some absinthe just to wash the taste from my mouth. I may be away a while.
Tomorrow is the great Facebook reorganisation! Keep in touch, like my official page.