I don’t even know who I’m writing to anymore.
To those still hesitating?
To those who’ve already read it?
To myself?

Either way , once again (for the millionth time, if you’ve read the book) I’ve crashed face-first into the concrete wall of reality.

Being borderline and bipolar means, among other things, dreaming far too big. I thought that a month and a half after publishing, I’d have already set the internet ablaze.
I read your reviews, and I’m moved , really moved , by what people are experiencing through the book. And still, I don’t get it. Why isn’t it gaining momentum?
I’ve closed deals with dozens of influencers. I’ve spent over $30K so far.

Meanwhile, my brilliant translator , who also runs my author pages across all platforms , keeps reminding me: Kindle won’t make me rich.

Less than 1% ever break the bestseller wall.
But my editor, Dr Matan Hermoni, promised me I would.
And if he doesn’t know, then who the fuck does?
So here I am. Still waiting.

Impatiently, of course , patience is not a trait often granted to people like me.
Oz