I’ve no idea how long I’ve been floating in the air like this, but the needle still hasn’t moved , still just two copies sold since the start of the month. So where the hell are all these reviews coming from?
Some, I’ll admit (and this is a confession straight from the flesh), I paid for , to please Amazon’s algorithm gods, to climb the rankings, to catch your eye, and maybe, just maybe, to make your heart race.
But paid or not , they moved me. Deeply.

I’ve found myself a new guilty pleasure while manically pushing this book out into the world: reading the reviews. Haven’t made it through all of them yet. At least not on Goodreads.com.
But I will. So far, three things have shown up in 100% of the ones I’ve read:

First , the book grabs hold and doesn’t let go. People are finishing it faster than they planned.
Second , and this one mattered to me the most, the one I feared might not come through , every single person felt the fire that raged between David and me. From their paperbacks or their Kindle screens, they felt it.
And third? They all wrote that it stayed with them. That they won’t forget it anytime soon. That it lingers.
So yeah , financially I’ve earned around £8 in a month and a half. But emotionally? I’ve already touched the hearts of over a hundred people across the globe.

Once a whore, always a whore.
And that, honestly, is why I published it. So yes , I’m a little bit happy.
On the other hand, the restless borderline in me, paired with the bipolar swings, programmes me to think in ecstasy, in exaggeration, in avant-garde outbursts. Including this very website, which was born out of bureaucratic necessity.

But then it hit me: if I manage to leave even a faint impression on you here, we could become friends , in the comments.
Tell me what you think. Share what’s on your heart.
Hopefully there’ll be more traffic here than on Amazon’s bloody sales dashboard.

And if you’ve made it this far , you’ve already done more than most of my so-called “close” friends.
And for that, I fucking love you.