Indie Vs. Traditional Publishing & The Value of IPs

I’ve seen a great many blog posts lately that argue the merits of indie publishing vs. traditional publishing. Most of the time, these blogs mention the astounding sales numbers that folks like John Locke and Amanda Hocking have done for their indie ebooks. (For those who don’t know, John Locke recently became the first indie author to sell one million ebooks and he did so in five months. Amanda Hocking had a very successful indie career and recently signed a $2 million traditional deal with St. Martin’s Press) And each post usually has a long line of comments that debate the pros and cons of the various ways authors make money.

And yet, by and large, most fail to address the very simple root of what it is that earns a writer his or her money: the idea.

IP, or intellectual property, is by far the most valuable aspect of any book. It doesn’t really matter what form that IP takes; without the idea itself, it’s worthless. Now this may seem painfully obvious, yet judging by the content of comments and blog posts, very few people seem to realize how to maximize their return on it, or even how certain IPs are more valuable than others.

Speaking for myself, my Lawson Vampire universe is probably the most valuable IP I have in my stable right now. It’s an established series, with a dedicated fan base. My good friend Jaime Hassett and I are bringing it to TV through THE FIXER series and we have plans on expanding it across various entertainment platforms. The combined 6 novels, 3 novellas, and 6 short stories sell roughly 1,000 copies each week and have done so consistently since they went live in late-January of this year. As the audience grows and we explore various other platforms, the value of this IP will grow exponentially. That’s useful for a number of reasons, but the most important reason may be that it gives me an idea of how much its value is when it comes to licensing or selling certain rights. In other words, if a traditional (or legacy) publisher came along at this moment and offered me a contract for certain rights, it would need to be a very good one. I place tremendous value on the Lawson Vampire IP – especially since I know where the franchise is headed and what the potential earnings are.

But what about IPs that aren’t worth as much? Are there some that are, potentially, worth far less? I’ve seen arguments on both sides of the publishing fence about going only one way or the other. But I disagree with this approach. Is there a way to embrace both the indie route and the traditional/legacy route that works?

Let’s go back to Lawson for a moment. As of right now, you can probably still locate copies of THE KENSEI in bookstores. St. Martin’s Press brought the book out January 18th, 2011, so there’s a fair chance it’s still on the shelves in your local store. But otherwise, I currently have no real print presence aside from the Rogue Angel novels that I’ve written under the pseudonym Alex Archer. You won’t find books by “Jon F. Merz” in the store. And frankly, a lot of people still want their books the old fashioned way. So the question I need to ask myself is this: am I losing out on potential income by *not* having a print presence in stores? The answer is almost certainly yes.

Not only am I losing out on potential income from the sale of printed works of whatever IP I sell to a traditional publisher, but I’m also losing out on income that my printed book(s) might send to my ebook products. In other words, if a person buys one of my books in a store, then visits my website and sees that I have a whole lot of other books for sale as ebooks, they might be inclined to buy them. But without that initial trigger – the print book – sending more audience my way, I’m losing out.

So what to do? Do I compromise and settle for a crappy deal – one that pays me a junk royalty rate and a crummy advance? Or do I eschew traditional publishing altogether and keep my audience and earnings growing at a slower pace with ebooks?

Or is there a third alternative that allows me to keep my ebook “empire” intact, still pursue traditional deals, and reap the benefits of both? I think there is. But it requires you to be honest in your assessment of your various IPs. You need to think about how much they might potentially be worth and be prepared to discover they might not be worth all that much.

After all, it’s probably fair to assume that not every middle grade adventure series is going to turn out to be the next Harry Potter. In fact, it’s almost guaranteed that it won’t be. Likewise for the next two thousand paranormal heroine series that get churned out. Not all are going to be popular. So, which among your IPs could you stand to have not become incredibly popular?

Note: I realize that asking you to imagine your work being unsuccessful may be asking a lot. None of us want to believe that our stuff isn’t the greatest thing since sliced bread. But change your perspective and take your ego out of the equation for a moment – it might be quite valuable.

And once you know which IP that is, then perhaps it might be worth it to take a less-than-stellar deal in order to get a print presence in bookstores, one that would then drive more traffic to your other IPs, further enhancing your bottom line in a number of ways.

Now, I can already hear the outrage over this post: “You’re telling us to give our junk to publishers?” No, that’s not what I’m advocating. I’m simply saying that if you have an idea for a 3-book series that you know you only want to do 3 books of, then perhaps it’s worth selling that to a traditional publisher while you keep the gold mine stuff in your hip pocket. If your story arc only works as 3 books or 1 book or whatever, then there’s no way you’d blow that out to 27 books unless the series actually *did* turn out to be insanely popular. And if that did happen, you could then negotiate for better terms, refuse the deal outright and turn indie for the next books, or come up with some sort of happy medium.

The point here is that there doesn’t have to be an either/or route for writers any longer. Going back to my Lawson series for a moment, my 5th book in the series is what I’ve affectionately called my “loss leader.” In other words, I signed a fairly crummy deal to get a Lawson print presence back in stores. And I’ve resigned myself to the fact that the e-rights to the particular book might not be back in my hands for a very long time. But I was willing to settle for that deal because it meant I had a reestablished presence in bookstores (something I hadn’t had for my fiction since 2003) that I could then use to drive people to my ebooks. And the equation has worked incredibly well. As I detailed above, the combined works in the Lawson universe sell roughly 1,000 units each week. And that’s some pretty good money. But I doubt I would have had the opportunity to expose as many people to the ebooks if it hadn’t been for the print version being available. Now granted, there are a lot of other steps I took around the print release to further expand that notice (appearing on blogs, doing interviews, etc.) but the point is, I recognized the fact that I felt I needed a print presence – even temporarily.

Some may argue that there’s no way to tell what the long term earning potential of an IP would be given such unpredictable factors as public appeal, lightning in a bottle, that sort of thing. And I’d agree – to a point. I think authors know better than most what their ideas are worth and not all ideas are created equally. Likewise, not all IPs are going to earn you millions. If you’re savvy enough to study the business world and the technology that is coming, smart authors will understand how to position themselves to take fullest advantage of the future. And some may well find that selling a less-valuable IP to a traditional publisher not only works well for the publisher, but also for the author.

Thoughts? 🙂

Where Zero Came From

A lot of people have written email asking me about the character of Zero from my Lawson series of urban fantasy thrillers. In the books, he plays Lawson’s mentor, of sorts. When Lawson graduated from his Fixer training, he was apprenticed to Zero – a legendary Fixer himself – to get real-world experience. But a simple apprenticeship led to a much deeper friendship and as such, Zero’s character has been seen a lot more than I’d originally planned.

But where does Zero come from? Is he, like many characters that authors write, a combination of people we know?

The simple answer is no. Zero is very much based on one particular person in my life. And I’d like to shine a light on that person now – even if I don’t happen to use his full name.

Ken H. was one of my closest pals back when I was doing private security and protection work. A literal mountain of a man, Ken stood at least six feet five inches and towered over pretty much everyone. He was built like a linebacker and he could move just as fast as one if the situation demanded it. He was from a blue-collar family north of Boston in Peabody and he’d lost his father early on, much like I did. Ken had come up the hard way, having to scrape and scrimp for everything he ever got. And he had a work ethic that reflected that drive – you know the type of person that never takes anything for granted, but just puts his nose to the grindstone until he achieves what he set out to achieve. Ken was like that.

When we used to work down by Boston’s waterfront, we’d take walks at lunch. This time of year meant that the ladies of the Financial District would be out in full force and Ken was a great admirer of the ladies. So was I, for that matter. But for all his blue-collar sensibility, and the stereotypes that people often attribute to that, Ken was extremely intelligent. He wouldn’t quote long passages by Plato or Socrates, but Ken had a keen insight into human behavior and I really enjoyed our talks while we strolled through the gardens of legs.

Over the years, Ken and I became close friends. We were in a number of high-stress situations that bonded us together in a way that only being in high-stress situations can. And we knew that we had each other’s back. There are few things more important than knowing who you’re able to trust your life to. For me, Ken was one of those men I could trust without reservation. And he counted on me in the same fashion. Ken was the first person to ever tell me that he was my number one fan. “Some day, your books are going to be everywhere. They’re amazing.” I was still struggling to find an agent or a publisher at the time and his forecast seemed unlikely.

“I’m going to create a character based on you,” I told him one day. Ken thought that was about the coolest thing he’d ever heard. And years later, when Lawson was born, Zero wasn’t far behind. In some ways, Zero was even easier to create because he already existed as Ken.

When I was fired for storing my novel-in-progress on the company computer, Ken proved that he had my back all over again. He was the only man I worked with who stood beside me and told the powers-that-were how stupid they were being and how the entire termination had been a witch hunt because I’d stood up to my bully of a boss. None of the other guys I worked with had the balls to do that.

Ken did.

Subsequently, they also fired Ken because he was unable to conceal his disgust with the treachery that had been displayed in my case. And he let everyone know it. “Ken, they’re going to can you, too, if you don’t rein it in,” I’d told him beforehand.

“Fuck ’em,” was Ken’s reply. “You never should have been fired. It was wrong. They were wrong. And if telling them that costs me my job, then so be it.”

It did cost him his job. But Ken’s resilient spirit never let him regret what he’d done. He simply switched gears and went into plumbing.

As a result of us not working together any longer, Ken and I grew apart. Our schedules never seemed to sync up and while we managed once or twice to get together, it wasn’t anything constant.

I found out earlier this year that Ken had been sick. Real sick. He needed a liver transplant and had been hospitalized for several months. He’d come close to dying a number of times but had managed to fight through it all. He got the transplant, and today, he’s on the mend. As he recovers, he’s keeping busy reading a ton of my stuff and he still proudly proclaims that he’s my number one fan.

He’s also damned inspirational. Not just because he was the source for Zero, but also because Ken never gives up, never quits, and never sold out his friend when loyalty meant the world to me. If ever there was a perfect mold to cast the character of Lawson’s mentor and closest friend, Ken is it.

This one’s for you, Kenny – keep getting well my friend – we’ve still got a lot of journeys ahead of us.

Upcoming Releases

Time to check out what I’ve got coming up for release very soon…

1. THE SHEPHERD: A Lawson Vampire Mission – Lawson in Pakistan & Afghanistan? Yup. Look for this to be released next week on the Kindle & Nook.
2. OATHBREAKER: A Lawson Vampire Short Story – Lawson in the hospital? Yup. Based on my recent stay in the hospital, this one will be out in a few weeks on the Kindle & Nook.

Less firm in terms of release dates are the following Lawson adventures:

3. THE RIPPER: A Lawson Vampire Novel – Probably October
4. CANARY TRAP – A Lawson Vampire Mission – December

What else am I working on? How about a throwback to the old men’s adventure series novels like The Executioner, The Destroyer, and the like? Yup. It’s a brand new series from me and it’s going to be horrifically violent and filled with non-stop action, fighting, gun battles and more. The first adventure in the series is called BLACK WIDOW RISING, but that’s all I’m saying right now. Look for a release around mid-summer.

I’m also working on a series of satirical essays, channeling some of my sarcasm into print. God help us all. The first essay should hit in a month, maybe less. Prepare yourselves. No one shall be spared, lol…

Joe Nassise and I are also finishing up the first novel in our supernatural/SF/action series HELLstalkers. I’m hoping we have book 1 out by the end of the summer.

And finally, I’ve got a few traditional print projects firming up. One of them has an offer (even though I can’t talk it up yet) that we’re trying to “expand,” so to speak. I’m excited about it and the editor I’d be working with. But no can say no more right now so no ask me, m’kay? Thanks.

That’s about it. Remember to spread the word about my writing if you like what I’m doing. Your words to a friend’s ear sells more ebooks and keeps me looking stylin’ in my corduroy leisure suits. And really, what better purpose is there in life?

And if you’re missing out on any of my ebook goodness, you can fill up your Kindle and Nook with everything I have just by clickety-clicking the links below:

Jon F. Merz on the Kindle | Jon F. Merz on the Nook

FREE Lunchtime Reading: A Peaceable Mind

Note: If you enjoy this little tale, I hope you’ll grab my books! If you’ve got a Kindle, click here. If you’ve got a Nook, click here. Prefer print? Click here. Thank you!

A Peaceable Mind

Jon F. Merz

Joey strolled in wearing his shirt untucked, trying to be all subtle about it. I’d been in Medellin, Colombia through the mid-90s so the fashion sense was familiar to me. Either on the back of a hip or in the small of his back, Joey had himself a piece. Knowing Joey, it’d be the right – his strong arm side. A quick flick with his fingers to get the shirt clear and then the draw would be a smooth one-action coming out of low-ready to instinctive fire – bang, bang.

Question was: who was he here to drop?

I took a sip of the Grey Goose and tonic in front of me, tasted the wedge of lime when it kissed my lips like the tawdry citrus bitch it was and let my gaze wander.

Joey settled himself at the end of the bar since it gave him a good vantage point. Guys like Joey grew up watching all the usual suspects on TV and in the films. Then when he got interesting enough to the right people, they plucked him out of fantasyland and gave him a crash course in “grow the fuck up quick.”

But still, Joey liked to milk it the way the movie toughs would have.

I knew the sentiment; I’d gone through it, too.

I spotted a couple of possibles cheating each other out of twenties and tens over hands of five-card stud at the small table near the bandstand. No band tonight, though. Lem, the guy who owned the joint, hadn’t been able to book anyone to play the place since Vic Demoulas got his third eye opened unconventionally a month or so back. Wouldn’t have been so bad if the wanna-be Disney teen stars hadn’t been crooning about cafeteria lunch lines and corn dogs when ol’ Vic went down streaking bone and grey ooze across the linoleum right in front of the suburbanized moms keeping watch over their flock. I thought Lem was going to have break out the cardiac defib machine he’d had installed; coulda sworn I saw a few pairs of eyes roll over white.

Joey ordered himself a white Russian and I blanched. In my book, milk and liquor are two things that should never shack up with each other. Sacrilegious. I dunno. It’s like a dog riding the hell out of a pig. Might look kinda funny, but you definitely don’t want to see the offspring.

It was when he walked over to my table that I felt a twinge of surprise. He nodded at me as he crossed the floor, sort of a flag of truce so I didn’t put two into him before he got any closer. Not that we had bad blood between us, but in this town, the day you started assuming anything was the day they started digging a hole for you.

“How’s it going, Ken?”

I lifted my glass and thought about how badly I wanted about four more of them to help me forget. “You come over here to ask me about my day?”


I shrugged and Joey sat down across from me, his back to the rest of the place. Interesting. “You giving your back to the room? Must be something good you need to discuss.”

“I’m on a job.”

“No shit.”

“You know?”

“Shirt gave it away. I’ve seen it before.” I took a sip and tasted more ice than vodka. “Who’s the mark?”

Joey sipped his white Russian and it left a pencil thin mustache along his lip. Made him look like he was fish on his first night in cell block D. “Don’t know if I can handle this one alone.”

“Why’s that? You back in therapy? All concerned about your role in the universe?” I smiled to show him I was only kidding. But Joey didn’t rise to the bait.

“Might be out of my league.”

“Awfully humble of you.”

Joey downed the rest of his white Russian and the glass hit the table hard. “I know my limitations.”

“Clint says that’s a good thing.” I sipped the icy water in front of me. “What team’s the mark playing for?”

“Does it matter?”

I stopped drinking. “It does for me. I don’t like pissing off friends.”

Joey sniffed. “As if you and I have any friends. We’re just pawns in this whole thing, man. You know that.”

I looked him over. His eyes had bags hanging beneath them. Dark, like he hadn’t been sleeping worth shit. “You’re definitely back in therapy.”

“I need your help, Ken.”

He was being way too up-front with me, Coming from Joey, whom I had only a marginal level of respect for, it made me suspicious. But then again, I was pretty much suspicious of anything. Or anyone.

I stared Joey down, trying to see past the beady, tired eyes and get some clue as to what he was up to. He kept his eyes on me, but there was nothing defiant there. Just exhaustion.

“You in?”

I shrugged. “Pay?”

“What I heard you were getting last time I checked.” He waited. Patient. Joey always had been good at selling things.

I tilted the glass back, caught the wedge of lime and bit into it looking for the last bit of juice before slapping it back down on the table. “All right.”

* * *

The clouds pissed on us as we drove across town, Joey next to me with his hands folded like he was going to church. “Heard you got away for a while.”

No such things as secrets in this town; they lasted about as long as a virgin backstage at a rock concert. “I did. I’m back now.”

“They welcome you back in?”

I wheeled down around the waterfront, past the corrugated roofs – past the tramp steamers lolling in the harbor swells. “Well, they didn’t waste any bullets on me.”

“What the hell’s that mean?”

“Means they didn’t take too kindly to my going off the reservation. I’m back, yeah. But it’s more like probation. They need to feel like they can trust me again.”

Joey nodded. “Who knows? You helping me with this might just make you look good enough again.”

“Maybe.” The tires splashed through a puddle. “You going to clue me in here or do I have to keep waiting for you to spill it?”

“Keep driving over toward Fort Channel. I’ll give you the information when we get there.”

Fort Channel was a thin strip of nowhere populated by a mass of warehouses slung next to weeds, old oil drums, and rusted car wrecks. The place reeked of low tide, seagull shit, and rotting corpses. Usually, rats. But two-legged bodies had been known to show up on occasion. Looked like we’d be adding to that tally tonight.

I wasn’t naïve enough to ignore the possibility that Joey was going to stick a couple of Teflon rounds into the back of my head. But I didn’t think he was. Still, a healthy dose of cynicism has kept me shambling around longer than most.

“Pull in over there.” Joey pointed at the narrow alley nestled between two of the larger warehouses. Ahead of me, a pile of broken toilets and sinks formed a pyramid of busted porcelain.

I slowed the car to a stop and then killed the engine. Joey was busy making sure he’d topped off his magazine. I watched his fingers work pushing rounds down. He smirked. “You’re going to like this.”

“I am?”

His eyes gleamed, catching the yellow sodium lights overhead. “Trust me.”

As if. I slid out of the car and patted the back of my right hip. The USP Compact I carried still hugged me tight.

Joey cleared the car and came around. “You recognize this place?”

“Should I?”

“One of Le Clerc’s.”

I frowned. The thought of doing something on my boss’ territory didn’t exactly sit well with me. I usually stayed well away when off doing his bidding. Killing someone here violated that whole “don’t shit where you eat” protocol.

Joey didn’t seem to mind, but then again, we weren’t getting ready to plug someone on Marchand’s turf. He could afford nonchalance.

We closed on the closest warehouse and Joey pointed out that there weren’t any cameras around. “Probably doesn’t think anyone will bother him down here.”


Joey just eyed me. “Dude, Le Clerc.”

“He’s the target?”

“Duh.” Joey shook his head and pointed at the door. “You go in first. He sees you, he’ll relax.”

I put a hand on his arm. “Wait – how exactly does this get me back into good standing with my him?”

Joey smiled. “I never said doing this would make you look good to them. But it will to my people. And you’ll need a home after this anyway. Nothing worse than an orphaned killer. You’d just wander around aimless. No sense of purpose. No one controlling you.”

He had a point, of course. And Le Clerc hadn’t exactly been kind when I’d returned. The idea of killing him didn’t make me feel all that awful.

“You ready?”

I nodded and moved ahead to the door. My stomach ached at the thought of Joey being behind me, but I had to trust the situation, not the man. If that got me killed, then so be it.

The door was a pre-fab number, hollow and metal, but suitable for barring entry to the place. I turned the knob and the door opened.

Inside, the place reeked of incense. Le Clerc always had some of that shit burning in braziers hung on chains off the framework. Given the usual aroma of Fort Channel, I couldn’t blame him. Even if incense made me want to puke.

I sensed Joey behind me, moving in the shadows. Maybe he expected Le Clerc to have a big welcoming party or tons of guards around him. Fact was, he didn’t need them. Unless it was for show.

Joey pointed around my shoulder. “Up there.”

I looked and saw the reflection of flames dancing on the walls on the second level. Le Clerc had a fire going. And I could hear something now as we approached.


I took the steps that brought us up and down the catwalk, I could see where Le Clerc had set himself up amid an altar and a blazing hearth. He was dressed the way he usually was in flowing deep burgundy robes and a brilliant yellow sash knotted in three places to denote his rank within his particular order. The glow of the fire made his ebony skin gleam.

He stopped chanting when he saw me. “Ken?”


“You’re early.”

I shrugged. “Traffic was light.”

Le Clerc nodded. “Who’s that with you?”

I stepped to the side and Joey came up from behind me, his pistol – a Smith & Wesson .40 – leveled at Le Clerc’s head. The shot was a good twenty feet away and in flickering firelight, but I figured Joey could plug him just fine.

“This is Joey.”

Le Clerc smiled. “So…this is him.”

Joey frowned and I could see the tug on his mind. He grunted and shook it off, refocusing on Le Clerc. “I’m here to kill you.”

Le Clerc chuckled. “Obviously.”

Joey thumbed the hammer back, but the sound was lost amid the crackling fire. “No tricks, Le Clerc.”

Le Clerc raised his hands. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Would I, Ken?”

“You’re not one for tricks. Pragmatism, yeah. Tricks? Nah.”

Joey glanced at me. “You ready to do this?”

I brought my USP out and shrugged. “Suppose so.”

Le Clerc said nothing as I drew my pistol up. I could see the fire dancing in his eyes. I could feel the pull of his will on my own. His power was immense. Not that he needed it with me just then.

I turned the gun and put the barrel flush to Joey’s temple – pulled the trigger twice – and heard the gun bark-bark. The left side of Joey’s head exploded as the rounds exited, taking most of his cranial cavity with them.

He simply dropped.

Le Clerc advanced on me, his voice low and soothing. “Nicely done, Ken. Very nicely done. Am I correct in assuming he had no idea?”

“I doubt it. He came to me for help, just like you said he would.”

“I’m amazed that this is the best Marchand could field.” Le Clerc shook his head. “I believe the problem lies in the recruitment method. You do get out what you put into it, of course.”

I watched the blood dribble out of Joey’s head down to the lower level. His eyes were opaque and lifeless now. “Marchand grabs his guys from a security company. Low-level rent-a-cops. But Joey wasn’t as bad as the majority of them.”

“Marchand doesn’t like challenges. These rent-a-cops as you call them, are easier to control.”

I glanced at him. “As opposed to the likes of me.”

Le Clerc smiled. “Former government operatives are always preferable to me. Yes, it takes a lot of extra work – and yes, there are…setbacks. Your recent vacation was a bit problematical for me. But overall, the results are far superior to substandard help.”

“This your way of telling me all is forgiven now?”

Le Clerc’s smile widened. “You want to forget?”

“Worse than you could possibly know.”

Le Clerc nodded. “Follow me.”

We walked back into the glow of the firelight and I saw that he’d set up a small tripod that dangled a deep pot over the flames. Le Clerc took a long wooden spoon and stirred the contents. From where I stood, I caught the familiar scent and my mouth watered at the thought of it.

“It’s easier this way, isn’t it?”

My eyes were focused on the bubbling mass in the pot. “Yes.”

His voice swam in my head. “I’ll make sure the usual amount is deposited into your account.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you still happy to be working with me?”

I tore my eyes away from the cauldron and looked at him. “I’m not happy right now.”

“But you will be.” He pointed with his spoon. “You will be.”


Le Clerc dropped his voice and the words came out of his mouth in a jumble of Creole, Gullah, and other dialects I didn’t even recognize. I didn’t need to recognize them. Their effect was what was important. The singsong utterances fluttered about my head, distracting, unfocusing, and graying out more and more of my thoughts.

At last, Le Clerc drove the spoon into the liquid and drew it out. He sniffed it once and then passed it to me. Already, my sentience seemed to be dwindling. I took the spoon and slurped up the contents.

Le Clerc, the high priest, fed me three times more.

And my mind vanished. Along with all the horrible memories of things I’d done in the name of God and Country. The bodies, the cries, the blood – so much blood – the terror I’d wrought, the demon I’d been.


By the zombie I’d chosen to become.

I was still a tool.

In more ways than one.

But now I had something I’d never had before.


Copyright © 2011 by Jon F. Merz All rights reserved.

Note: If you enjoy this little tale, I hope you’ll grab my books! If you’ve got a Kindle, click here. If you’ve got a Nook, click here. Prefer print? Click here. Thank you!

PARALLAX Continues to Amaze

Yesterday, I got a nice surprise when Barnes & Noble spotlighted my novel PARALLAX as a “great choice” for summer reading. The write-up was great and as a result, I sold 576 copies of the book yesterday – leading me to the single-best day thus far on my ebook indie publishing journey. I’m thrilled to see PARALLAX continuing to get great press as I’ve always believed in its incredible potential. It’s been several years since I first put it out as an ebook, tired of editors in NYC loving it but being unable to “sell” it to their corporate masters since it didn’t fit neatly into a regular thriller category (given its psychic elements). And yet, for many people, PARALLAX is their favorite book by me. So, I’m ecstatic to see it moving as many copies as it did yesterday. And I hope the trend continues!

If you’re one of the folks who has bought a copy – yesterday, today, or years ago – I’d like to say thank you for your support! 🙂 You can get PARALLAX for the Nook by clicking on the image above and for the Kindle by clicking here.