Releasing a new work on Amazon as an indie author, and getting noticed, is always a challenge (translation: understatement of the century). Amazon, literally, has more titles than there are people in Tokyo, so getting visibility is. uh. a bit tricky. I'd liken it to drowning alone in the middle of the cold, choppy waters of the Pacific Ocean---I'm clinging to an overturned rowboat (my new novel), waving my wet sock in the air (my low-budget marketing strategy) and hoping a jumbo jet (filled... Crowe faced the ticket booth, an oblong structure the size of a large coffin. The booth reminded him of a coin-operated fortune-telling machine in an arcade where, behind a window, a mechanical mystic named Zoltan or Esmeralda would stare at you with glass eyes, and speak your fortune via a hidden record player. Or pass you a slip of paper with your fortune written on it in language so cryptic you didn't know if you were blessed or cursed. Crowe took the ticket, and heard someone singing and playing guitar. He turned halfway around. Across the street, a young woman with a glorious afro and a black hat stood on the sidewalk beside a corner church, a faded purple bandanna tied around her forehead, and an open guitar case by her feet.
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