No, I'm not actually talking about the arrival of malevolent spirits planning to kidnap small children. I'm talking about...drumroll please…
That's right, my new pirate adventure novel, Isle of Swords, has been spotted. Amazon is apparently shipping IoS now, and several bookchains have them in stock!
If you are planning to get yourself a copy of this here pirate tale, first of all, thank you. Secondly some food for thought. The first month of sales for any novel is a critical month. Here's why:
• Prior to the books release, all preorder sales are allocated toward the first month sales numbers, meaning that the potential is there for a book to hit all kinds of Bestseller lists. If presales were good, and nonPreSale purchases continue at a high rate in that first month, good things can happen. And, of course, success begets success. If Isle of Swords appears on bestseller lists, more people find out about it, leading to more sales and a higher place on the bestseller list...of it goes.
• Publishers set marketing budgets well ahead of a book's release, but if the book does well early, publishers will often jump in with both feet to promote the book even more. If sales are low, some initial promotional ideas might not come to fruition.
• Publishers also like to launch books with a promotional bang. Thomas Nelson is doing just that. In some participating bookstores, if you buy Isle of Swords, you can get a free copy of The Door Within Lost Chapters Edition! Call your local store and see if they have the deal. But the deal is only for "While Supplies Last." Hence the call to hit it this month.
• And finally, purchasing a book in the first month of its release is great because authors sometimes like to give away free stuff to people who purchase books early. {Cough} And having said that:
Wayne Thomas Batson's Isle of Swords Promotional Giveaway!
If you, kind reader, purchase a copy of Isle of Swords during August or September, email me your snailmail address, and I will send you very cool piratey bookplate sticker--signed and personalized to you or whomever you are buying for! No limit to number of stickers. If you purchase 4,000 copies of Isle of Swords (Hey, it could happen.), I'll be happy to sign 4,000 stickers. (The last coupla hundred signatures might be a tad messy due to nerve damage in my hand, but I'll do it.)
Not sure if Isle of Swords is for you? Did you like the Pirates of the Caribbean movies? Well, Isle of Swords is like that (the first movie, that is) only with more depth. ;-)
Still not sure? Here's a Sneak Peek at one of the opening chapters of Isle of Swords:
Echoes of Cannon Fire
A cannon shot, deep and sudden, trailed off like a peal of thunder. Something cold touched his fingertips. Another shot. Run them all out, boys!
Water trickled over his hand. She’s taking on something awful! Bosun, pitch that leak! Another shot, nearer still. Water surged into his mouth and nose. A wave partially submerged his head and sprayed his back.
He woke, jerked his head up from the surf, and flailed onto his side. His face, his arms, his back—throbbed and burned. “What happened?” he moaned, coughing up seawater and grinding sand between his teeth. He could not see. Has someone cut out my eyes? Hands trembling, he reached up. His eyes were swollen and caked shut . . . but at least they were there.
After several painful attempts, he managed to pry them open. Brilliant white light knifed in, he clutched at his face. His head throbbed, sun blazed mercilessly off the white sand, but slowly his eyes adjusted. He squinted under a cloudless blue sky and saw water. As another wave raced toward him, he rose to one knee. That little bit of movement brought tremendous pain. It felt as if there were shards of glass embedded in his skin.
With another groan, he stood. He reached over his shoulder and, between the tatters of his shirt, he felt ripped flesh, sticky and wet. His fingertips came back glistening with blood, and he became lightheaded. He swayed for a moment, then steadied himself and looked around.
Across a slope of white sand, there stood a deep copse of trees—mostly tall palms, surrounded by sea grape and divi-divi trees. He stared at the leaning, gnarled trunks. Divi-divi trees always leaned to the southwest. That meant something . . . he felt sure it did, but he could not grasp what. He looked along the tree line, up and down the shore, and again, out to sea. “I don’t know this place,” he whispered.
He grabbed fistfuls of his matted blond hair. His welted face felt foreign . . . like someone else’s. A sharp ringing came to his ears. The world seemed to spin. “My God,” he mouthed,
“I . . . I don’t even know who I am.”
A flash of green racing across the sand drew his attention, and he turned. At his feet, a large iguana sat gnawing at the leather drawstring of a pouch that lay half-buried in the sand.
Brushing aside the lizard, he picked up the fist-sized pouch. It had some weight to it. “Is this mine?” he wondered aloud. He thought it had to be, but nothing about it seemed familiar. Still, when he loosened the drawstring and began to pour out its contents, he couldn’t help but feel a strange gravity weighing upon him.
A sparkling green stone fell into his hands first. It was shaped like an almond, but much larger. The brilliant sun flickered within it as if the stone was alive with fire at its core. Next, a lock of lustrous red hair dropped out and lay in his palm close to the jewel. The hair was a little damp but still very soft. He ran a finger lightly over it, wondering. . . .
The surf raced in and covered his feet, just as the last item—a rusty iron cross—fell into his palm. Ancient it looked—and not just from the tarnish. It bore strange markings and a script of some design, but he could not read it.
He dropped the three tokens into the pouch. He did not recognize any of these things. Nothing made any sense! His head ached. Weak and confused, he watched as an iguana scurried away and disappeared over the slope. Then he froze, for nearby the lizard’s trail was a trail of footprints. They wound away from the trees, down from the slope, almost directly to where he stood. A wave crashed with a sound like a cannon shot . . . or maybe, more like the crack of a whip, and he jumped.
The ringing came back to his ears, and he felt dizzy. As his vision blurred, he looked at the footprints leading up to where he stood. The thought, I am not alone, flashed into his mind before everything around him faded into darkness.
Once again, Isle of Swords, a swashbuckling high-seas adventure, is on sale now online and in all fine stores. A cool piratey tale just in time for back-to-school reading!
If you purchase Isle of Swords Aug-Sept, email me at: batguy21784@yahoo.com
**And as a bonus, anyone who posts a review of Isle of Swords on Amazon, CBD, or
Barnes & Noble, I'll send you a sneak preview chapter of the Isle of Swords sequel currently in production. Post a review and email me, and I'll send the chapter right off.
**And as a bonus, anyone who posts a review of Isle of Swords on Amazon, CBD, or
Barnes & Noble, I'll send you a sneak preview chapter of the Isle of Swords sequel currently in production. Post a review and email me, and I'll send the chapter right off.
Not sure if Isle of Swords is for you? Did you like the Pirates of the Caribbean movies? Well, Isle of Swords is like that (the first movie, that is) only with more depth. ;-)
Still not sure? Here's a Sneak Peek at one of the opening chapters of Isle of Swords:
Echoes of Cannon Fire
A cannon shot, deep and sudden, trailed off like a peal of thunder. Something cold touched his fingertips. Another shot. Run them all out, boys!
Water trickled over his hand. She’s taking on something awful! Bosun, pitch that leak! Another shot, nearer still. Water surged into his mouth and nose. A wave partially submerged his head and sprayed his back.
He woke, jerked his head up from the surf, and flailed onto his side. His face, his arms, his back—throbbed and burned. “What happened?” he moaned, coughing up seawater and grinding sand between his teeth. He could not see. Has someone cut out my eyes? Hands trembling, he reached up. His eyes were swollen and caked shut . . . but at least they were there.
After several painful attempts, he managed to pry them open. Brilliant white light knifed in, he clutched at his face. His head throbbed, sun blazed mercilessly off the white sand, but slowly his eyes adjusted. He squinted under a cloudless blue sky and saw water. As another wave raced toward him, he rose to one knee. That little bit of movement brought tremendous pain. It felt as if there were shards of glass embedded in his skin.
With another groan, he stood. He reached over his shoulder and, between the tatters of his shirt, he felt ripped flesh, sticky and wet. His fingertips came back glistening with blood, and he became lightheaded. He swayed for a moment, then steadied himself and looked around.
Across a slope of white sand, there stood a deep copse of trees—mostly tall palms, surrounded by sea grape and divi-divi trees. He stared at the leaning, gnarled trunks. Divi-divi trees always leaned to the southwest. That meant something . . . he felt sure it did, but he could not grasp what. He looked along the tree line, up and down the shore, and again, out to sea. “I don’t know this place,” he whispered.
He grabbed fistfuls of his matted blond hair. His welted face felt foreign . . . like someone else’s. A sharp ringing came to his ears. The world seemed to spin. “My God,” he mouthed,
“I . . . I don’t even know who I am.”
A flash of green racing across the sand drew his attention, and he turned. At his feet, a large iguana sat gnawing at the leather drawstring of a pouch that lay half-buried in the sand.
Brushing aside the lizard, he picked up the fist-sized pouch. It had some weight to it. “Is this mine?” he wondered aloud. He thought it had to be, but nothing about it seemed familiar. Still, when he loosened the drawstring and began to pour out its contents, he couldn’t help but feel a strange gravity weighing upon him.
A sparkling green stone fell into his hands first. It was shaped like an almond, but much larger. The brilliant sun flickered within it as if the stone was alive with fire at its core. Next, a lock of lustrous red hair dropped out and lay in his palm close to the jewel. The hair was a little damp but still very soft. He ran a finger lightly over it, wondering. . . .
The surf raced in and covered his feet, just as the last item—a rusty iron cross—fell into his palm. Ancient it looked—and not just from the tarnish. It bore strange markings and a script of some design, but he could not read it.
He dropped the three tokens into the pouch. He did not recognize any of these things. Nothing made any sense! His head ached. Weak and confused, he watched as an iguana scurried away and disappeared over the slope. Then he froze, for nearby the lizard’s trail was a trail of footprints. They wound away from the trees, down from the slope, almost directly to where he stood. A wave crashed with a sound like a cannon shot . . . or maybe, more like the crack of a whip, and he jumped.
The ringing came back to his ears, and he felt dizzy. As his vision blurred, he looked at the footprints leading up to where he stood. The thought, I am not alone, flashed into his mind before everything around him faded into darkness.
Once again, Isle of Swords, a swashbuckling high-seas adventure, is on sale now online and in all fine stores. A cool piratey tale just in time for back-to-school reading!
