PRESIDENT OBAMA IS DEAD (a childish attempt to rise through search engine results when it happens)

Well, as of today I have been writing solidly for one year (almost seven days a week) and what have the results been since I first published four months ago? Around ₤4,500 ($9,000), just short of 50,000 readers, took the #1 spot for thriller/horror (okay only for a day), received some excellent reviews and some soul-destroying ones too, an insight into the bitchy world of self-publishing, two nicotine-stained fingers, cirrhosis of the liver and a fatwah on my head...a pretty damn good year, all in all!

Did I prostitute myself? Well, put it this way, if I was a woman I wouldn't be able to ride a bike for several months, unless I replaced the saddle with a sofa.

Has it been worth the trauma, frustration, loss of eyesight, paralysis of the fingers and investment in a top of the range commode to save on trips to the lavatory? I would have to say...ask my psychiatrist.

But seriously, the success of FBK has been heartwarming. I honestly had no idea there were so many bloodthirsty, deranged psychopathic readers in the UK.

What have I learned? NON AUTHORS MAY SKIP THIS BORING BIT -Don't spam your books, if your stories are good enough and unique, readers will find them. It may take months or even years but don't give up. It's a cliche but as they say, keep writing. Don't take bad reviews to heart and don't change your writing style to try and appease. You have your own voice so use it, that's what makes us different to so many of the dinosaurs out there. If you are thinking about signing up with KDP lending, don't delete your books from Smashwords, the "unique" clause is bullshit. All my books are still available; they're just trying to bully you. Don't spread yourself too thin posting on every forum under the sun, get on with your work. Write every day, if you can, even if it's only a couple of hundred words. It keeps the story going in your mind. I found that I have to become my characters. I think like them and feel what they feel and I hope that comes across in my writing. Most importantly, never give up and more importantly than that, never write paragraphs the length of this one.

----------------------------------------Boring bit over---------------------------------------------

The more observant readers of this tiresome blog may have noticed the fact that I have changed the date on the heading to Christmas 2012 and so the fight goes on. Only another 450,000 books to "distribute" and twelve months to do it in..... someone oil this f**king hamster wheel, will you?

And so as we head for yet another year, God, all these years are starting to get a bit boring now, it is my resolution to conquer the world (again), but that'll have to wait until after the finger transplants.

If I was asked to describe my year, which I never will be, so I'll tell you anyway...*reader yawns and scratches bum crack* I can only compare myself to a centipede with leprosy; full of fire and gusto as I embarked on my writing career, only to find bits dropping off as I raced along. Until I eventually hopped over the finish line just to have my last hopping leg drop off. My how the stoned tortoise laughed.

Having spent a year living like a hermit, just me and my trusty laptop, I got to thinking. My laptop has everything; it has made so many things redundant. I no longer need a phone as I can Skype, I don't need a watch or a clock, television or DVD player, nor a radio or stereo. I gave my camera to a charity for blind kids and now I take my laptop with me on sightseeing trips, it's a little cumbersome, granted, but it takes decent pictures. I don't need shops anymore as I order everything online. I have a solar charger for my laptop, so I don't even need electricity.  All I need is a laptop big enough to live in. A laphouse (no Lapland jokes please) and my life will be complete.

Anyway, enough of this toss. Fragment (consider revising) I will return in the New Year to further your curiosity of why you continue to read this rubbish.

Until we meet again, my friends, have a great New Year, get smashed out of your minds, keep your pets inside so the fireworks make them shit on the carpet instead of in the garden (That last part does not apply to farmers) but most importantly remember why we celebrate the joyous coming of another year.........?

Best regards

MLS

PS. The United Kingdom Of  Islam should be available for your lovely little Kindle machine in the first week of January... I hope.

https://twitter.com/AuthorMLStewart

The United Kingdom Of Islam Trailer.

Okay so it's after Christmas and I missed my target of half a million books by a little over 90%. Nevermind, the show MUST go on!

Regards,
MLS

E-post: ml.stewart@yahoo.co.uk
Twitter-post: @authorMLStewart

ML Stewart's FBK Tops UK iBooks Charts

Today I kicked Stieg Laaarrrrsons's arse, as well as James Patterson, Lee Child, John Le Carre, Jeffrey Archer and a lot more people I have never heard of to take not just the Number 1 spot on the UK iTunes Chart but Number 2 also.

Today FBK1 & FBK2 are officially the best-selling Mystery Thrillers on iBooks with 403 four and five-star ratings.

As you can probably guess I have now arrived in the Southern Hemisphere. I should have been here a week ago but I spent a few days in Dubai and Brunei to research my next book, The United Kingdom Of Islam.

I apologise for such a short blog (might as well have been a f+cking tweet) but I will get straight back to business on Monday.


Best Regards
ML Stewart.

Holy Shit! It’ll Soon Be Christmas.....

.....Would it be classed as cheating if I converted to Islam?

I have a flight to catch in exactly fifteen hours. I haven’t finished packing. I fired the cleaner and what do I do? I write another bloody blog. Now that’s what that funny little man, who used to play the trumpet would call dedication.

I’ll be brief today because the bitch didn’t even show me how to switch on the vacuum cleaner.

October sales were up on September.

Sept.                  Oct.

FBK2             2587                3024

Sunday Club    140                  180

FBK1 is still free and up to 24,039 downloads from Amazon. Follow through nudging 25%. I am hopeful this will reach 50% by 2093.

Total readership (including Smashwords): 30,558.

The United Kingdom Of Islam is currently at 70,000 words and growing (bang goes the novella idea) I’ve printed out the story so far and will have three days of air travel to proof read it, make any changes and deliver a few fatal paper cuts to the person sitting next to me on the plane. UKI will be out in time for Christmas.

I have been emailing the Facebook Legal Department complaining about the abuse of their name and product in the FBKs but they haven’t replied. I was quite hoping for a nasty email telling me it was an infringement, hence leading to some newspaper coverage, but it’s looking doubtful at the moment. Maybe if Mr. Zuckerface is reading this blog (and I don’t see any reason why a young multi-billionaire wouldn’t be) he will tell his lawyers to do the job that he pays them for?

That’s it for now folks, I have decided to forget about the vacuum cleaner and use a brush instead.

All the best, my loyal band of nothing-better-to-do-with-yourselves-than-read-this-drivellers.

ML Stewart

ml.stewart@yahoo.co.uk

N.B. The abuv blog has not been proof read, any speeling mistaxe are permanent.

ML Stewart versus Stieg Larssssssssson

Now I know I keep going on about “The Girl With A Helmet-Shaped Haircut” and the fact that the hardback is the size of small block of flats BUT it’s the only book I have looked at for years AND it is the worst book I have read in my entire bloody life.

I told you about donating it to the local police to use as a roadblock but after the fatal bus crash they returned it (perfectly intact. The bus was a write-off). I think the driver saw the cover and panicked.

My point is how fickle the book-reading public can be at times. I read many of the reviews for The Girl Who Played With Fire and many people are of the same opinion as myself but many, many more have been sucked overcome by a mutant strain of the Dodgy Swedish Flu. Stieg Larssssssson is proof that anyone (dead or alive, blind or deaf, stupid or police officer can write a book.”

Page 350:

Stieg wrote: She replied with an elbow to his eye and then grabbed one of the upright poles, lifted herself up and kicked him with both heels across the bridge of his nose.............

So far so good, I felt myself wince in pain at the thought. But then he carries on.....

.......which prompted heavy bleeding.

Jesus Christ Almighty in a f+cking pink bath robe!!!  She’s just smashed his face in, broken his nose in two, probably sent bone fragments into his eyes and what happened........it prompted heavy bleeding! It sounds like a newspaper advert announcing the recall of a batch of dodgy tampons. AND this mini Everest of paper costs £20:00 (that’s about $40 if Obama is your boss)

Anyway, glad I got that off my chest and BTW no, I do not have permission to reproduce the above paragraph from Mr. Larsssssssson’s work of art.

I am going to write a series of books based on my past girlfriends.

1)      The Girl Who Lit Her Farts.

2)      The Girl Who Had More Facial Hair Than Her Father.

3)      The Girl Who Kicked My Dog.

4)      The Girl With The Bulldog Tattoo.

Book Sales and statistics and boring shit like that:

	July	August	September	TOTAL
	Royalty	Royalty	Royalty
	(USD)	(USD)	(USD)
SC	1.05	0.35	0
FBK1	1.05	1.40	19.25
FBK2	2.10	1.75	7.44
$ TOTAL	4.20	3.50	26.69	34.39
	Royalty	Royalty	Royalty
	(GBP)	(GBP)	(GBP)
SC	0.99	0.26	36.40
FBK1	0.70	1.05	0.00
FBK2	1.69	1.31	700.52
£ TOTAL	£3.38	£2.62	£736.92	742.92

What’s happening at the moment is that the sales, which have dropped on FBK2, are being made up for with people buying FBK1. Who will in turn buy FBK2 and 3 when it comes out. It’s like a little hamster wheel with a few pound coins inside of it.

FBK1 = 24,085

FBK2 = 5,300 readers

Sunday Club = 310

Total Readership = 29,695.

FBK2 has sold more copies this month than September, as has the Sunday Club so  revenue should be up a little from last month.

Next week I have to take a 3-day flight to a secret destination in the Southern Hemisphere, where the water goes down the plughole in the opposite direction. So the blog may be a little quiet for a while. I hope to have the United Kingdom of Islam finished by the time I arrive and proof read.

I am trying to concoct a new marketing idea between packing my stuff, tripping over the world’s largest book and worrying about Rooney the cactus.

Until next time.

ML Stewart

ml.stewart@yahoo.co.uk

Don't talk ... DO!

I am sick to death of reading posts on different forums about.. why don't we try this? Or "I had this idea". So I have started a a proboards forum called http://e-authors.proboards.com/  It is for authors and readers alike.

It is a blank canvas without the bullshit. If anyone wants to get involved email me at ml.stewart@yahoo.co.uk
Now let me tell you this, I have no intention of running, let alone monitoring it for any length of time. So any volunteers who wish to get off their arses and create something are more than welcome.

Regards
MLS

I Have Writer's Block, Cramp, Elbow, Knee, Finger and a cactus called Rooney.

I was trawling through some online interviews with self-published authors, obviously none as famous as myself, but authors nonetheless, and a very good point I picked up on, with many of them, was that they wrote their first book as they thought it should be written. In other words following the mainstream advice, like sheep. You know the sort of thing, the macho hero, the love interest, the unlikable villain etc etc. And guess what? They bombed. When you write like this you are just another book on the shelf (didn’t Pink Floyd write a song about that?) The difference is that you are still an unknown and your work is nestled among famous and successful authors, which will sell a thousand times more than your own.

The wiser of the aforementioned indie authors soon realised that they should have been writing from the heart, not the textbook, and that’s when they started to sell and get themselves noticed. Now, I will never be a sheep, I prefer to think of myself as the deranged rabid wolf in the pack, the Anti Author. My next book may stay at the bottom of the Amazon Top Million for eternity, but at least I can stand up proudly and say that I wrote my own story. I didn’t pinch ingredients from several best-selling authors and make a plagiaristic omelette. (I’m only covering my arse here in case The United Kingdom Of Islam fails miserably :) but you get my point.

FBK1 and 2 were recommended on a recent Kindle forum as books “which grab you by the throat and won’t let go,” which I thought was nice. Bedtime reading at its finest.

I now have 29,000 readers worldwide.

FBK1 – 23,656 (Free + Paid)

FBK2 – 5,000 (21% follow through on sales from Part 1 in UK and 60% in US.)

The Sunday Club – 270

And this has only really happened in the last six weeks. FBK2 sales are ranging between 80 on a bad day up to 130. Some reviewers are still complaining about having to pay for the second part but after almost 5,000 sales there have only been 9 returns so they can’t be that upset about it.

I spent the last three days, rereading the three books I have on Kindle and still found a couple of typos, nothing serious but annoying for the reader, so these have been rectified. The problem with paying for an editor is that you’re not guaranteed to sell enough books to cover their costs, so until I have that luxury I will just have to get on with it by myself with the assistance of my blind mate, Quasi.

UKI is now up to 50,000 words, I hope to have it finished within a week or so, proofread and then online. My technique will be to publish it quietly, there will be no fanfare on the forums whatsoever. I want it to sell just like the Sunday Club so that the readers think they have discovered it themselves.

I hope to have FBK3 out before Xmas, but I am in two minds whether to wait until the glut of promotions and Xmas specials are over in case it gets lost amongst all of the forum “bumping”. Let’s see how I get on. I have the plot worked out in full, but you know me, it could turn into a vampire love story set in Pompeii during the alien occupation.

Stay tuned gang.

Best regards

MLS

ml.stewart@yahoo.co.uk

 

“The flag of Islam will fly over Downing Street, and Queen Elizabeth will wear the burka,” Abu Waleed, Radical Preacher, London 2008.

THE UNITED KINGDOM OF ISLAM.

2039 A.D.

It was in the year of our Lord, 2020 that they began to build the walls. The Welsh government were the first to act. The quarries couldn’t produce the stone they needed quickly enough, so they began to tear down schools, houses and even churches. A pardon was granted to each and every prisoner held within the land, on the condition that they assist in the construction. Not one of them absconded. They dared not.

Scotland quickly followed suit, but they built much higher than the Welsh, destroying bridges and roads leading into the country as they went. They were the best prepared of anyone. As soon as they heard the news they went into military lockdown. No one could come in and no one could leave. They had fought long and hard for their independence and they were determined to keep it.

Their army had sealed the border within an hour, their battleships and submarines put to sea and the air force scrambled. Some people say that they had been warned; some say they just saw it coming.

Ireland, for the first time in twenty years, reunited. The governing bodies on both sides of the border held an emergency meeting and agreed to turn their missiles away from each other and towards the British mainland instead. Catholics and Protestants stood together, with enough firepower to eradicate every living creature on the land mass formally known as Great Britain.

I have been told that it was terrifying and totally unexpected. The government agencies thought they were so clever monitoring their emails and chat rooms while all the time they were organising it by post. Sending letters like they did in the olden times. I’d heard my father talking about that.

The first thing anyone knew about the uprising was when the cargo planes hit London. Father had told me stories about something similar happening in New York when he was a child, but he compared those planes to mosquitoes. He said they were small and filled with blood; the London planes were filled with explosives. Sometimes, when I was smaller, Father would show me pictures of the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace, somewhere called St. Paul’s and the other places that were lost. I remember those pictures well; I had never seen buildings like that in real life, but there again I had grown up in the Northern Territory.
I vividly remember Father’s stories of the war. There must have been thousands upon thousands of them in the army, navy and police, train drivers, airport workers and hauliers. Father told me that’s how they got their hands on the tanks, ships and planes. I can’t believe no one saw it coming, the mass slaughter of their colleagues. He told me it happened at exactly midday on September 11^th, 2020.  That was when Britain went to war. That was the day when the Radical Islamists took over our skies, seas and roads.

            The French aircraft carrier, “Charles De Gaulle III” which they dispatched to help us, was sunk in the English Channel, reportedly torpedoed. The hijacked radio stations and television networks played a recording, over and over again, announcing that London was now under Sharia Law and that the Radical Islamic Party had formed the country’s new government in the absence of any other, or a reigning monarch.

People fled like rats. They say that every last boat left the island that day, ferries, yachts and even canoes. We don’t know how many were lost at sea trying to make it to Europe or Ireland.

            As the troops marched through the streets, Father said it became obvious that they had been planning this for years. The soldiers and police officers marched as one, their British uniforms burned; dressed all in black now. Their faces Asian, white, black, young, old, male and female. Their uniforms bore the same emblem as the warplanes, which flew low overhead and the tanks parked on almost every street corner. The letters RIP surrounded by five stars, white on black, Father once told me that it looked a little like a flag some European Union had once used, but they were long gone now. Maybe they could have helped us?

            They used helicopter gunships to take over the prisons; the most serious offenders: the murderers, rapists and paedophiles were executed in their cells, the bodies burned in the exercise yard. The remainder were ordered to leave the city and head north. Their own prisoners were rewarded, their sentences exchanged for titles.

Ahmed Al Adel – 45 years for inciting racial hatred, possession of explosives and conspiracy to commit mass murder – Secretary of State for Defence.
Ramadan Ali Munawar – Life imprisonment for the 2012 bombing of the Olympic Stadium, killing 21,857 – Chancellor of the Exchequer.
Abdul Bin Shallah – 7 life sentences for the British Freedom Party annual conference bombing, 2018 – Home Secretary.

The prison cells didn’t remain empty for long. Whomever the planes didn’t kill that day were quickly rounded up like stray dogs: politicians, councillors, right-wing extremists, journalists and even members of the clergy. No court, no trial. Political prisoners they called them. Father said that it was the Jihadist Death Squads who came for them, the Black Hawks. Balaclava-clad men and women. “The Motorcyclists of the Apocalypse”, he had called them; he said they were the most frightening beings he had ever seen. They carried machine guns and swords, riding three abreast always in groups of twelve and followed by the “meat wagon,” a large black security van equipped with a fireman’s hose on the roof to wash the blood from the streets when they were done. They sounded like something from one of those ancient 2D war movies.

It didn’t take long for the ethnic cleansing to begin. The head of RIP, Mohammed Kazik, had assured people that they were free to remain in their homes but were now under Sharia law and must abide by it if they chose to continue living in London. Should they decide to leave, they would be given free passage to the North. Little did the wretched souls know, but their passage north would not be so free.

They travelled south, in their hundreds and thousands, to join the revolution, arriving on hijacked trains, in buses, packed to bursting point and in the back of trucks. They were bloodthirsty. Their time had eventually come. The convoys of vehicles poured towards the capital, like an army of giant ants, flags waving, horns blasting, driving on both sides of the roads and motorways.  The infidels had no chance. Men, women and children of all ages and nationalities. Christians, peace-loving Muslims and atheists, it didn’t matter to them. They were all the enemy now. The RIP government denied genocide and there was no one left to question them.

The simultaneous uprisings in Bradford, Birmingham and Leeds had drawn the new boundaries. The north-south divide had eventually become a grim reality and a deadly one at that.

My name is Emily Piper, I am the leader of the Northern Resistance Force and this is my story.