Good Friday and I'm in the north for a few days longer. Sky and sea today are shades of grey and sombre green. Rain falls, drums, and stops. Silence presses in. This feels suitable for a day on which, in some parts of the world, we're given the chance to ponder human frailty and courage, idealism, barbarity and treachery, pain, loss, and much more. Bach's St Matthews Passion (on the radio today) helps access those shadier realms of the heart.
Now where am I going on this my more pragmatic blog as I've come to consider it? I've been thinking about sales and how, although ebook purchases, in the US at least, are reported to be outstripping purchases of hard-copy books, here on Rosa Mira, we're still in modest figures. And yet (perhaps I'm a Pollyanna, but Pollyanna's a happy gal) each of the sales that burps into the inbox (I probably should change that email alert tone to something more up Polly's alley) gives a lift to this publisher's spirits. Each buyer becomes a dear reader. I silently thank each and wish each a rich reading experience. If thousands of buyers were streaming through each day, I'd have to automate and delegate and give mass blessings like the pope.
What am I trying to say? Buy now while the benedictions are still personal? I'm saying that, for now at least, small is beautiful; that quality is speaking louder than quantity. However, for Dorothee's sake and for the sake of the 'luscious story' (I quote our latest dear reader) I trust and intend that over time, sales will boom, and that The Glass Harmonica becomes the talk of a town or a book group near you.
Still, today's been a good one for pondering the power of one at a time: one publisher, one writer, one book, one reader.
One man, one 2000-year-old story.