The Gambler

I've always been a bit of a gambler. I buy a one-dollar lottery ticket every week, because why not? Never won anything over $10.00, though. Still, it could happen. There was a time in my life when a few family members and I would visit the local casino about once a month. It was a nice night out--not exactly conducive to conversation, since we were each parked at our individual machines, but we'd bump into each other a couple times a night as we searched for a machine that was actually paying out. 

When I first started going to the casino, I'd settle in at a twenty-five-cent slot, and it was pretty easy to get those bells ringing, as what looked to be an entire fortune of quarters came tumbling out. (It was usually about twenty dollars worth, but it looked like a lot.) Generally, though, there'd be off nights, when no machine was paying. That's when I told myself, the hell with so-called luck, and I graduated to video poker. At least with poker, a person could feel like they had a modicum of control--save the right cards, consider the odds, go for the easy wins at first (such as two pair), then once I accumulated a little nest egg, start shooting for the trickier and better paying combinations. After a while, I grew bored with my middling wins and moved on to the twenty-dollar poker machines, in which if one was going for the maximum payout, they'd have to bet sixty bucks per hand. 

I never walked out of the casino a big winner or a big loser. I basically struck even. A few times I'd lose about a hundred dollars, but it was my entertainment, after all--dinner and a movie could easily set one back $100.00.

The trouble was, I eventually realized that, per my addictive personality, if I kept visiting the casino, I could land myself in real trouble. Upping my bets to $60 per hand? Yes, I could afford to do it at the time, but it wouldn't be sustainable. What if I hit a big losing streak? I knew (knowing me) I'd be compelled to double down and gamble away my mortgage payment.   

So, I stopped going. 

With book marketing, an author's gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em. 

My addictive personality (again) led me to spend money carelessly. Sure, I tried to justify it at the time--"It's only, like, $100 for a one-week Facebook ad, and I'm only doing it one time. I can swing that. And, hey! I could get a ton of sales!" (I got about five, which is a little less than a ton.) 

I lost about $90 on that bet. Not sustainable. My financial circumstances have changed dramatically since those days when I could afford to tool over to the casino once a month. Maybe that's a good thing in a way, because when it comes to trying to sell this novel monstrosity, I can't allow myself to throw cash out my second story window, for a trillion-dollar conglomerate to scoop up like the greedy little bitch it is. Mark Zuckerberg should be paying me, especially since he stole one of my novels for his AI training. (And stupidly, I never copyrighted it, so I get $0.00 out of the legal settlement.)

Really, what's $20.00 on a newsletter promo? That's peanuts. Forty dollars for a BookBub ad at the very bottom of its newsletter? Worth it! This writing contest only costs $70 to enter, and look, it's got my genre! 

"It's a sure thing!" proclaims the gambler as he's digging through a dumpster to find his next meal. "Just you wait! I'm gonna have me a big ol' filet mignon in a couple of days!"

Being a gambler is a hard addiction to overcome, just like any other addiction. With this book, I definitely allowed it to overtake me. I backslid. Just one more hand! I can feel it--the jackpot is calling my name!  I won't even try to add up all my losses, because then I'd be forced to attend a GA meeting, and I hate mingling with people. 

Luckily, I caught it before I was forced to move into a cardboard box. I'll just stick with the addictions that at least give me a temporary moment of fun. Marketing sure as hell didn't.