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Don’t Leave it to the Last Minute
We’ve all been there: you tell yourself you’ll do it later, life gets in the way, and suddenly the page says “Sale Ended.” Don’t let that happen tonight!
I’ve spent the last few weeks staring at old maps. The coffee in my mug has gone cold more times than I can count. My back is sore from leaning into the screen, but the work is finished. Black History They Didn’t Teach You is ready for the world. It arrives in paperback and ebook on April 18th.
This isn’t a collection of dry dates. It is a record of how things were built and how they were broken. I wanted to show you the brick and mortar of it all. You can smell the hot asphalt of the Durham Freeway cutting through the heart of Hayti. You can hear the scratch of a pen on a predatory record contract in a room that smells like cheap gin. We look at the Green Book as a survival manual. We see the 1956 Interstate Highway Act as a wrecking ball. These stories were meant to stay buried under the roads we drive on every day.
I’m feeling a little nervous about putting this out there. The truth is heavy. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. But the stories are verified. Mark your calendars for April 18th. We’re opening the files. It feels strange to finally be done, like I’m exhaling after holding my breath for months. I might go buy a fancy bottle of water just to celebrate something that isn’t research. It is time to let the record speak for itself.
The first time I read Lullaby, I felt like I needed to wash my hands after every chapter. It has this gritty, oily texture to it that only Palahniuk can pull off. I’m sitting here looking at the cover, and I can almost hear the low hum of a television left on in an empty room. This book is easily one of my favorites because it takes a terrifying “what if” and runs with it until you’re looking over your shoulder at every stranger you pass.
The story follows Carl Streator, a journalist who notices a pattern of healthy infants dying in their cribs. He discovers a “culling song,” an ancient African chant printed in a book of nursery rhymes. The scary part? If you say it, or even think it toward someone, they die. No mess, no struggle. Just gone. It turns words into the most efficient weapon ever created.
The prose is vintage Palahniuk—short, punchy, and rhythmic. He describes the world through the eyes of someone who sees the rot underneath everything. You can almost smell the old paper of the library archives and the sterile, cold air of the houses Carl visits. But it’s not just a horror story; it’s a look at how we’re all being poisoned by noise and information we didn’t ask for.
And then there’s Helen Boyle, a real estate agent who specializes in selling haunted houses. She’s just as cynical as Carl, and watching them navigate a world where they hold the power of life and death is fascinating. I won’t give away where the road trip leads them, but the tension builds like a fever. It makes you realize that the most dangerous thing in the world isn’t a gun; it’s a quiet thought.
I honestly think about the concept of “mental noise” every time I’m stuck in traffic or a crowded store now. It’s one of those books that changes how you hear the world around you.
You can check it out at the link below. Just be careful what you hum to yourself while you read.
I stare at the dashboard. The progress bar for my ebook slides right. It’s quiet. The smell of cold coffee sits on my desk. Just the click of my mouse. Payhip is simple. On the free plan, they take a 5% cut. There are no monthly fees. If I sell a $15 ebook, I keep $14.25. Stripe and PayPal take their standard processing fees separately. When monthly sales pass $967, the Plus plan is better. It costs $29 monthly and drops the platform fee to 2%. The Pro plan is $99 a month with a 0% fee.
My storefront looks like a custom site. I changed the headers and chose a sharp font. It reflects my brand. I sell ebooks, physical goods, and coaching sessions. The platform takes the same percentage cut regardless of what I sell. I can host video courses for an extra $9 a month. The platform manages EU VAT taxes automatically. This means I don’t have to study international tax law. I just upload my file and wait for the notification ping. It’s a small rush every time it happens. I think I’m addicted to that sound.
I use the free version of Payhip because it fits my workflow without adding a monthly bill to my plate. They take a simple 5% cut of each sale, and that is the only platform fee I deal with. If I don’t sell an ebook one day, I don’t owe them a cent. It feels fair. I sell my books and coaching sessions there, but you can also list physical items or memberships. The storefront functions like a custom website where I chose my own fonts and layout to match my brand. It even handles the complicated EU VAT taxes automatically. I spent way too much time picking the exact shade for my buttons, but it was worth it. I love the sharp ping my phone makes when a sale goes through. It is a small rush that never gets old. You can start your own store and get your work out there using this link:
Seeing that first order pop up is a memory you will definitely want to keep.
Ready to get your work out there? It’s time to stop overthinking and start selling. Payhip is the easiest way to get your ebooks into readers’ hands without the headache of massive platforms.
Most sites take a giant bite out of your royalties, but Payhip keeps it simple. You upload your file—PDF, EPUB, whatever you’ve got—and you keep 95% of your sales on their free plan. There is no waiting for weeks for a “gatekeeper” to tell you your book is worthy. You decide when it is ready.
I remember staring at my screen for hours, terrified to hit publish. My palms were sweaty and the room felt way too quiet. But once I did it, the world didn’t end. Instead, I finally had a link I could share with people. That rush of seeing your first sale notification is better than any caffeine kick.
The setup takes minutes. You customize your store, link your PayPal or Stripe, and you are officially a professional author. No more “someday” talk.
Go to Payhip today and create your account. Your stories don’t do anyone any good sitting in a hidden folder on your desktop. Get them out there and start building your own empire.
I spent years waking up looking like I’d been in a wrestling match with my bedding. My face would have these deep, red trenches carved into my cheeks from the cotton. Now, I wake up and my skin is just flat and smooth. It’s the Promeed silk. The 22 momme fabric feels cold against my skin even when the room is warm. I love the way the silk catches the light when I walk into the room. And it doesn’t soak up my face oil or my moisturizer. I feel like a human again instead of a frizzy-haired mess.
I’m slightly embarrassed to admit I sometimes pet the fabric like a cat before I drift off. It’s that soft. Most of these high-end brands charge you double just for the fancy logo on the box, but this is the real deal Grade 6A+ silk. It even comes with a little mesh bag for the laundry so the machine doesn’t eat it. You should really check them out! My hair finally stopped looking like I slept in a wind tunnel. It’s a small change that actually makes me want to get into bed earlier.
The salt air on Waytansea Island doesn’t just smell like the ocean; it smells like decay and forgotten dreams. I’ve reached for my copy of Diary so many times that the spine is white with creases. Every time I open it, I feel that familiar, uncomfortable pull back into Misty Wilmot’s world. It is easily one of my favorite books because Palahniuk doesn’t just tell a story. He traps you in a room with it.
Misty was supposed to be a great artist. Instead, she’s a waitress at a hotel, trapped on a tourist island where the houses are rotting from the inside out. Her husband, Peter, is in a coma after a “suicide attempt” that feels more like a cryptic puzzle than a tragedy. But Peter left a trail behind. He hid rooms in the houses he remodeled, scrawling frantic messages on the walls that suggest something much bigger and darker is happening on the island.
The rhythm of the writing feels like a headache coming on—the good kind, the kind that makes you pay attention. Palahniuk uses these sharp, biting descriptions of art history and human anatomy to build a sense of dread that sits right in your chest. You see the stroke of a brush and feel the weight of the “coma diary” Misty keeps for a husband who might never wake up.
And the tension. The way the islanders look at Misty, expecting something from her, is pure psychological gold. It’s dark and beautiful in the most twisted way possible. I honestly think about the atmosphere of this book at least once a week while I’m doing something mundane, like making coffee. It just sticks to your ribs. I won’t ruin the ending for you, but let’s just say the way the pieces click together is haunting.
You can check it out for yourself through the link below. Just be prepared—once you start, the island doesn’t really let you go until the last page.
My old earbuds finally gave up on me last week, so I picked up these JBL Vibe Beams. I honestly didn’t expect much for the price, but the bass is actually incredible. It has that deep, punchy sound that makes my morning commute feel a lot less like a chore.
I’ve been wearing them for hours while working and they don’t hurt my ears at all, which is a rare find for me. Plus, the battery seems to last forever. I haven’t even had to charge the case yet. If you’re looking for something reliable that doesn’t break the bank, I really love mine.
I’m sitting here in a crowded coffee shop right now, and I can barely hear the espresso machine over my podcast. It’s the little wins that make my day.
The ledger is live. I just clicked the final button and now the words are out there on Amazon. The Scapegoat’s Ledger is more than just a story. It is the sound of a heavy door locking from the inside. I still remember the sharp, stinging smell of the bleach in that kitchen. I remember the 5 a.m. alarm that felt like a punch to the gut while the rest of the house stayed dark. I spent too many years in the nosebleed seats, watching my own life through a dirty window. If you have ever been the one blamed for things you didn’t do, I see you. I know it isn’t your fault. This is for the ones who survived the silence and the debts that were never real. My mother is cheering from the highest seat in the stadium and my son is safe in the yard. The cycle ends right now. You can get the ebook today. It’s time to drop the stones you’ve been carrying.
I’m sitting here in the total silence of my room and my chest feels strangely light. It is like I finally set down a backpack full of wet bricks and realized I can actually stand up straight. I think I’m going to go sit in the sun for a while and just let it hit my face without worrying about the time.
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