Sunday, September 25, 2011

Great Article In The Daily Mail

There's a great article in the Daily Mail about ePublshing, quoting me at length. YOU CAN READ IT HERE

The article was written by journalist Andrew Wilson, who has just published his own book on the Kindle.

Andrew sent me a whole list of questions for his article, here they are in full:

How easy is the process of self publishing?

Self-publishing is now very, very easy and inexpensive. Amazon have totally transformed the market with their Kindle Direct Publishing platform. It takes a few minutes to open an account, and a few minutes to download a book and its cover. Then within hours your book is on sale and available to millions of Kindle-owners around the world. You can reach all the other eReaders by going through an on-line company called Smashwords, which is just as easy to use.

What’s the best way to start?

First, write a good book. The big problem with the explosion in ePublishing is that the vast majority of books that are being self-published are just plain awful. Badly written, badly-edited, badly formatted. Most of the so-called “Indie” writers (who previously would have been described as ‘unpublished’) rush to get their work on-line and frankly most of them are wasting their time. A badly written book isn’t going to sell, no matter how cheap it is.
I think of writing a book as being akin to running a marathon. Anyone who finishes a marathon deserves kudos. It’s a long haul. It’s hard work. But just because you’ve run a marathon doesn’t mean you should be running at the Olympics.

Writing for the most part is a craft. A skill that has to be learned. Very few writers published the traditional way see their first book in print. It’s often their fifth or sixth that is good enough to be published. Jack Higgins famously wasn’t published until after he’d written more than a dozen novels and he didn’t achieve any real success until his 36th – The Eagle Has Landed.

EPublishing has removed that learning curve. Now any book can be published, no matter how awful. And I think that’s bad for writers.

Assuming though that you have written a good book, the second stage is to open accounts with Kindle Digital Publishing and with Smashwords. It requires a little work to get the books formatted, but you can someone to do that for at little as £25. And you need a good cover. Again most ‘Indie’ writers Photoshop their own and generally they look awful. I pay a professional designer £350 a time for my covers. You don’t have to pay that much, but you need your cover to look professional. Then you’re good to go. You download your book and cover and wait for the royalty cheques to arrive.

What kind of books sell best? Why do thrillers sell so well on Kindle?

A look at the various eBook bestseller lists shows that books that sell well as paperbacks also sell well as eBooks. A good book sells no matter what the format. But at the cheaper end of the market there does seem to be a lot of interest in crime, thrillers and in paranormal romance. It might be because fans of those genres do tend to read more than the average reader.

What mistakes did you make if any? What have you learned?

Generally I got it pretty much right. I would say that my first books were downloaded with too many typos but I was lucky in that very quickly a few readers came back to me pointing out mistakes they had spotted. The beauty of ePublishing is that you can make any necessary changes almost immediately. With hindsight I should have paid for a professional proofreader to go through the books before I started selling them.

What advice can you give about pricing?

The cheaper the book, the more it will sell, obviously. Amazon allows you to sell for as little as 99 cents in the US and 75p in the UK. For s first-time writer self-publishing on the Kindle, that’s probably the best price. Certainly it’s hard for a first time Indie writer to sell a book for more than £1.

What advice would you give about cover design?

You get what you pay for. Doing it yourself, unless you are a talented designer, marks you out as an amateur. In the world of ePublishing people most definitely do judge a book by its cover.

How long should a book be? I know The Basement is 40,000 words – what’s the ideal length for Kindle?

The beauty of eBooks is that the buyer is more concerned about quality than length. That’s different to paperback books where publishers go out of their way to make it look as if the buyer is getting value for money – they seem to feel that the more pages, the better. I think 40,000 words is a great length for an eBook as it can be comfortably read in one sitting. I have also started selling short stories on the Kindle. I think the eReader is going to revitalise the short story market. Someone who is about to get onto a bus or train for an hour might not want to start a new book but would happily read a short story. I also think that we might see more serials being sold, with writers putting up a new chapter every week or month. But generally a novel should be around 100,000 to 120,000 words.

How do you get the book noticed? And noticed – and noticed??

I think writers should concentrate on improving their craft rather than worrying about promoting their book. Every “Indie” writer now has a blog, they have a Facebook presence which they use to constantly push their work, (a quarter of my Facebook “friends” are writers who do nothing other than post about their books) and they spend hours on the various eBook forums. It’s all about the marketing. They ask for other writers to tag their books, they get friends and family to post favourable reviews (it’s amazing how many self-published eBooks start off with half a dozen five-star reviews on Amazon, mostly from readers who have only ever reviewed the one book) and they share Tweets with other writers. Every “Indie” writer is following the same formula. Sell, sell, sell. Does it work? In the early days of ePublishing it probably did because it was a new phenomenon but these days there are just too many writers out there promoting that you really can’t see the wood for the trees.

The way to get your book onto the bestseller list is to write a book that people want to read. Word of mouth will do the rest. Too many Indie writers seem to think that you can create a buzz by just pushing your book down people’s throats. That doesn’t work. Word of mouth happens because people read a book that they have enjoyed and they tell their friends. You can’t create that, it’s down to the quality of the book.

What are the best websites/blogs to use to try and publicize one’s book?

You need your own blog. That’s a given. And you should guest blog on as many other blogs as you can. The various Kindle forums run by Amazon are good, and there are lots of other good sites around including and New sites are springing up every day. The trick is to go onto the various forums and make them aware of your books without overstaying your welcome.

How many e-books have you sold?

Since I started self-publishing last November, I’ve sold close to 400,000 eBooks and my publisher has sold more than 100,000, mainly of my Spider Shepherd series, so in total about half a million.

Can you say how much you’ve earned from e-books?

(Honestly I’d rather not say – it’s quite complex to work out because there are so many different prices and royalty rates)

Is it possible – as some claim – to make a million from Kindle?

Providing you have good work that sells, of course. It has always been possible to become rich by writing. But the simple fact is that the vast majority of writers don’t earn enough to support themselves by writing. And that’s not going to change. All ePublishing has done is to change the way that books are delivered to customers. That doesn’t mean that a customer is more likely to buy your work. Can you make a million from the Kindle? Sure. Price your book at 75p and sell four million copies! Amazon will give you a third of the money they make – and that’s a cool million.

How do you see publishing in 5/10/20 years?

As time goes on more people will have eReaders and I think that within five years there will be more eBooks sold than paperbacks. But I don’t think paperbacks will die out for a long time yet. Most people do seem to prefer to hold a real book in their hands – I certainly do. Publishers will have to adapt, and most are starting to change. Agents too will find their work much harder. In the past it was agents and publishers who decided which books were published and sold. But ePublishing has changed that, now anyone can publish their book and it is the readers who decide what sells. That is a major shift in power that I think people in the industry are only just coming to terms with. But there is definitely a role for publishers in ePublishing. I would say that ninety per cent of the eBooks that are self-published are awful. And I would say that ninety per cent of the books published by traditional publishers are excellent. So who are buyers more likely to trust when it comes to buying a book? That’s why we’ll always need publishers, because they more than anyone understand the importance of maintaining quality.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

My New eBook - The Bestseller!

I've almost finished my new eBook, a thriller modestly titled The Bestseller.

It should be ready to go online in the next week or so, just in time for when Amazon Encore takes over Once Bitten and The Basement.

Here's the first chapter -


Marina Del Ray, California, One Year Ago

Lightning flashed and Kirsty flinched and she jumped again two seconds later when a crack of thunder split the Californian night sky to her left. It had started to rain the moment she’d walked into the marina, small spots at first but the moment that she’d set foot on the wooden pier that led to the yachts it had started to come down in sheets and now she was soaked to the skin. She wiped her face with her hand. Part of her, the sensible part, knew that she should just turn around and go home. But the other part, the part that kept her awake at night, was forcing her to go on, She had to know for sure. She had to know the truth.

The main pier jutted out into the centre of the marina and smaller piers branched off it, left and right. The wooden planks creaked as she headed towards Wilson’s yacht. Kirsty had been there three times before, once to go sailing with Wilson, the second time for lunch and the third time…. She shuddered. She didn’t want to think about what had happened the third time.

Something small and furry ran across her path and she stifled a scream. She stopped and took slow deep breaths as she tried to quieten her racing heart. She didn’t want to be at the marina, she wanted to be at home in bed, either asleep or watching TV or reading a book, but she had to be there. There was no going back, she had to know if she was going crazy or if Eddie Wilson really wanted to kill her.

Lightning flashed again and this time she was ready for the crack of thunder that came a few seconds later. Wilson’s yacht was called THE WRITE WAY; it was just over thirty feet long with a single mast, the sail rolled up and hidden within a blue nylon sock. The yacht was in darkness. Wilson was the only owner who lived on his boat, all the rest were toys for weekend sailors. About half were yachts and catamarans but the rest were motorboats, floating gin palaces that rarely travelled more than a few miles or so from the marina.

The rain got heavier as she walked along the wooden pier towards the yacht. She stopped when she reached the stern and looked around. The marina was deserted and there had been no one in the office at the entrance. The metal mesh gate that led to the boats was never locked. She took her cellphone from her bag and covered it with her left hand to protect it from the rain as she peered at the screen. No one had called and there were no text messages. She’d arranged to meet Wilson for dinner at a Mexican restaurant that he’d said was one of his favourites, so hopefully he’d be sitting at the bar sipping a margarita while she did what she had to do. She switched off the phone and put it back in her pocket.

The yacht was tethered to the pier with ropes at either end and a third in the middle, and there was a power cable and a water hose snaking from a box by the stern into the rear cabin. She stepped carefully off the pier and onto the deck, holding on to the cabin roof to keep her balance as the boat shifted under her weight. Her heart was racing and she took slow, deep breaths to calm herself down. ‘It’s okay,’ she muttered. ‘We go in, we look at his laptop and we get out. Easy peasy lemon squeazy.’

She reached into the bag and pulled out bolt-cutters that she’d bought from a hardware store that morning along with two padlocks so that she could practise cutting the shackles. It took her only seconds to remove the lock and she tossed it into the water before pushing the hatch open. The wood grated and rain splattered inside. She ducked down into the cabin just as another bolt of lightning flashed out over the sea. It was harder to close the hatch than it had been to open it and she had to use all her weight to force it shut.

She stood in the darkness, listening to the sound of her own breathing. The boat was rocking from side to side in the wind and the metal lines rattled against the mast. She swallowed but her mouth was so dry that she almost gagged. She reached into her bag and pulled out a flashlight. She’d put duct tape across the glass with a small hole cut into it so that the light would be focussed into a thin, tight beam. It was a trick she’d read in a thriller once, and she grinned to herself when she switched it on and discovered that it worked. The thin beam illuminated a section of the wall not much bigger than a dinner plate and even someone walking along the pier wouldn’t be able to see the light.

At the far end of the main cabin was a door that led through to the sleeping area. There was a double bed there, she knew. With dark red silk sheets, the colour of dried blood. That was where she’d gone on the third visit to the boat. She shuddered. Water plopped from her wet hair onto the floor and she wiped her face with her sleeve as she played the beam of light along the wall and down to the built-in desk, being carful to avoid the brass porthole even though it was the side of the yacht facing away from the pier. Wilson’s MacBook Pro was there, open but switched off. There was a wooden chair in front of the desk and she sat down and pressed the button to turn on the computer. As the screen lit up she switched off the flashlight and placed it on the desk. There were three drawers on the right hand side of the desk and she pulled open the top one as she waited for the Mac to boot up.

There was a sketch pad in the drawer and she took it out. She flicked open the pad and her eyes widened when she saw the drawing on the first page. It was a caricature, a wide-eyed blonde with a pony tail sitting at an old-fashioned typewriter and above her head was a thought bubble filled with cuddly toys. The blonde had large breasts straining at the material of her too-tight shirt and Kristy self-consciously put her hand to her chest. She’d seen Wilson with the sketchpad during class but had always assumed that he was taking notes. “Bastard,’ she whispered.

The laptop finished booting up and she leaned forward and checked the icons on the desktop. There was only one Word document and it was titled ‘The Bestseller’. Kirsty shook her head in disgust. She’d always thought that he was joking when he’d said that was the title of his book.

She clicked on the file and it opened. She read the opening paragraphs with a growing look of disgust on her face. “Bastard, bastard, bastard,’ she muttered. She stood up, switched on the flashlight and went through the galley and pushed open the door to the bedroom. There were cupboards above the bed and she pulled them open. There were two spare pillows inside and she took them out and tossed them onto the bed. There was a large book against the side of the cupboard and next to it a bulky leather roll. She took out the book and opened it. It was a medical book. Anatomy. There were yellow Post-its marking several of the pages, all concerned with the joints. Knees, elbows, hips, the neck. She threw the book down and took out the roll. She knew from its weight what it contained. Her heart was pounding as she sat down on the bed and put the roll in her lap, holding the flashlight between her teeth as she used both hands to untie the two leather straps that secured the bundle. She opened it out to reveal a dozen gleaming steel knives with black wooden handles.

“You evil bastard,’ she muttered as she stared down at the knives. She knew now that everything that Wilson had written in his book was true. He was planning to kill her and dismember her body, hiding the pieces God knows where. She heard a peal of thunder, closer this time.

She retied the bundle and stood up. The knives weren’t proof but what Wilson had written on his laptop most definitely was. It was as good as a confession. She had to get a copy and take it to the police. Then they’d stop him. She patted the back pocket of her jeans to reassure herself that the thumbdrive was there, then opened the door and stepped into the main cabin, the tight beam of her flashlight playing across the floor. She yelped when the beam found a pair of black cowboy boots.

‘Surprise!” It was Wilson. His voice was a soft whisper, barely audible over the noise of the wind and the pattering of raindrops against the hull.

The flashlight fell from Kirsty’s hands, hit the floor, and rolled against the wall. She bent down, her heart racing and grabbed it, thanking God silently because the bulb hadn’t broken. She tucked the bundle of knives under her right arm and held the flashlight with both hands as she played the thin beam around the cabin.

Wilson had gone. For a brief moment she wondered if she’d imagined him and then there was a flash of lightning and she saw him standing with his back to the wall by the desk. His jet black hair was wet from the rain and he had a five o'clock shadow. Water was dripping down his face and he was grinning. Then just as quickly the cabin was plunged into darkness and she searched for him with the beam as a roll of thunder made her stomach vibrate.

He was standing by the computer, his hand resting on the keyboard. “You peeked,’ he said. She played the beam of light over his face. His clothes were soaked, through but he was grinning. It was a cruel grin, almost savage. He was tall and wiry, and dressed all in black: shirt, jeans, cowboy boots, and a long coat from which water was plopping onto the floor.

Kirsty tried to speak but the words caught in her throat. ‘I, I, I…’

“Yes, I know,’ said Wilson. He took a step towards her, still smiling.

She held up the bundle of knives. ‘I know what you were planning to do,’ she said.

‘What? What exactly do you think I was planning to do, Kirsty?’

“You know.’

‘Tell me. Maybe it’s all been a terrible misunderstanding.’

Lightning flashed and it was followed immediately by a crack of thunder. The storm was right overhead. The boat was rocking from side to side and Kirsty was having trouble maintaining her balance. She held up the roll of knives.. “You’re mad,’ she said.

He smiled easily. ‘I’m a little unhappy at the way you broke in her, but I wouldn’t say I’m mad.’

“You know what I mean,’ she said. ‘Deranged, Insane.’

‘Oh come on, Kirsty. You need to relax. Come on. Big breaths.’

Kirsty gestured at the laptop with the bundle. “You were going to do it, weren’t you? You were going to kill me and write about me.’

‘It’s a novel, Kirsty.’

“You were going to do it! For real!’

‘A work of fiction.’

‘I read it,’ said Kirsty. ‘I read what you wrote. You’re going to kill me. Then you’re going to butcher me.’ She held up the bundle and waved it at him. ‘With these! You bastard, you had it all planned. You were going to kill me and write a sick book about it.’

Wilson shook his head sadly. Kirsty realised that he had shifted his body so that she couldn’t see his right hand. She moved the beam but as she did he stepped forward. He was holding a frying pan and he swung it at her, hard. She jumped back but he was too quick and the pan slammed into the bundle of knives and sent it hurtling from her hand. The bundle burst apart as it hit the wall behind her and the knives spilled out and crashed to the floor.

Wilson swished the pan from side to side. Lightning flashed again. Kirsty braced herself for the crack of thunder but it never came.

Kirsty stepped back, her shoe crunching on one of the knives. ‘It’s going to be all right, Kirsty,’ said Wilson.

He moved to the side, out of the beam of the flashlight, and Kirsty’s heat pounded as she tried to keep the light on him. ‘Not scared of the dark, are you, Kirsty?’ said Wilson.

Kirsty bent down, grabbed one of the knives with her left hand and straightened up, holding it out in front of her. ‘Don’t come near me,’ she said.

‘Now that just looks awkward,’ said Wilson. “You’re not a leftie. You’d be so much better off with the knife in your right.’

‘Stop talking to me,’ said Kirsty. She waved the knife in front of her. He was right. The knife felt wrong in her left hand.

He took a step towards her and she shuffled back, her left heel scraping against another knife.

“You should swap them around,’ said Wilson. ‘Have the knife in your right hand, the flashlight in your left. Trust me, you’ll do more damage if I try to do this.’ He lunged forward, making a grab for her left hand but she jerked away and lashed out with the knife. He jumped back, grinning. ‘See, if you’d had the knife in your right hand you’d have got me then.’

‘I just want to go home,’ said Kirsty, her voice trembling.

“But you’ve only just got here, honey,’ said Wilson. He jerked a thumb towards the main cabin. ‘How about a quickie, just for old times sake.’

‘Please, just let me go home.’

‘Honey, will you take a look at yourself. You’re the one with the knife. You’re the one who broke in. Who’s the one being threatened here?’ He stepped to the left, out of the beam of the flashlight, and Kirsty swung it around to keep the light on him.
He lashed out with the pan and it smacked against the knife. Kirsty cried out in pain as it went spinning across the cabin.

Lightning flashed and as it did she saw him with the pan raised high. As the cabin went dark again he brought the pan crashing down on the flashlight. The impact almost wrenched her arm from its socket but she managed to keep hold of the flashlight as the glass smashed and the light went out. She threw the broken flashlight towards where she thought Wilson was standing but when it hit the wall of the cabin she knew that she had missed.

She dropped down onto her hands and knees and groped around in the dark, trying to find one of the knives.

Lightning flashed and she saw Wilson standing in front of her, a manic grin on his face. The pan had gone and its place was a bread knife with a serrated edge. Just as Kirsty screamed, the cabin was plunged into darkness again. She scuttled backwards on all fours, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

‘Kirsty, it’s all right,’ whispered Wilson. “Just go with the flow. It’ll soon be over.’

She sat back on her heels and held up her hands . She was shaking uncontrollably. Something flashed across her right palm and then she felt the pain and realised that he’d slashed her with the knife. She shuffled backwards, hyperventilating.

‘Don’t fight it, honey,” he said. ‘It’ll be so much easier if you just let it happen.

Kristy could feel blood trickling down her palms and the cut flesh was stinging so hard that her eyes were watering.

Lighting flashed again and she saw Wilson crouched in front of her, an evil grin on his face. He lashed out with the knife and Kirsty threw up her hands just as the cabin went dark again. The blade slashed across the fingers of her left hand. Again there was just a stinging sensation and she bit down on her lower lip, fighting the urge to scream.

Wilson laughed manically and she felt the knife bite into her left shoulder, ripping through her shirt and slicing through the skin. This time she screamed and flailed out her hands. Her left hand touched something and she grabbed for it. It was the blade of the knife, she realised, and as her fingers tightened on it. Wilson pulled the knife back and the serrated blade tore through her hand.

She fell back, screaming, then rolled onto her front and began to crawl away from him on her hands and knees. Her fingers scrabbled over the wooden floor and she gasped as she felt the handle of a knife brush against the little finger of her right hand. She grabbed it and gently reached out with her left hand to touch the blade. It was about six inches long. The blade felt wet and she shivered as she realised it was because it was covered in blood from the cuts on her hands.

‘Ready or not, here I come,” whispered Wilson in the darkness.

Kirsty held her breath and turned her head slowly from side to side, listening intently. She heard a slight scraping sound, his shoe scraping across the deck, maybe. And she could him breathing, slowly and evenly. She turned the knife around in her hand so that she was grasping the handle in her fist, the blade pointing down. She kicked off both her shoes.

She heard another scrape. He was moving towards her. She sat back on her heels and held her left hand out, fingers splayed, still holding her breath. Then lighting flashed again and she saw him standing over her, the knife raised high. Kirsty grunted and slammed the knife down and buried it in Wilson’s left foot. Wilson screamed in pain as the cabin went dark again.

Kirsty jumped to her feet and pushed out with both hands. She connected with his chest and she kept pushing and felt him fall backwards. She screamed as loud as she could and heard him fall to the floor. She stepped on his chest but stumbled as he rolled over and she fell against the cabin wall. The boat rocked and she pushed herself off the wall and she rushed towards the hatch.

She heard Wilson grunt and then there was another flash of lightning but she didn’t turn around. He still had the knife and she wasn’t sure how much damage she’d done to his foot.

‘Kirsty, don’t leave angry!’ shouted Wilson. He started to laugh as her fingers scrabbled at the hatch and pulled it back. She felt a nail break as she pushed it back as far as it would go. ‘Kirsty!’ roared Wilson, but she forced herself not to look around.

She scrambled up the stairs and screamed as she felt the knife tear across her back. She lashed out with her left leg, kicking backwards, and her foot connected with something and she heard him fall back and hit the floor.

She was exhausted but the adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream kept her going and she fell onto the deck and crawled along it. The blood from her wounds was mixing with the rain as she scrambled along on all fours. She threw herself off the boat and onto the pier, pushed herself up and started to run, her bare feet slapping against the wooden slats like gunshots.

Monday, September 12, 2011

The Basement Still Selling Well....

The Basement is still riding high in the charts, even though the price has gone back to 99p compared with its Amazon promotional price of 49p for the past six months. I'm happy enough with the 99p price.

The Basement has been at Number 3 in the charts for the past week, which is pretty good going considering it has been on sale for ten months now. I'm averaging 520 sales a day to maintain the Number 3 position. I think Amazon sales are generally down as six months ago it took sales of closer to 800 to get into the Top 3.

In two months time AmazonEncore will take over the publication of The Basement, and my vampire book Once Bitten. It's going to be interesting to see how many they sell.

Here's what the Bookseller said today -

Thanks to the big screen success of One Day, David Nicholls' e-book remains comfortably at the top of our e-bestseller list. One Day has been in the Kindle chart for nearly 400 days, very impressive for an e-book priced at £4.99.

John Le Carré's Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy enters out Top 10 strongly at number 6. The highly acclaimed film with a stellar cast is due to toll out acrss UK cinemas this week. Le Carré looks set for a healthy stay in the e-book charts and the only book likely to knock David Nicholls off the top spot in the coming weeks.

Scott Mariani, an early adopter of the agressively priced e-book has had massive success with his series. The 5th and 6th books from him in the mould of Dan Brown.

Whilst the cheap-as-chips promotional tactic also pays off for Malcolm Welshman's 'rollicking story of eccentric animals' Pets in a Pickle. This enters our charts at number 4 thanks to very strong sales in the Kindle chart priced at 99p.

Pos Title Author
1 (1) One Day David Nicholls
2 (8) A Game of Thrones George R R Martin
3 (2) The Alchemist's Secret Scott Mariani
4 (-) Pets in a Pickle Malcolm Welshamn
5 (4) The Basement Stephen Leather
6 (-) Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy John Le Carré
7 (10) Second Son Lee Child
8 (3) Confessions of a GP Benjamin Daniels
9 (6) Cold Kill Neil White
10 (5) Three Weeks to Say Goodbye C J Box

Monday, September 5, 2011

The Basement Soars Back Into The Charts

It's been a rough two months. Amazon has been running a Summer Reads promotion where hundreds of books had their prices slashed, many to less than £1.

The promotion started at the start of July and ended on the last day of August. I had no doubt that such a large promotion would play havoc with the bestseller lists, and I was right. The promoted books soared through the charts pushing the Indie books - including mine - out of the way.

Once Bitten, my vampire story, fell to about 50 and The Basement was pushed down to 17 and at one point I feared it would leave the Top 20 for the first time in ten months.

Happily the promotion ended on August 31 and within hours my books started to climb the charts again. Yesterday The Basement reached Number 3 in the Kindle UK store and last week it was the fourth best-selling eBook in the UK, according to The Bookseller magazine. But what's fascinating is that my sales actually increased when I went down the charts. I sold about 12,000 copies of The Basement in July and 14,500 in August, even though in August I was five places lower in the charts. I think the promotions help sales because they create more interest in eBooks generally.

Here's what The Bookseller says:

Philip Stone, charts editor: David Nicholls' One Day comfortably remains both the bestselling printed book and bestselling ebook in the UK. The novel, recently adapted for the big screen, currently tops the ebook bestseller lists at,, and the Apple iBookstore. It is currently available to download for £4.99 at all four e-tailers, about 64p cheaper than the print edition's average selling price at UK book retailers.

Stephen Leather's 'serial killer thriller with a breathtaking twist', The Basement, one of the bestselling ebooks of 2011, re-enters the chart following a five-week hiatus, while Charles James 'C J' Box's Three Weeks to Say Goodbye hits the top 10 for the first time.

Once again, the top 10 is dominated by thrillers, although a couple of erotic novels, which many predicted would sell well in e-format sit a little lower down the chart. In fact, Cosmo's Sexiest Stories Ever is currently the fourth bestselling ebook at the iBookstore, despite a poor review from one **Aimee** who states that 'It's short [30 pages] and not that hot'

Pos Title Author
1 (1) One Day David Nicholls
2 (6) The Alchemist's Secret Scott Mariani
3 (2) Confessions of a GP Benjamin Daniels
4 (-) The Basement Stephen Leather
5 (-) Three Weeks to Say Goodbye C J Box
6 (8) Cold Kill Neil White
7 (-) The Leopard Jo Nesbo
8 (9) A Game of Thrones George R R Martin
9 (-) Passenger 13 Scott Mariani
10 (7) Second Son Lee Child