I'm an author. I've written FOUR true stories, one, #WrongPlaceWrongTime is becoming a movie.
I've also written ONE children's book, TWO crime fiction books #WriteToKill and #WriteToSurvive, and EIGHT book marketing books.
I've featured hundreds of books by authors. You will also find articles of interest about certain actors, actresses and musicians who I've stumbled across on social media.
I hope that within the contents of this blog, something will catch your eye.
Have your book cover with link on my website, (over 1,000 hits this month) for 12 MONTHS, plus it will be the FEATURED BOOK OF THE MONTH, plus tweeted to over 30,000 of my followers on a regular basis, plus posted on TWO Facebook pages on a regular, plus on my blog with over 88,000 page views! All for ONLY £50! I know, AMAZING!
This Easter weekend from Good Friday thru to Easter Monday, the following books, all about book marketing are FREE on Amazon: MY WAY MY WAY TOO MY WAY FREE - TRENDING ON TWITTER AmazonUK AmazonUS AmazonAUST AmazonCanada
Delighted with this new 5* review for MY WAY FREE - TRENDING ON TWITTER!
"David P. Perlmutter's My Way free is helpful information on helping you achieve success with your twitter. Its no doubt that success on twitter will help you with your book sales. Social media is big! And without the knowledge on how to, your chances of success are slim. Davids methods are proven to work. The reviews on My Way speak for them selves. And My Way free is very helpful information as well. Many authors are getting advice from David P. Perlmutter and it has helped many. David is the answer to every authors questions. He has the knowledge and strives to help people like you and me. BUY THIS BOOK! You won't be sorry! Every bit of information you get from David is like Gold. David is the answer to all your troubles!"
Delighted with this new 5* review for MY WAY! "David P. Perlmutter's My Way is essential information for every indie author. His opinions expressed in this book is not just some info. he decided to publish, but important information that actually works! After reading his book and applying what I've learned from him, i saw my book achieve greater book downloads then i could imagine. His expertise has taught me what I needed to know to make my book successful enough to be quite satisfied as an indy author. I know that with applying his methods will help me obtain the high downloads needed to get main stream publishers noticing me. It may not happen so quickly, but I feel it in my bones that in a few short years, I will be getting a contract from a major publisher. I highly recommend this book to any one wishing to achieve great success! Without a doubt, I know this will help you, because it has helped me. This is something essential for every author looking for success. Learn this information and apply it. Well worth the .99 cents. Thank-you David for this wonderful information you have shared with us indie authors!"
If you have a spare few minutes, why not pop over to my new website and let me know what you think! Also if you have a book out, why not be the FEATURED BOOK OF THE WEEK plus be promoted for a whole year for under £2 per week! www.davidpperlmutter.com
So this morning when I was checking my rankings for one of my books on Amazon, I visited Australia! The mentioned book, WRONG PLACE WRONG TIME has been rather a hit down under recently, to my complete surprise. As of yesterday it was standing in at #5 in TRUE CRIME, so yes, I was obviously very happy with that, BUT, there was a new review for the book and as you can see by the BUT, it was a 1*. I must add that the reviewer has no profile and its their first review of any kind!
Don't get me wrong, no pun intended, I'm used to receiving 1* reviews. Happily I'm also more used to receiving 5* reviews for the book, there are over 290 of them across Amazon and thankfully only around 40 1* reviews. It is the nature of the book, its a true story, people will either love it or hate it, or love me or hate me, thankfully the majority of readers love it. In fact they want to see a movie made of the book, but that's a whole other project!
I have looked at many books by authors who are better at writing than me, who are celebrity authors, or authors who love to write and have many books on Amazon. I check out their reviews and even they receive negative reviews. So, what I am trying to put across here, is that us mere mortals in the writing world mustn't get despondent with 1 or 2* reviews, because, as everyone knows, you just can't please everyone in the world. Anyway, if a book has nothing but 5* reviews, it is not keeping it real and everyone knows the reviews are from family and friends.
I have written about reviews in my marketing books, MY WAY, MY WAY TOO and MY WAY FREE, which all can be found on my website, www.davidpperlmutter.com. In fact MY WAY FREE is FREE to download, so why not nip over and grab a book about book marketing for nothing!
So my fellow authors, when you receive a 1* review, be down for a few minutes but then hold your head up because my friends, you have written a book.
Delighted, in fact overwhelmed with this review for FIVE WEEKS on this excellent blog!
Five Weeks by David P Perlmutter is tale of one mans journey to America as part of a new job opportunity that should be an adventure of a life time but turns out to be a nightmare.
Dave decides to leave his job as a London estate agent after an unsavory encounter with a few Irishmen in Islington and after spending Christmas with his girlfriend in Eastbourne they both decide to move to Brighton and start a new life there, Dave answers an add for a head of telesales manger for an American portrait company and too his surprise he's offered the job but there is one snag he needs to spend five weeks in Altoona Pennsylvania America learning the ropes. Dave leaves his girlfriend Jenny behind and sets off for America telling her he'll only be away for five weeks then there new life can begin. Dave arrives in New York where he meets his new boss Michael who for the duration of his training will become his only friend. It doesn't take Dave long to learn that Michael's a coke snorting alcoholic and a womanising creep and that's not the worst of his problems in America in fact Dave's whole life starts to fall apart in those five weeks.
Dave's life has certainly been eventful in fact like his other true story "Wrong Place Wrong time" Dave's story could quiet easily be a prime time T.V. Show or a blockbuster movie. Dave does a brilliant job of making his book so hard to put down and at times I found myself shouting to my self if that was me I'd do this or I'd do that. This a brilliant read and if you only read one book this year make it this. http://iwannabeadored.weebly.com/five-weeks-by-dave-p-perlmutter.html
For the price of under £2 per week, you can have your book cover with AMAZON link on my website, www.davidpperlmutter.com for 1 year, plus it will be the FEATURED BOOK OF THE MONTH, on the home page.
I will also be promoting your book cover on my TWO Facebook pages, my blog, my website of course, LinkedIn and on twitter, where I have over 29,500 followers and growing daily, why not follow me @davepperlmutter All this for £100 per YEAR!
To know more, please email at firstname.lastname@example.org me ASAP as this year is getting pretty booked up already!
Got a few minutes, read the first chapter of the best seller, WRONG PLACE WRONG TIME below! Over 290 x 5***** reviews across Amazon!
It was a cold, bleak February afternoon in London. For the majority of it I’d been stuck in the office and liaising with clients, trying to clinch a sale on a substantial property in the West End. The potential buyer – an arrogant prick with more money than sense – was being particularly difficult, demanding that various items be left in the house before he’d commit to buy. So when the phone rang for the umpteenth time that day and he requested that the hallway mirror be a part of the deal, I almost felt like buying him one myself, just to get the deal in the bag. It had been a week of stupid, unnecessary negotiations and I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. I called the seller, an attractive middle aged divorcee, and told her the news.
“He wants the hallway mirror"
“If he gets the mirror it’s a done deal, Mrs Evans.” I shifted in my chair and threw some letters into my out tray. I could hear her on the end of the phone taking a long drag from her cigarette and pondering the proposition. A part of me knew she was enjoying this; enjoying the control. There were moments throughout the week when I actually thought she had no intention of selling at all and was just enjoying the attention I was giving her. I’d seen it all before and couldn’t help but wonder what kind of a wanker she’d been married to.
“It’s just a mirror,” I told her, opening the drawer and removing her file from its slot.
“But a rather nice one, don’t you think?” She took another drag of her cigarette and I clenched my fist, willing it to be over.
“I guess it depends who’s looking into it.” I flipped through the paperwork, found the prick’s phone number and keyed it into the phone. “I think a mirror is only as beautiful as its beholder.”
She chuckled, but said nothing.
“He has another appointment with us tomorrow,” I lied. “A similar property just around the corner from you actually, it’s a beautiful place.” I tapped my fingers on the desk as Justin, my colleague, tossed his coat over his shoulder. “Mrs Evans,” I said, rolling my eyes at Justin, “I really need to give him your decision now. If you lose him it could be…”
“Ok, ok,” she interrupted. “He can have the bloody mirror.”
"Finally!" I said, hanging up the phone. "I didn't think she was gonna crack!"
"Well done, mate, "Justin said, striding over to my desk with his hand in the air. I high-fived him with a grin firmly fixed on my face.
"Worked out the commission yet?" he said, heading for the door. Then he laughed. "That was a bloody stupid question, wasn't it? Come on, how much?"
"Five grand, give or take a few quid." It was a great day's work and I couldn't help but smile.
Before I left the office I called Roger, my boss, to tell him the news.
"Well done, Dave," he said. "Good work! Now get the hell out of there and get yourself a pint. You deserve it."
"I'm half way there already," I said, picking up my jacket.
"Well enjoy it." But don't go getting yourself hammered; you've got two more to settle tomorrow."
Half an hour later, I was at The Horse and Crown for a well- deserved pint. It was a small place, but substantially cheaper and more welcoming than its sister pub on the main road, which always attracted the tourists.
I was half way through my pint when Michael slapped me firmly on the back.
“Good to see you mate!” he said, slinging his jacket over the bar stool.
Mike was a good friend and a previous work colleague. We’d met several years ago when London was new to us both; when we were desperately trying to carve out our careers amongst the hardened property executives in the capital. Our grit and determination had paid off though; Mike was now a Business Development Executive with a top London firm and after three promotions I was in a very comfortable place in the same firm we had initially met.
Mike rolled up his shirt sleeves, loosened his tie and took a swig of his beer.
"So, how's life in the fast lane, mate?"
"Can’t complain," I said. "Closed on a great deal just now. It took all bloody week - cute owner, prick of a buyer - but just under five k in my pocket."
"Nice one. Tonight's on you then, Dave!"
"Well, I haven’t got it yet," I laughed. "I've been running around like a blue-arse fly. I've got two girls off sick so I've been covering for them as well."
"Something like that."
Mike shook his head. "Man, you're so soft. Didn't I tell you not to hire women?"
“My girls are great, wouldn’t say a bad word against them.”
Michael shook his head and took a sip of his drink.
The banter continued throughout the evening and as it had been a good few months since we’d last got together, we spent quite a while in the bar chatting about work and life in general. It must have been after our fourth or fifth pint that we headed off to a local Indian.
We ordered our meal and a bottle of red and then proceeded to converse with a couple of girls sitting at the adjoining table. They were sisters as it turned out - Mandy and Jane - and during the course of the meal the conversation became rather flirtatious. At one point Mandy reached over and helped herself to my naan bread, and it wasn’t long after that they joined us at our table. The sisters, both young, attractive girls, were like chalk and cheese. Jane was wearing a pin striped skirt suit and had her hair twisted up in a loose bun. She looked every part the PR executive she was. Mandy, on the other hand – a girl running the family horse stabling business in the West Country - was casually dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, with her long hair cascading messily over her shoulders. It was a thrown together look but it worked, and of the two, she was the one I focused my attention on. I liked her; I liked her arrogance and her ‘couldn’t give a shit’ attitude.
The girls ate their meal – and half of ours – and when the bill had been paid it was mutually agreed that we’d head to a bar for a late night drink. As the girls had their car with them too, and had chosen a venue unknown to me, we decided to follow them in mine.
Everything was fine for the first ten minutes of the journey; we were nose to tail for pretty much most of the way, but when Mike rolled a joint and the effects of it had taken their toll, we somehow managed to lose them in the heavy, night-time traffic. We tried to find them and looked everywhere, but eventually admitted defeat. So, with little else to do, and with no desire to end the evening, Mike rolled another joint, cranked up the music and we drove around the streets of West London without a care in the world.
It must have been about half an hour later when I turned into a council estate car park. Feeling pretty invincible by then, I stupidly decided to use the car park as a Formula One racing track. Mike was far too stoned to even acknowledge where we were or what the hell I was doing; he was slumped in the passenger seat with an almighty grin on his face and just enjoying the ride. George Michael was belting out from the stereo, the windows were wound down and a cool, city breeze was keeping me alert.
I’d been driving recklessly around the car park for quite a while when two police cars with sirens and flashing lights headed towards me, stopping me in my tracks. It didn’t take a genius to work out that a local resident had obviously called them, not too happy about the roaring engine and wheel spins I’d submitted them to. I quickly put my foot on the brake, turned off the music and held my breath as three coppers got out of their cars and walked towards me. One of them opened my car door and told me to get out. I obliged, and he took me to one side. I looked back at Mike but he was oblivious to it all.
The copper asked for my name, my license and then questioned what I was doing driving so recklessly in a residential area after midnight with a very real possibility of endangering someone.
What could I say? I was stoned, I was drunk. I wanted some fun. He obviously smelt alcohol on my breath because he asked if I’d been drinking.
“Just the two,” I lied.
With that, he produced a breathalyser and told me to blow into the tube, and with some hesitation - as I knew I was over the limit and thinking of the consequences that would follow - I took a deep breath and did as he’d asked. After twenty seconds or so I withdrew and waited for the results with my heart skipping a beat. I was sweating profusely and sobered up quickly - very quickly. I was already regretting the night, wishing I was at home. Hands up, I was totally wrong. I could have hurt an innocent person. I felt like a complete lowlife and lost total respect for myself. And I was nervous. I was scared of the consequences.
It was just one minute later that my life turned completely upside down. The result was positive.
Almost immediately I was handcuffed, arrested, told my rights and pushed into the back seat of the police car. The drive to the station was spent sandwiched between two of them and from what I can recall I did nothing more than stare into my lap for the entire journey. Upon arrival at the station they took my belongings, fingerprinted me and then led me into a cell. I had no idea what they’d done with Mike, but to be honest, at that point he was the farthest thing from my mind.
Delighted to say that my other true story FIVE WEEKS has received another 5* review!
Here are some of the reviews!
5***** "Having read the authors first book, WRONG PLACE WRONG TIME which I loved, I had to read this and wow.This is a great story and one yet again I will recommend."
5***** "Another total page turner. A great read. His writing - again - totally draws you into the story. I was begging the character not to, well, I'm not going to spoil it, but couldn't wait to find out. Thoroughly recommend it, and can't wait for the next one."
"I thought the story deserved 5***** You think all is well, then, you get shocked, and more shocked, And that's why you can't put the book down I think most adults would enjoy it...."
5***** "This is an easy to read book, about an estate agent who due to circumstances leave London. He lands a job as a tele sales manager and has to go to America for five weeks of training. The adventure starts for real then. I really enjoyed this well written novel."
5***** "I have read Dave's other book "Wrong Place Wrong Time" and throughly enjoyed it, so when I found out he'd written another book I jumped at the chance to read it. Five Weeks is equally as entertaining as Wrong Place Wrong Time, the story's about a dream job in America that turns into a five week nightmare where he's left for dead in a Pennsylvania forest. Dave's life would be equally as exciting if it was a prime time show or a hit movie. If you read one book this year make sure it's "Five Weeks"
Now why not read the first chapter!
"Let go of my fucking hair!"
The blood cascading from my nose had turned my white shirt into a shocking shade of claret, but I'd rather have felt the pummel of their fists than hair being ripped from my scalp. Ignoring my plea and returning with violent cursing, they continued to haul me by my hair across the grimy black and white tiles of the kitchen floor. It wasn't a poky one either; it was at least twenty-five feet long.
Twenty minutes earlier my mate Steve and I were sat in the corner of the kitchen watching two girls kiss seductively. Was it a show - a show for us - or were they a couple in love? We weren’t sure, but there was no mistaking their passion. We egged them on a bit. Who wouldn’t, watching two hot girls get it on? But to be honest they didn’t need two perverts encouraging them.
“Just going for a piss,” Steve said as he got up from the bench, nearly knocking himself out on the door frame as he clocked one of the girls sucking the other's tongue and sliding it in and out of her mouth.
As soon as Steve was out of sight, two burly men came into the kitchen staring directly at me, menacingly. That is when I knew I was in trouble. Steve was nine years older than me. He loved a good old scrap and had the build for it. He wasn’t scared of anything or anyone and he knew he was a great fighter. Me? I hated fights. I hated violence, only ever had one fight and that was as a school kid a few years back, which I lost.
They'd been waiting for the moment, that moment to catch me on my own. The girls stopped their performance and looked over. I’m sure they knew exactly what was going to happen next, and before I had time to even think, two colossal sets of hands came towards me. Buttons flew from my shirt in all directions, bouncing off the floor and walls, and I was grabbed by the collar and hair and dragged onto the floor. In mid air I felt a crack on the bridge of my nose and saw a fountain of blood as they pushed me down to the floor.
“What the fuck d'ya think you're doing playing up to our girls, you wanker?" His accent was thick; Irish. "D'ya think you’re funny?”
Before I could plead any sort of innocence, I felt another crack hit my face, but I wasn’t worried about my nose I was more worried about my hair.
They lifted me up by my neck and pulled me into the hallway of the house, the atmosphere turned nasty and the invited guests had receded to a handful. We were in Islington, North London, a few streets away from where I worked. Whose party? No idea. We were invited by friends of friends, of friends. Later that morning, driving back home, Steve and I looked at each other with blank expressions, trying to figure it out, trying to figure out what happened and why. But I didn’t really care by then.
As they dragged me towards the front door, I heard a familiar voice coming from the staircase.
“What the hell’s going on?" Steve jumped the last three steps and landed a punch, right on the chin of one of them. The guy flew backwards and bounced off the wall, but not without taking another handful of my hair with him, the bastard.
“Let go of him!” Steve shouted through gritted teeth to the other guy, whose hand was still firmly wrapped around my neck.
“I will, I will but just get him out of here, now.”
“But he has done nothing wrong.” Steve replied.
“I don’t give a damn just get him out of here.” The pale skinned Irishman said as he released his grip from my throat. I slumped to the ground in agony. He took a few steps back, raising his hands in front of him.
“Okay, now get him out of here and there'll be no more trouble.”
Steve ignored him as he helped me up. “For fuck sake, look at you, you’re a right mess." He said, shaking his head. “Bastards,” I heard him mutter under his breath. I looked down and he was right, all I could see on my ripped shirt was blood and hair and loads of it.
“They waited Steve...they waited for you to leave.” I trembled as he took hold of me, put my arm across his shoulders and walked me to his car.
Apart from Queen’s Greatest Hits droning in the background, the journey home was quiet. The windows were open to let in some of the much needed early morning breeze and every few minutes or so I lifted my right hand and hesitantly touched the top of my head and in amongst the hair, all I could feel was a cold piece of skin.
It was around four in the morning when Steve dropped me home. The still of the night couldn’t prevent my hand shaking as I turned the key in the door as quietly as I could, not wanting to wake any of my family not wanting them to see me looking a mess.
By passing the stairs and going straight into the lounge, I closed the door behind me and flicked the light switch. Adrenalin surged through my body as I stood in front of the mirror and raised my head to look at myself. My stomach sank as the glow of the ceiling light fitting above highlighted a three-inch bald patch. I felt sick. I looked like a monk. A battered monk who just had the shit kicked out of him.
After staring at my reflection, for what seemed like hours, a hint of the early morning sunlight crept through the gap in the curtain, I made my way to the bedroom I shared with one of my brothers. I cried myself to sleep on the bottom bunk, not wanting to wake up. And when I did, the pain and tears of earlier were still visible.
My folks were horrified when they saw me a few hours later with a busted face, black eye, and a hideous bald patch. Talking about it sent a shiver down my spine. A close friend of mine did try and make light of the situation by saying that as a Jewish festival was around the corner, wearing headwear would hide the bald patch. I tried to laugh but couldn’t manage even a smile.
As I worked in Islington, I knew that I'd always be looking over my shoulder just in case I came face to face with those men again, and driving to work through the early morning rush hour gave me plenty of time to think about what would happen if I did. Every morning when I was about ten minutes away from the estate agent’s office I worked for, paranoia would set in, and as I parked the car I'd look around just to make sure I wasn’t being followed or about to be jumped on. It wasn't the best way to prepare for a busy day ahead.
It had been three months since the party and thankfully I hadn’t seen the men who beat me black and blue. I stayed away from the street where they lived, and as far as I knew, they didn’t know where I worked. If we had a property to take on our books that was for sale in their road, I'd make an excuse and my colleague would do the valuation. I didn’t give a damn about the commission I may lose. My hair had grown back a bit but there was still a bald patch visible, covered with a pathetic layering of fuzz. I just had to live with it. It was tough at first, I hated being vain at times, but I got used to brushing my hair in a way that it wasn’t so noticeable.
By this time, I’d met a really nice girl called Jenny. One afternoon she'd been looking at the display of properties for sale, but every so often, she’d peeked round and smiled at me.
“Oh, another one being reeled in by his smile,” my boss would say, two desks behind me. I enjoyed sitting at the front, it did have its perks, mainly being the first contact for potential buyers. Jenny had shoulder length blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes and a smile that showed off her straight, white teeth. She looked so young, too young in fact to be looking for a property I thought when I first spotted her gazing through the window.
At nineteen, she was two years younger than me but acted older and after a few dinner dates over a period of a few weeks, we were practically an item. I was in love with her. She had Irish blood, but that didn’t put me off after what had happened at the party. But something did finally put me off working in Islington again. One evening after a day of negotiating properties for many excited first time buyers I knew that day was going to be my last.
At the time this area of London was booming with property developers buying and converting period houses into apartments. 'Flat Land' we used to call it, and there were many young couples taking their first steps on the property ladder. But that day it all ended for me. Without a single sight of those two thugs for months, that evening at around seven and on my way to the car after closing the office, I heard footsteps behind me. It was a cold evening and being November, it was dark by three in the afternoon. I hated the winter.
“Hey, you,” I heard someone yell with the words echoing down the quiet residential street. I didn’t turn round. I knew. I just knew straight away. I recognized the accent and I was scared. I carried on walking, quickening my pace. My car was close, just in the company parking bay.Just get in the car, just get in the car I repeated to myself. Again I heard, “Hey, YOU!” But it was louder, more aggressive, and they were closer. “Come here again and we’ll fucking shoot you, you hear? We’re watching you.” His voice seemed so close now it was like he was standing next to me.
Shoot me? Did they have a gun?
I still didn’t turn around. I wouldn’t dare.
My heart began to beat simultaneously with the pace of my steps and as I reached the car I eventually opened the door and threw myself into the seat, fumbling frantically with the key to slide into the ignition. When the engine turned over I yanked the car into reverse, slammed my foot on the accelerator and wheel-span out onto the road, just missing a passing car. Without braking, I thrust the gear stick into first and looked in my rear view mirror as I sped along. Under the glow of the street lights behind me, I saw two men laughing, the same two from the party. I will never forget their faces. And they did have a gun. One of them was waving an air rifle in the air, whether it was loaded or not, I had no idea, but I wasn't going to hang around to find out.
As I made my journey home I thought about my next move. I wanted to visit Steve but he was away, and I knew I couldn’t work around Islington anymore, even if Jenny lived there. I didn’t want to take the chance, so whilst sitting in the rush hour traffic, and before I made it home, I’d already finished writing my resignation letter in my head.
Well, it finally came around, the book launch of the debut novel THE SHADOWS BEHIND HER SMILE by Karen Millie James, and I must say what a fantastic evening had by all.
My job for the evening was to interview Karen, yes of course I was nervous as I have never interviewed anyone before, let alone on stage and in front of a nearly packed auditorium. But I must say after a few early nervy moments, I settled into the seat and the questions, which were written on cards came flowing out of my mouth.
There was even a Q and A with the audience which went down well with the questions they asked Karen. Then after the hour long conversation, drinks and snacks were the order of the day, well night in this case.
There was also a nice long queue of people wanting a signed copy of the book with all the proceeds from the books sales going to North London Hospice and apparently over £1,000 was raised. Also to mention that Charlotte Matthews gave an excellent plug on stage for the charity!