Zoe E. Whitten's Blog, page 93

My weekend ramble…

My sleep schedule is so messed up…I'm going to bed at 10 PM and waking up at 6 AM. Which sounds normal to y'all, but my normal sleep times are 3-4 AM to 11 AM-1 PM. And I don't care who you are, waking up at 6 AM is just fucking unnatural.

First update for the weekend edition is, Sandy Morrison and the Pack of Pussies sold copies! And thank goodness for that, because I really did not want to spend this weekend drinking heavily and crying about how nobody loves me. Instead, I can drink heavily and cry about how ALMOST nobody loves me. Very important distinction, believe me.

I remain hopeful that since Sandy's story is my first true YA fantasy novel, more people will give it a chance for it not being as graphic, dark or sexual as my other dark fantasy stories. I had one teen beta reader on this, and she really loved the book. So hopefully my readers will agree with her, and the incoming reviews will be gushing squees. Maybe a fight will break out between Team Witch, and Team Cat. Maybe readers will start a Sandy Morrison appreciation society…and maybe I'll get 7 sales in opening month and have to increase my crack smoking habits by two extra rocks.

Today is gonna be a lazy day outside. Might get some strawberry seeds and long planters for my gardening hobby. Might wander around the electronics store looking at gadgets and TVs I can't afford, which is strangely comforting for reasons I cannot explain. Or I might just lounge on the couch with an ebook. But first, I have to go to the music shop. It appears the model of guitar I want does not come in a left hand version. So, I have to go select another model and wait for another special order to go through. This would be soooo much easier if I could just get with the program and learn guitar right hand like everyone else. But no, I just gotta be "special."

And now a completely random thought: Zoe Winters is fucking awesome. She's not just a great writer, but also an awesome, first class human being; a fine example for the rest of the world to live by. If I have to be confused with another writer, I could do much worse than to be mistaken for Zoe Winters. In fact, last night when Andrew Wolter suggested that after I learn guitar and Italian, I should try to woo readers with my new smoother skills, I replied that I was going to tour under the label "THE WORLD-FAMOUS ZOE WINTERS." X^D But having said that, I want to request that readers please remember that we are two people. If I've pissed you off lately, dump your grief on my door. (Where I will promptly and cheerfully ignore you.) Do not dump grief on another writer just because we share the same first name. (Which is lame, and lazy to boot. Possibly even stupid.)

Some of you may have read yesterday's TL;DR post and wondered, "But if I just buy a copy of the book, is Zoe (E. Whitten, not Winters) going to bite my head off for not giving a review?" No. The simple answer is that you already gave at the office by buying the book. That's more than enough support for me. BUT, as I said in that post, if you were motivated enough to write to me, it would be extremely helpful if you would say these exact same things ONLINE to other readers. Okay, for the next three weeks, you're likely to catch a dirty look and be asked "You actually read Zoe Whitten?" But give it a month, and people will already be looking at the next big indie train wreck. They won't even remember me waving my middle finger in the air while singing, "Sha-na-na-nah! Na-nuh-na-nah! Hey, he-ey! Goodbye!"

And, PR-wise, it really didn't do anything to me one way or the other. Sales are still coming in, and the blog still has traffic. The snake lady got a fucking Salon article for taking one review on an obscure blog badly. I close my web-site and evict all my free readers for the sake of art, and it barely generates a fucking peep. Typical. Looks like I'm going to have to murder a literary critic just to get someone to look at my work. I could go with the Confederacy of Dunces marketing plan, but frankly, I don't trust my mother not to do massive edits before she shopped my work out. Well, that, and suicide makes it damned hard to appreciate the critical feedback, if it ever comes. (If you people wait to notice my work until after I'm dead, I swear to God, I am haunting every last one of you motherfuckers with a vengeance.)

Anywho, I think perhaps I shouldn't have issued corrections to my FU post, so that regular readers had the false impression that I'd told them to fuck off too for at least a month or so. Perhaps the added indignation would have led to better media coverage. But ironically, once I'd made it clear that FU'11 wasn't universal, and was in fact only contained to the free loaders on my site, bam, traffic died. Cause you know, nothing kills melodrama like the facts.

So, yeah, back to total obscurity with my usual traffic numbers again. (Between 30-60 visitors per day. Nothing to write home about, but nothing to be depressed over either.) And, apparently I still didn't stir many of you online regulars to comment. The folks who tried to post hit and run lectures were strangers showing up for the train wreck. But you silent folks…still silent. Seriously, what topic am I supposed to discuss to get you to talk? Politics? Religion? Booze recipes? Should I show you my tits? (I do, and I suspect the majority of comments will be "PUT THOSE AWAY!")

I've been sticking with the reviews a lot because traffic stats show that you guys read my reviews more often than you even read my fiction posts. No, like 3-to-1 ratios, making only my FU rant slightly more popular. 20 people might read a story blog post on opening week, but 60 people will read my review of ANY product. According to WordPress' January round up of stats, my most popular post from 2010 was my review of NaturalReader 9. For a product reviewer, this information would be great news. But for a fiction writer it's disheartening to say the least.

But, one good thing that's come out of going amateur: I broke my manic-depressive cycle. Every release weekend was turning into the same destructive pattern. Get REALLY happy on release day, and spend all day spreading love and good cheer. Next day, check sales, find nothing, and enter a black depression. Spend the weekend scaring off people with my poor attitude. These episodes last until I either started working on something else, or until one of my writer friends comes around to give me the monthly pep talk/back rub. (God help me if the writers ever decide I'm a nitwit and abandon me.)

But I digress; this weekend, no cycle. No ultra happy phase, cause I'm just releasing another story that won't sell well, so it's no big deal. When I woke up the next day, and it hadn't sold, I didn't enter a down phase, and I didn't feel the need to run off to do another project. I don't feel the need to do something this weekend, just to be doing something with my life. In fact, the only pressing thought on my mind is "Wonder if I'll get my guitar in May or June."

One final update before I head out for a quiet weekend: once again, Japan has been hit with another quake. It's often said that the Japanese are a very stoic people who don't like taking charity. But this year, those people have been Mother Nature's personal bitches WAY too much, and that's before you take into account the people living under the worrying threat of a larger nuclear disaster. That they didn't go crazy and loot an electronics store already is a testament to their self-control in times of crisis. Cause if I was living under their conditions, I would totally need to steal an X-box and wide screen TV to feel right again…what? (>.>)

Anywho, I know a lot of writers will offer to send proceeds in exchange for sales, but being honest, if I did that, the Japanese people would totally be ripped off. I'd donate like $1.45 from two sales, and the processing fees would mean the money that actually got to Japan would be 0.0001% of one penny. And this is not good enough.

So, I'm going to donate $25 to the relief efforts through GlobalGiving. If you're like me and need a charity that works with PayPal to accept donations, these are your people. They are also sending funds to help with ongoing relief efforts, which, considering these additional quakes, is VITAL.

My $25 PayPal donation came from all my ebook sales in March, so it's sort of like me using my proceeds for a positive change. I'm just not using it to drum up sales. Which, given my recent explosion, would look like sucking up to curry lost favor. But, here's the dealio yo, yo…yo. I would really love if you would consider matching my donation with a $25 donation of your own. You can donate less if you don't have the full amount, but people, stop and think about being hit with not one, not two, but three earthquakes and something like 300 aftershocks in a month, and your next door neighbor the friendly nuclear power plant operator is telling you, "Of course the seafood is still safe…you just might not want to make baby formula with the tap water." Think of them, and then think of someone in America saying, "Oh poop, my iPod broke mid-workout. FML." In Japan, people are going, "Oh holy shit, the planet is trying to shake us off like fucking fleas! FUCK MY LIFE, MEGA-STYLE! Someone fucking rub Mother Nature's belly and make her calm down!"

What I'm saying is, you don't have it as bad as you think you do, and you can spare some funds. I have MS, mood swings and brain scars, and I can still spare time to think of Japan. I have back taxes, incoming bills and new found addictions to finance, and yet I can still spare $25 for Japan. And people, if you have to choose between sending me $2.99 for my new YA book or sending it to Japan, send that $2.99 to Japan. I don't need your money THAT badly. I'll just catch you with my next book release in May, yeah?

Yeah, okay. And I'm fucking outie until Monday. Later, peoples.

A correction to the hostage situation, and another TL;DR ramble…

Right, before I get to the TL;DR ramble, I need to issue an important correction. I said in my last post that I wanted to see 20 sales on Sandy Morrison and the Pack of Pussies before Saturday, April 8. This is wrong for two reason, not the least of which is that Saturday is the NINTH of April. (y_-) It's also wrong because I'm not doing as much promotion these days. My goal would be a stretch even if I hustled 24 hours straight. But I'm not doing 14 hours of promotion now, or even 4, so my promotions need more time to reach readers.

BUT, even if I could convince all my readers to buy on the same day, 20 sales by the 9th is going to be…problematic. It's not fair as an incentive either. "Here's the offer!" *SWOOSH!* "Too late! Hahahaha!" Just…no, too evil. Thus, readers have until Saturday, April 23rd to help me come up with 20 sales. If I still can't get 20 by the 23rd, then the Mendoza's are going away until September.Okay, no, wait…May, June… YES! September!

This brings me to today's rambly topic, although I'll try to contain this to 4 pages. Anything past 5 will be ignored anyway, right? In essence, I want to make my pitch to you to be a critical reader of my work instead of a casual reader. Please note that there is nothing wrong with casual readers, in theory. But for an amateur like me, too many casual readers means guaranteed stagnation and obscurity. Casual readers have no vested interest in my success or even in my continued progress on any one series. Thus, they feel no need to help me improve, nor do they wish to help promote the work to other readers. If every series I launch succeeds, they don't care. If every series I launch fails, they still don't care.

The thing is, the online experts predicted this right from the start. Free readers do not chip in money. They do not help promote the work. Being blunt, free readers are entitled cheapskates who think that just paying for Internet access entitles them to be entertained. Like cable TV. Even Stephen Fuc-King (Genius) could not make an online serial pay, though he could pick up plenty of free readers. (I didn't find this out until 2 months ago. I was so depressed when I realized how long I'd been running a fool's errand.)

Some casual readers are going to be put off by my plans to recruit less of them and more critical readers. But the problem I have with casual readers is, they don't buy anything. If I put stuff out for free, they'll read one story after another. But they won't rate anything, or comment on my work. They won't review anything despite me making monthly requests, and they wouldn't offer any form of financial support to keep the site running, or to cover operational expenses like cover artists and an editor. They WILL show up so long as I have something free to give, but the moment I ask for something in return, I'm demanding WAY too much.

I've reminded blog readers often that I have MS, and that this writing gig is supposed to cover some of my expenses so hubby can start putting away funds for our retirement. But my free readers didn't care enough to offer support under any circumstances, in any form, for any reason. Writers did, and every large donation to my site came from writers, never from a dedicated reader or fan. 100% of the marketing help I've had is other authors. But the free readers, who benefit most from my work, do not feel inclined to help.

Despite the constant assistance of other writers, I'm always investing money in promotions, and I'm never getting any money back out from sales or ad revenue. For as much as I promote, I really NEED to see some kind of critical reaction for the few copies that do sell. When they don't, there's nothing for me to work with as a promotional angle. Getting one extra sale is meaningless as a selling point. Getting one extra review is not, even if it's a really short review. It still give me the chance to say "ReaderX gave me three stars for X Story," and post a link to the review.

Yet some casual readers refuse to understand why their silence is so deadly, or so frustrating. Some of you came to my comments on the FU post to attempt to lecture me over my attitude. Apparently, I'm supposed to be grateful that you'll visit my site at all, and if you only mooch and never help pay any of my bills, "boo hoo, bitch," and I totally asked for it by giving you the "try before you buy" option. If I was dumb enough to let you milk the cow for free, haha, joke's on me.

You've made it clear that free readers cannot respect me as an artist to provide even the barest amount of fan loyalty. So yes, I closed the free shop, and I will move everything to a paid storefront. Every privilege that I extended as a courtesy to establish my writing credentials has been rescinded, so I expect this means a lot of free readers are leaving. Some of you may have stuck around to see what happens next, and if you did, I'd like to make an appeal to you to try this relationship over. Anyone else reading this is made up of the folks who were already supporting me and knew you were cool during FU'11. Then there's some of you possibly showing up because of the FU. You're either hanging out to see the next explosion, or you got my frustration and you're deciding which story to pick. I know you're there because you emailed me or sent comments to one of the two blogs.

Altogether, though, there's not a lot of you left. I expected that given such drastic measures, and I know the last thing you'll want from me is a list of demands. So, let's call these requests instead. If you can't humor me for these requests, then please do not buy my books. I'm quite serious, and I am willing to sacrifice sales if it means reaching the right kinds of readers. I've had plenty of the wrong kinds, and I'd rather cast them away and try again rather than keep banging my head against a wall of indifference.

First of all, please be aware that the moment you buy a book, I get an email alert about it. I am totally aware of your purchase, and yes, I am keenly interested in your progress. BUT, I don't actually know which one of you bought a book. A friendly tweet or a note on my Facebook wall would be super. If my book is going to be tossed in the TBR pile for reading much later, telling me that would help too. I know it's not time to dial up the melodrama just yet.

When you at last pull the book out of the TBR pile, tweeting to me or sending a note on Facebook is being supportive. One, it tells me to get set for your verdict. (IE: set out rum for celebration and absinthe for mourning) Two, it tells your friends and mine that you're about to read one of my titles. You don't have to make it grand, like:

"STAND BACK, BITCHES! I'MA READ ONE OF ZOE WHITTEN'S BOOKS, AND I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN PREPARE MYSELF PROPERLY FOR THE FUCKING AWESOME THAT IS SURE TO FOLLOW."

(Totally do not need you to do that…but if you did, I would cream my panties and die from a squeegasm. No, for reals, yo.)

When you finish the story, send out a short verdict on one of the social networks, and be blunt. If your first reaction at the end is meh, then just say "meh." Or say, "Good job," or, "you suck," or, "hey biyotch, good luck with those guitar lessons, ye feckin hack!" Just let go with whatever first impression you have at The End. But if you feel the need to gush and sing my praises, dear god, please, do not hold back. Make a glowing review as if my health depends on it. Because, being perfectly blunt, it does.

REVIEW, PLEASE. I cannot stress this enough. I could write six pages of examples where someone giving a good review also sent in a little note like "But this part totally did not work for me. Everything else was great, but this? Ugh, not buying it." PEOPLE, PAY ATTENTION: I learn more from that one sentence than I do from line after line of praise. Not all praise is bad, and lots of you have blown me away with your positive observations. So you can send sunshine and happy vibes all you want. But be sure to think of at least one thing you didn't like. Trust me, it helps.

ALSO, you folks who write emails sometimes drive me crazy because you write a beautifully eloquent review for my work, a veritable essay worthy of reposting on every telephone pole and sleeping hobo, and HELL-O I could sure use this kind of in-depth analysis on a Smashwords review. If you write me a really awesome email review, why not copy that beauty to Notepad, and then paste it at Smashwords, Goodreads, Library Thing, Facebook, MySpace, your blog, possibly even your favorite forums, reading clubs, or HAM radio groups? If you aren't ashamed of me, you could even introduce me to your parents. (Yes, this is a rawther tacky guilt trip, isn't it?) If you loved the story enough to share so much with me, please, show me just a little more love by sharing your opinion with the outside world. And YES, include your complaints. The honesty is refreshing, for me, and for other readers. No, I won't bite you for complaining. I will drink and curse your mother in private, spilling drunken, bitter tears long into the night, until my red eyes are so puffy I can blink and wash my forehead. but I will accept your complaints humbly. (And kill you in a later story, most likely. Nothing personal, mind you. I'm just crazy.)

So, I've asked for a few bits of promotion online, and a review. Is there anything else my whiny ass wants? No, though there is another related topic I would like to cover. I know that many readers don't like reviewing because they don't know what to say. So, to help you sort out some early reviews that will be helpful to both a writer and to readers, let's start with basic questions:

Overall, did you like the story?

If no, what was the biggest flaw that ruined it for you? And the second biggest?

(Write these down in Notepad, add any extra gripes you think of, and paste the note on Smashwords as your review. Hand me one or two stars and walk away) OR;

If yes, what was your favorite part of the story? And the second best?

Even if you liked the story, think of one scene or flaw that just didn't work for you.

Which was your favorite character? What helped you decide to like them?

Who did you like the least? What was the turning point that made you hate them?

What do you think of the ending? Was it satisfying, or too rushed/hokey?

(Type in Notepad, paste review to Smashwords, and decide if I earned 3,4, or 5 stars)

This is a list of example questions, and you only need to pick three, maybe four at most. Your entire review shouldn't take more than two minutes to write, three if you're a slow typist, or five if you're really thoughtful in searching for the right words. Or you can do the whole list if you feel inspired to gab, which could take as long as ten minutes. In any case, no matter how short or long your answers to these questions are, this can still be a working review. It tells readers something about the story without being too detailed or dropping spoilers (Another big worry that stops readers from reviewing, not wanting to spoil it), and you can add whatever else you feel is relevant. If you feel like posting a spoiler, just add *SPOILER ALERT* before it to be courteous to other readers. Remember, your review is more of a communication to other readers than it is to me. As a side bonus, it gives me a peep into your head to see how you reacted to my work, but think first of what you want to tell other readers. If you make a short report for them (and for me) it's win-win for everybody.

I'm sure some of you are still upset that I would ask for this much. Please, try to put this request for your time into perspective. I took 3-8 weeks to write the rough drafts, and 3-9 months to write through the various revisions. I sank countless hours into reading aloud, often working until I have a raw throat and creaky voice. I have quite literally edited my fingers to the bone for you. By the time you see a published 1st edition, I will have invested almost a year into the project in the effort of giving you the cleanest, least bumpy text ride possible. And if you find a mistake and bring it to my attention, I will whack that error like it ain't no thang. Depending on your reading speed and habits, you may get anywhere from one to fifteen hours of entertainment out of one story from me. After all the time I've invested on your behalf, all I'm asking for is two to five minutes to let me know if I did my job right or not. Is that really so wrong? If it is, then I don't want to be right. (Admit it; you saw that coming.)

If you don't believe I should ask for this much time in return after all the time and energy I've invested in recruiting you, there really is no point in you buying my books. You are not the reader I need to help me reach a new audience. I've made my case over and over again when my stuff was offered under "try before you buy," and people did not take me seriously. So now there's no more free stuff. (And people STILL said, "I thought you were joking.") I will continue to make my case now that I'm on the "buy before you try" model. Without your help in recruiting other readers, I will never have a release sell 200 titles on opening day, or even in the opening month.

It's a simple trade, time for time. So, are you willing to help me, or are you ready to give me the finger and hit the door?

My first YA in the little leagues, and I'm holding a hostage…

Yes, despite losing my mind and walking off the job, I still have a HUGE back catalog to move to Smashwords. The "try before you buy" model was an abject failure, so now I'm attempting the "buy before you try" model. I realize this may be met with some resistance. So I'm taking a hostage.

So, first, this is Sandy Morrison and the Pack of Pussies. It's a YA adventure story about a secret war between witches and werecats. While it is not really a romance, there are some romantic elements to the story. There's also some violence, the occasional bit of necking and heavy petting, some drug use is mentioned at a party, and there's some coarse language to be aware of. In short, some parental guidance might not be a bad idea.

Also, kids, you probably should wait a year or two after you hit the legal drinking age before you read my other stories. I'm not advocating alcoholism. No! No, not at all! I'm just sayin', some of my stuff makes more sense after you're drunk, is all. (>.>)

But all right, some of you are like "I don't know, Zoe. I don't like the looks of Smashwords."

Well, take a look at this other YA story I did, Eddie's First Circus. Or you can't really see it right now. But it's an awesome short story about a little boy who can talk to animals, and his frantic older brother's efforts to get Eddie back under control before someone finds out about his powers. And of course Jessie Mendoza also has to come to terms with his own developing powers and keep a few steps ahead of some really bad guys in a white van. All while trying to impress his next door neighbor, Alice. For a short story character to accomplish all this, you know Jessie's gotta be a special kid.

This story COULD be released on Smashwords for free for four months, just like Stark Raving Bonkers was released for free. And, being a proud Zoe in the Fiction Liberation Front, I totally want to give you this story for free as an incentive for buying copies of Sandy's book. So you COULD get two awesome YA stories this week from me, if you can meet a teeny tiny, eensie weensy goal: I want 20 sales before midnight of Saturday April 8th. (So, when the clock strikes Sunday in my neck of the wood, time's up.) If this goal can be met, the kids go free for four months, after which, they will be sold for 0.99 cents. BUT if this goal cannot be made, those poor kids will be locked in a cold dark hard drive for no less than four months, after which time they shall be sold for $1.99.

WHAT?! (O_0) SO UNFAIR! It is, totally, and I want to be nice to you and let you pay a lower price for this story. But I also want 20 people to buy Sandy's book and make this a happy release weekend for me. If I sell five books…actually I can live with that. Or two books, now that I think about it. But rules is rules, and ransoms don't hold no meaning if I don't act tough. Grrr.

Right, so there it is. You can help make this a happy go lucky weekend, or you can lock two neglected Hispanic children in a dark and dreary place for four months. You aren't really that kind of heartless, soulless baby abuser, are you?

Please, don't be evil. Buy Sandy's book, and do it, for the children.

More updates and clarifications…

On April 5th, the most common comment made to me in private was "I thought you were joking!" No, that's April 1st, and I made sure to make my announcement on the 3rd, one day before my birthday. (and, had that been a prank, it would have shown that I have a shitty sense of humor.) The birthday itself wasn't bad, and the day after, I dismantled the whole sales machine in about an hour. The web sites are gone, and by now, Amazon should have taken down all of my books. So if y'all thought that was a cheap ploy for attention to get more sales at Amazon, bang goes that theory too.

Looking at pingbacks, I note how some of you think I told all readers to fuck off. No. Some of you also think I'm mad because you never gave me a chance. No. If you never came to my blog until you heard that I told the world to fuck off, you don't qualify for the label "my readers," do you? No. That would be a specific label, which implies you had come to my site, picked out something that interested you, and then started reading. That is the only definition one can possibly take from "my readers," but almost all reporting parties chose to omit "my," which makes the story more sensational than it really is.

If you look at my genre, dark fiction, and decide I'm not for you, I'm cool with you. If you made it past the genre, but decided you didn't like the covers, or the blurbs, I'm cool with you. And if you read a free preview and decided not to keep reading, I'm cool with you. Because you have decided not to be one of my readers.

A few of my readers didn't get included either, but they know who they are. The readers who got omitted from the "Great Fuck-off of '11" are the people who put a link to my site on their blog, or who listed my blog in their blogroll. They posted a link to my latest book, or they left a rating on Smashwords or Amazon, or on WFG, or Muse's Success. They clicked the stars and left a rating on posts or sent me an email to say, "I finished this story, so here's what I thought." I never said support had to be sales, but a lot of these people also bought books too. Looking back at the last year, it was these kinds of readers who kept me going. They deserved a real apology for me backing out of the market, and I gave it to them.

I'm sure some of you have decided never to read me based on my blow up, and I don't care. You can't honestly say, "I was going to read you before I found out you was a bitch." Puh-lease, you were not. I write about gay mad scientists building private zombie hordes, transsexual halfling sexual predators touching their inner children inappropriately, and bigender shapeshifting bards involved in cloning scams. You don't wander much farther away from mainstream values without tattooing a swastika on your forehead and gibbering about the antichrist. So I really didn't expect that many of you to read my stuff in the first place. And, we are totally cool on that.

The rest of you can wander back to whatever genre you prefer, with my blessings. If you still want to feel offended on general principle, then you are a self-righteous cunt, and I really can't do anything for you one way or the other. So by all means, whine to your friends how I told you and the whole world to fuck off. It's not true, but then truth seems to possess a highly pliable quality these days.

Retirement: Day one

Today marks the first day of my second retirement. Having already retired from work once after my multiple sclerosis symptoms made manual labor too painful, it isn't so scary deciding to retire the second time around. Plus, it gives me a chance to pursue something else I've always been meaning to learn. The new guitar was a special order, what with me being left handed, so my gift is coming in 2-3 weeks. I've already picked out all my other items; strings, picks, and a strap. The shop had a lot of uber-manly black straps with scowling skulls. But right in the middle of those was a black strap with white skulls wearing pink bows. And that is so me right now. Punk kitten. Guh-er.

And so today was my first day of retirement, but also? Happy birthday to me! 36 and a yeee! 36? Yes, really. And how did I celebrate? With spring cleaning and some gardening. Yeah, after ending my "career" of sitting on my ass all day and writing, I got up and spent the day working around the house. Gardening is a bit of a joke. We have weeds growing in the pots of our dead plants from last year. So I'm watering the weeds to see if I can at least keep them alive during the Summer. If it fails, eh, they were just weeds. I'm also watching over a new basil plant, which hubby almost totally killed. So for now, my schedule offline is: clean house, language studies with hubby, gaming or reading, and online time chatting with friends.

I pulled all my ebooks from Amazon, Mobipocket, and all of the affiliates related to Smashwords. The ATP site will be next on my list to take down, and then the main web site. Dismantling things was actually easier than I would have suspected. Figures that it's easier to pick up my shit and go home than it was to put it up in the first place.

After I get the guitar, lessons with it will take up more of my time. Once I've got enough skill to play songs without cringing at myself, I may get a new digital camera and start posting songs on YouTube. Or maybe I won't. I was telling hubby that one of the great things about a guitar is, completing a flawless performance of Eruption is a reward in itself. One doesn't need a financial or feedback reward to feel good about the achievement. I can play with myself and still feel good about it.

One final note. While today, the feedback from most writers has been fantastic, some people interpreted my message in condensed form as "You don't appreciate my genius." No, doucherocket, my message condensed is "No job is worth $30 a month for 14-18 hour days, 6 days a week." But I made the mistake of mentioning my IQ in the same six page document as I commented about my writing. So any self-centered twat skimming my TL;DR post for talking points is likely to come away with the wrong message. Your bad, and you're still a sour cunt. Fuck you, fuck your catty speshul snowflake friends, and no, I wouldn't have read your lousy fucking books either, bitch.

And finally, some of you thought after I said "Fuck you and there's the door," that I would let you make a speech before you walked out. No. First of all, if you're showing up to bust my chops, but you never heard of me until now, you're fucking stupid. I just retired. I don't give a fuck if my pissing on your desk offended you. But keep talking, asshole. I think I feel a shit coming on.

And if you never read anything of mine until that post, that fuck you screed wasn't even aimed at you. But you'll jump in the path of my silent readers and take that fuck you, so you can puff up and get indignant. How dare I, a crippled stay-at-home author, ask my readers to support me with a rating or a review? Why, the nerve! The audacity of a true starving artist with a chronic illness asking for verbal support! Next, I might have even gotten uppity and asked for financial support!

No. You indignant strangers do not get a speech after my retirement either. If you never read me, and you're only here now to see the train wreck, sorry guys, you already missed it. All you get to see is my closing statement: you people are the reason the libraries are closing, why the bookstores are failing, and why only the top 5% of writers earn a decent living. Because the only time you can be bothered to speak up is right after someone tells you to fuck off. But otherwise, you remain complacent as you watch other people sink in financial quicksand. Now you're offended because I gave you the finger on my way out the door? Ha, and fuck you too.

And from now on, this blog will be about book reviews, booze, guitars, and occasionally, my unnatural obsession with teenage breasts. There will be no comments allowed, and I don't give a fuck what rating my posts get. Your opinions matter to creative professionals. While I am creative, I don't earn enough money to give a fuck what any of you people think.

One last time, with feeling. Fuck you, sloth, and there's the door.

The Long, Slow Goodbye. (Or the meltdown resignation)

Four years ago, I started an experiment and self-published my first story through Lulu. It was full of typos and first-time mistakes, and ever since then I've strived to put together a better book. In those four years, I have reached the point where my self-published books were as good as the pro books, and in some cases, mine were even better. I made tables of contents for mine, and lots of pros didn't bother. I revised my ebooks when I found mistakes, or when readers did, and the pros fire and forget every product, every time. I'm not saying they should go back and fix every little thing. I'm saying I worked harder than the pros would. I committed myself to give people the best product I could, even fixing stories long after they were released.

I was doing this for fun, but over time, I've invested more and more of my energy and money into convincing readers to check my stuff out. At times, my free downloads were doing so great, I assumed soon I would see lots of reviews. But other writers explained in their blog posts how people who read stuff for free don't feel any obligation to lend support. Free readers have to be bribed to offer support. This went against everything I feel passionate about. I'm a vocal supporter of writers, but also of musicians and visual artists. I'm a vocal and passionate person, and I want to believe that deep down, everyone can be just as passionate if I could just find the right message to stir them to feel something.

But you know what? In four years, no one ever proved me right. I have some fans who are just as passionate, but those people are other writers. It's not that my works fired their passion. They already had passion. They saw my drive and energy, and they wanted to help me achieve my goals. If I make nothing else clear in this TL;DR post, I want to make it clear how much I love and appreciate those communities of writers. Pro, semi-pro, or amateur, you folks are all right, and I never, NEVER want to resent you for having success.

Lately, there's been constant hub-bub over Amanda Hocking. First, there's writers bitching that her writing is not so good, so how can she sell so well? I didn't care for that sour grapes shit, and I said so in an earlier post. But then Amanda signed a book deal, and she's gonna make a few million. Amanda is saying "I don't have time to write any more. I just promote all the time, and that's not what I want for me." And she is so right on. I love to write. I LOVE to write. But I fucking hate promoting anything. And it's not that I mind putting out a product and saying, "Hey, look at this." It's that I have to shout and scream and push to make a few sales. I run myself ragged for sales, and I hate every minute of it. I hurt myself, ending up laying on the couch for half the day because I'm so stressed out. I take more and more time away from writing to promote, and it's never converted into a big sales drive. I work all month for a handful of sales.

I invest 14-18 hours a day to this hobby now. Last year, I invested a couple thousand euros in cover art and promotions. And for my investment, I got 500 sales. Don't you dare pat me on the back, and don't you tell me how some people aren't doing as good. LOOK AT THE MATH I JUST GAVE YOU. I spend FOURTEEN to EIGHTEEN hours of EVERY DAY working, so I can earn less in a month than you will working one SIX HOUR day at a regular office job. And then I get done with all this work so someone can tell me, "It's great that your MAKING A LIVING WITH YOUR ART." I'm…do you even understand why that's a backhand slap in my face? I don't think you do, because you people keep saying it and not understanding why I suddenly get all twitchy and abrasive.

I'm not earning a living. If it weren't for hubby, I would have starved to death long ago. So don't you dare tell me you admire me for selling my art. Don't you dare call this "making a living." It's an insult to all the hard work I do only to earn a pittance, whatever scraps that the OTHER WRITERS can afford to send my way. They bust their asses, and it kills me when they send donations from their day jobs. It kills me that despite all the work done, I remain unknown.

Zoe Winters started her career after me. I'd already put out a set of comedy videos under the Infinitely Stupid brand on YouTube, and I already had 20 books out when she was just dropping Zoe Who? and her first book. Now people keep asking if Zoe Winters is really me. Zoe Winters is more well known than me, and she more sales per month than I sell all year. I read Zoe's books, and I love them. I think Zoe is an awesome chica, and just like Amanda Hocking I want to be happy for her success. Okay, I rolled the dice, and my shit didn't sell. But I never want to resent a writer just because they're having a good day.

Which brings me to Suzanne Collins. I've had people tell me they can't read me because I'm just too dark. My writing is so unhappy, so…dystopian. Many of these same people who wouldn't read me PRASIED Hunger Games, and said they were shocked by how different this work was from other YA. And I started reading Hunger Games, and I resented the people who read that book and thought it was great. I resent the book for mistaking a sheltered existence for a hard life. But it's a perspective problem, you see. My childhood was so lousy that Katniss looks like a spoiled brat to me. To people who think skipping lunch is hard living, the world Katniss lives in must seem terrifying. But to me, it was trash.

BUT, recently, my resentment of the work has started bleeding over to the writer. This does not please me. I don't want to be the bitter wannabe. When I read, I want to enjoy what I'm reading. I don't want to be studying it to figure out why it sold well and all my stuff failed. And more than that, I don't want to resent Suzanne Collins for her success, even if I don't like her story. I want to move on and let it go. But lately, I can't. It hurts so bad that I released my best book to a resounding 5 sales on opening day. It hurts that I can spend all day begging for sales to get one or two.

Some of you may come along and say "I don't like negativity, so I won't read you work now." Hey, fuck you. You weren't reading my shit before, and you were looking for excuses to avoid reading me from the word go. I'm sick and fucking tired of holding myself back, kissing your ass with my silence in the hope that you'd eventually try my work.

You people may ask, "Why are you so angry and negative?" I had a rotten childhood, ruined by normal people and their mainstream values. I had my personality and body repressed for 20 years by bullies, and their attacks were condoned by adults who had the gall to tell me I deserved it for not being normal. That's why I'm angry. That's why you don't get happy stories from me, and why my work is so dark. Because I grew up in a shit world that I had to fight tooth and nail to make a place for myself in.

And now, I'm at the peak of my artistic skills. I can hand paint a cover, write a novel with my eyes closed, and compose a fucking musical album to go with it. I can fly creative circles around most people, and yes, it's about god damned time that I remind people that I have a 135 IQ. I do and say stupid shit enough that you might think I'm an idiot. At times, I even cultivate an "aw shucks" attitude about my skills. But the fact is, I have more talent in one hand than most people have in their whole body. And even for the truly talented people, I can still step up and deliver shit just as good as their work.

But you know what? Talent isn't good enough. Being a fucking genius has never been a guarantee of success for anyone. An idiot has just as much chance of success if they're willing to work themselves to death. A writer with weak talent can earn a paycheck if they just keep pushing their crap stories. The law of averages is on their sides.

But if I want to offer you something really different, something you've never seen before, you don't want it. You don't want my work because I won't play to your expectations. To me, that's the point of being the alternative artist. I want to do something really different.

Now Amanda Hocking is a true indie, whether she's made a pro deal or not. She has busted her ass to earn her place. But her stories are not cutting edge. They play to reader expectations. She is not alternative. Her success will come because she's writing stuff that WILL appeal to a broad audience. So it totally makes sense for her to sign a book deal and let the publishers do the heavy lifting.

But I'm not Amanda Hocking. I don't write mainstream, and I don't write on spec. Before you tell me off about not trying hard enough, I wrote 14 books last year, well over a million words. My output puts all but the most prolific pros to shame. I'm not a lazy person, and I'm not refusing to write mainstream without trying it. I tried, and I hated the results. It's my opinion that if I hate the writing, you will too. I can't fake enthusiasm for this kind of writing. It's not laziness. I just know my own limits.

So, I've had enough, and the sign I've had enough is Suzanne Collins. I don't want to resent her. I don't want to turn her into my Dan Brown or Stephenie Meyer. Lots of writers pick a target to resent, and whenever things aren't going right for them, they dump shit on their Dan Brown. But I don't do that. I don't want to do that to Miss Collins. I want to be truly happy for her that her books will become movies. And I can't do that if I continue to write the way I've been writing.

So, I'm quitting pro writing. I will continue to write as a hobby, but I will never again let other people peer pressure me into treating this as anything but a hobby. I will release my stories on Smashwords without covers, unless I feel like painting something. I don't give a fuck if you think that's professional or not. I'm not a professional. I never was. I don't give a fuck if my attitude sends you away because you can't stand any negativity in your sheltered little world. I'm no longer going to bother with advertising, spending all my free cash begging you to read me, only to be ignored. I'm not going to mail reviewers and ask them to take my book, only to have them send me to the bottom of the TBR pile forever. I'll drop a book on Smashwords, and for a month after that, I'll put up one or two tweets per day. I'll put links on Facebook. But beyond that, I'm not busting my ass all month long to earn $20-30. Fuck that. And don't tell me that any of you would keep working for scraps like that year in and out. You wouldn't. You don't even have the drive to do half the work I've done.

Does that offend you, that I just implied that you're a lazy person? Have you decided RIGHT NOW you won't read me because I called you lazy? Fuck you. There's the door. BYE. You never once posted a rating. That's two seconds of work, or 0.00001 percent of the effort I put into one book. In one year, I've written more than you ever will in all the forums and blogs combined. Compared to me, you are a lazy, unmotivated, sheltered sloth. And I am sick and fucking tired of begging you to move your finger (just one) and click a fucking star. BUT, I'll bet you at least one of you motherfuckers WILL give me one star on this post, because I've finally lost my temper and called you out.

FUCK YOU, SLOTH, AND THERE'S THE DOOR.

If there is anyone left reading this tirade at this point, you are the only people I want to talk to. You are the people who commented on my blogs, who read every book and emailed me. You are the people who posted reviews and offered me support in your own ways. Maybe you couldn't always buy stuff, but you made an effort. It is for you people that I will continue to write and post stuff. Your support has been the only thing that kept me from chucking it all throughout 2010. For every bleak depression I suffered, you were there to lend support. For every time I needed help, you were there. And you people are fucking awesome. I'm crying as I write this, because I never wanted to reach this point of being this mad and this tired. It is to you people that I owe apologies for backing down and going back to being a hobby writer.

When my hosting contract ends this year, I'm closing my web site down. I will maintain my WordPress blog so y'all can get updates on new releases. I will still post book and music reviews, but I will no longer blog just to have content up. I will blog when I feel like it. Because this is just my hobby. I'm not wasting more money on a web site just because certain people think it looks more professional.

I'm taking down the Aphotic Thought Press web site, although I will continue to use the name. I registered it legally, after all, so I might as well. I guess for the rest of all time, I will own a block of ISBN numbers that I will never use. Maybe some day a writer I really like will need to release a book, and no one else will take it. So I'll give them an ISBN number and we'll call their book an ATP title. Or maybe I'll just have a block of numbers because real writers wouldn't want to be associated with an amateur operation. Whatever.

I will post stories on Smashwords, but I will not be going into the premium catalog. I will not bother putting work on Amazon. For that matter, I'll soon be pulling my titles from Amazon. The mobi files are available elsewhere, and if people are unable to visit a different vendor to support independent art, then I'm sorry, but that isn't the kind of reader I want for my books. I'm sick of Amazon treating me like shit and acting like I should take it. I hate having to contact customer service when I know they're just going to brush me off. And why shouldn't they? I'm not a real writer, so why should they even pretend to respect me?

I'm done playing at the pro game. I'm done feeling bitter. So I will also be cutting back on my online time. I will divide my new found free time between studying Italian and learning guitar. I've already ordered a lovely left hand Cort guitar and a basic 15W Crate amp. As soon as it comes in, I'm going to start in on scales and chords and work my way up.

I will continue to write, but only as a hobby. I will commit only 2-3 hours per day to this. No more, no less. That means that I can't make 14 books a year, but hell, it's not like my copious quantity ever did anything for me. So if I only write 3-4 books a year, it's okay. If I release those books and they don't sell anything on opening day, it's okay. If you people hate my guts and they don't sell a a single copy ever, that's okay. Because this is my hobby, not your business. You people who buy my stuff can be fans of my writing, but it does not obligate me to become a professional just because I'll finally be earning money instead of losing it every year. And, let me be clear. I may have made five hundred sales. But I invest the equivalent of 2,000 sales, and I have consistently lost money on this experiment. Custom covers did not convince you. Tight editing and free samples did not convince you. Good reviews did not convince you. So yes, now I'm pissed off, and I just know someone is feeling resentment at me for saying this. In fact, a good friend on Twitter suggested you might think of me as a bully for saying how much I resent you.

Lately, that's my problem, people. I stopped being okay with any of this. I stopped having fun. I've started to resent every facet of writing. But I don't resent it because of the work I do. I resent that all this passion on my part still results in abject apathy on your part. I resent that nothing I've ever done stirred you. I resent that the only thing that may stir you is this post, and it will stir you NOT to read my work. And up to a certain point, I can live with all of that resentment.

But the day I woke up resenting Suzanne Collins was the last day I wanted to be a professional writer. I don't give a fuck what most people think of me. I don't care if you think I'm abrasive and a bitch. But I practice what I preach, and I WILL NOT resent a writer for having success. I don't care what my opinion of her work is, or what my problems are with her characters. If it's come to this, that I resent a writer because I cannot have what they have, I'm done. I will not become a hypocritical, back-biting wannabe whining about the hard work and successes of others.

It's a long-shot that Miss Collins will ever read this. But the online world is full of stories about long shot things happening frequently. So, Ms. Collins, I'm sorry that I let my personal problems get in the way of my assessment of your work. Being a struggling writer, I understand intimately how much you must have worked to get that story published, and I'm truly glad that you've got a movie in the works. Hell, I may even go see it, just to prove that there are no hard feelings on my part. But, there WAS some resentment building toward you for that book being so successful, and that's my problem to sort out.

I'm sorry to everyone who read my stuff and was hoping I'd work harder on promotions. I'm sorry to everyone who did work to support and promote me. I know this post is probably breaking your heart, because you think I'm killing my career. Well I know I'm killing it, and I'm doing it because I don't want to play anymore. I'm sorry for disappointing you and going back to writing only 3-4 books a year. I really hope that even if I don't use covers or sell in all the stores, some of you will continue to read and review my stuff. But if you don't want to associate with a "divisive person," I suppose I will try to understand your continued silence too.

But to the rest of you, I'm tired of begging and pleading you, so I'm done. I rolled the dice for four years, and I shot crap with every roll. Totally my bad. I'm not blaming you. But I do resent you, for never once caring enough to at least send me a "meh." I resent you for the months of work I put into every title, and yet I never earned five minutes of your time for a review or two seconds for a rating. For all my work, you never felt I deserved so much as a private email, or a link on your Facebook profile. I resent that for all the work I do, you don't do anything in return.

So I'm done working for you. If reading this long ass post makes you sad because I'll be writing less, I'm sorry. You're the people I appreciate. But if you read this and it convinces you to continue avoiding my work, fuck you. I've been wanting to say that to you for two and half years now, and I hate to say it, but Dick was right. It does feel cathartic to finally say what I mean. So from the bottom of my black beady heart: fuck you, you lazy, sheltered, self-centered, sociopathic, free-loading assholes. Don't you come back at me with "well what did you do?" Because I have supported a lot of artists, publicly and privately. I have endorsed charities and causes and donated regularly to them and to private causes as well. I have busted my ass for four years with a passion and a volume that most of you couldn't accomplish without first doing a pair of eight balls back to back.

I do a fuckload more than you ever will, but for all my support and promotions, you remained the same apathetic silent assholes you've always been. So much for leading by example, and fuck you, one last time. Go back to your reality TV show and your "popcorn movies," and I hope y'all remain completely happy being the lowest common denominators that the other content producers aim at.

There's a million writers, musicians and artists who will happily kiss your ass and placate your every whim. I'm not that person. I'm sick of this shit, and I cannot continue to write if I'm feeling this bitter. So consider this the stake in the heart of my professional career. I'm a fucking hobbyist who used to have fun with this. It wasn't the publishers who ruined this for me, and it isn't other writers. It's you silent assholes looking at me and asking "Well what did you expect?" I expected you to fucking REACT. Either to be offended or inspired, or mad or upset. But that kind of response is too much to expect from you slacktivist motherfuckers. My bad for having more hope in the human race than you fucking deserve.

So, if this TL;DR wall o' text wasn't clear, I'm done. Fuck my career, and fuck you silent readers. Thanks to my real fans and supporters who carried me this far for the last few years.

But for those of you who lurked but couldn't be bothered to help, fuck you. If I still had a dick, this is the part where I would have told you to suck it.

Would you like a free vampire novelette?

I'm trying to drum up five more sales on Smashwords before the end of April. It's a small number, but I'm not finding the sales I need. So, I will try an incentive. If I can get five more sales (any title, provided it's not a free title) before April 1st, I will release the next Vicky the Vampire story, Stark Raving Bonkers, for free. If I don't get those sale, Vicky's book won't be released until this summer, at which point it will be 0.99 cents.

Blood Relations and A Job Interview With a Vampire have been very popular with readers, so it seems like I have a few vampire fans because of Vicky's brash and cheerful attitude. I'm glad y'all like Vicky so much, and I will be happy to give y'all a free Vicky the Vampire story if you will just help me out with a little financial push to help me meet a few minor expenses. Thanks in advance to anyone who buys books in the next two days.

That one crazy indie chick (y_-)

Today, I am feeling like splattered shit. I'm operating on two hours of sleep, and stomach problems will not allow me to get real rest. I'm also "enjoying" some MS-related joint pain, some vertigo, and a lovely visual hallucination similar to the stuff I saw while on shrooms in Amsterdam. So, if this post gets a bit weird that's the reason. (I only wish I had some drugs to blame this on, but sadly, I'm sober.)

Today, on Twitter, Facebook, and most book related blogs, there are people saying, "have you heard about that crazy indie writer?" And, the thing is, most everybody already knows exactly which crazy writer is being referred to, a certain apparently unstable lady (no, more unstable than me, if you can imagine it) who went off on a two star review because the reviewer "didn't download the right copy." This, she said, is "abuse" by the reviewer- That's the first post she makes in the comment. Through later multiple messages, said author grabs progressively bigger swords for the longest and most gruesome career hara kiri ever. Even as people are advising her to put down the blades, she keeps insisting that she has a right to lose it over the review.

I actually read the review completely, whereas I could not sit through the author's tirades. It worse than trainwreck, which I might feel obligated to stare at and wait for the crash. This is someone beating their face on a two-way mirror, and it's simply too awful for me to watch.

On the one hand I want to feel for the chica because she sent an ARC. Now when you get a pro ARC from a publishing house, there's usually a little disclaimer about how this isn't the final copy of the books and as such there may be typos. Reviewers are asked to be lenient on these things as a final round of proofing still awaits the text. The ARCS are meant to get reviews out before opening day so that a book can have some buzz working for it.

That said, once an author or review turns over a book to the reviewer it is that copy which the reviewer must base their decision on. It is not the reviewers job to check for an updated file before reading. If the author feels like emailing the reviewer before the reviewing process begins to offer another file, the reviewer may elect to take the new file at their leisure. The author has no right to demand "You will read the right version!" If it's so vitally important that you only send the cleanest copy to reviewers then DO NOT SEND AN ARC. Send the final proofed copy after the book is out if you are so worried about talk of typos and errors. Yes, you lose out on advance reviews, but you also don't get a two star review for having too many mistakes in your work.

The last point I want to stress is, look at the review. This is a good, balanced review that tells what they liked out of the story, and then goes on to say why they think others may have a hard time with the text. As a review, it's actually pretty gentle compared to the two star review I got for The Sole Survivors' Club. So no, I really don't see what the author is bitching about.

Further, knowing that it's an ARC, the better response to a bad review like this for me would have been to make a blog post pointing to the review, and then POLITELY declaring, "The reviewer was given an early advance release, unfortunately, but the final version of the book has been corrected and does not have these problem. Please, check out the preview, and you will see for yourself that the first chapters are cleaner than the reviewer's copy. In any case, my thanks to the reviewer for looking at my story, and I hope that they will find some of my other stories to their liking."

There. See how I correct the reviewer without being rude? I inform the readers, "I know it had mistakes in the ARC, but I fixed those in the final proof." I do not have to call the reviewer a jerk (because they aren't) or claim that the review is "nothing short of abuse." (Because it isn't.)

And, as a former victim of real abuse, I find it disgusting how many entitled people cling to the idea that criticism of your work is somehow comparable to real abuse. Seriously people get the fuck over yourselves and deal with criticism like grown-ups. Hell, I have the mentality of a 13-year-old, and I still took my two star hit with more dignity than this chronic whiner.

In closing, today, I have to feel shame for being an indie writer, because right now, the label "that indie writer" only belongs to our worst apple, the most wormy, soggy, nasty lump of rotting fruit in the barrel. And even though she's surrounded by polished apples that look fine, this week, all anyone will see is the bad apple. Her rot, her lousy reputation will stain the rest of us for months to come. All because one entitle author didn't know when to put the fucking shovel down and stop digging.

So if you're an indie author, and you get a two star review, whether it's fair or not, you sit on your fucking hands if you can't just say thank you and move the fuck on. Clear? Good. Class dismissed.

(Note. I will not promote the author by name, nor promote their book title. I see no reason to condone bad behavior with free promotions)

Cover, X-Box, or Guitar?

So, my birthday is coming up in 10 days, and hubby is asking what I want. For the last three birthdays, I have taken money as a gift, and turned around to buy a cover for one of my books. Which really hasn't done much for sales. I'm often tempted to release a book sans cover, just to see if it sells better or worse, but  that's not really what I'm talking about today.

No, this year, I've decided that I want an actual gift. Some of you on Twitter know I've had my heart set on an Xbox Kinect, and that I've felt this way since learning that they have dancing games. (Don't judge me.) I would LOVE to get the dance games and LIPS, the karaoke game, and I can see spending many long nights annoying my neighbors as I try to hit the high notes in my favorite Bee Gees tunes. (I said don't judge me, damn it!)

But, you know, I've also had this strong urge to learn guitar. No, playing Guitar Hero is not good enough. I want to be able to pick up a guitar and pick my way through some of my favorite songs. I've always loved guitars, but I admit, there's a selfish ulterior motive to wanting the guitar: guitarists get groupies.

It's true. You don't have to be famous, just a regular weekend jammer in a little band, and suddenly women are throwing panties and cell phone numbers at you. You really don't get that kind of attentions as a writer, not even as a famous writer. Yeah, there's that "I Want to Fuck Ray Bradbury" song, but that bitch is totally lying, and she wouldn't touch Ray's elderly penis even is it was made from pure awesome. (It is in fact made up mostly of water, which isn't really all that sexy.)

It isn't that I didn't look for hawt writer groupies. I did. But most of the writer groupies just want an autograph and the chance to ask a few burning questions about their favorite characters. Writer groupies do not, for instance, trade beta read credits for oral sex. Or even for nude photos and dirty letters. But a music groupie would go down on me for the chance to hear my latest song before anyone else. A really dedicated groupie would even do it just to here me strum a G-chord. (Hey, don't knock it. Finding a G-chord is actually easier than finding the G spot, and yet it has nearly the same effect. Trust me on this.)

Readers, I'm not blaming you…check that, I am blaming you, you buncha close-minded prudes. You could have at least offered me a chance to sign your chests every once in a while, but no, even a bit of extra cleavage is too much to ask for. This whole writing hobby sucks ass, because no matter how good I am, there's never going to be hawt groupies offering sex. The best I can hope for is people to kiss my ass, but if I ask them to kiss anything else, suddenly I'm the big pervert who's "ruining their literary experience." Pfft, whatever.

Anyway, my roundabout point is, maybe this birthday, instead of a guitar or an Xbox Kinect, I might just ask for a hooker and skip all the extra work.

Guest posts: vvb32 Reads

I have not one, but TWO guest posts on vvb32 reads, and a giveaway of both Zombie Era books. You can check out excepts of Zombie Punter or Confessions of a Zombie Lover. And the giveaway for both books is really easy. The drawing is on April 10th, so you might want to head over and see about entering if you'd like to win free copies of G's story.