Riddle Me This...

….in relation to the latest ebook witch hunt where book covers and content are instantly forbidden if anything the slightest bit sexually arousing is in the content or seen on a book cover – and people can/will report you for it – remember the good old Salem days (?), I find it fascinating that a naked woman with her arse up and a look of shag-the-stuffing-out-of-me-now while said arse is facing three naked men who are indeed focused on her arse is not deemed inappropriate. Then there are the warnings – adults only, multiple sexual partners and anal sex. So, I’m thinking a couple of things…one, because the multiple partners are all Navy Seals – clichéd much – so them contemplating what they will do with her arse is okay because Navy Seals are honourable men and it has been written in the blurb they will ‘protect her’ – that’s obligatory to be said over and over in ménage stories - and therefore that makes everything acceptable or maybe epublishing is just full of bollocks.  

Adults only…get it? Adults choose to read what they want. I wonder when that will be allowed to happen in epub world?

And no, correct, I'll probably never shut up on this.

Attitude…

So, I was terribly busy at work chatting on the phone to the local printer who I have become good mates with. She thinks like me, says what she likes as I do and even has the same name.  Doppelganger…almost. Anyway we were talking about chooks. She has some. I want some. So we wasted work time and discussed the care and maintenance of said chooks. Other than the odd snake to deal with, the worst thing about chooks? They have attitude. Excellent. “They can be absolute bloody terrors,” she said. “Contrary little buggers who do what they want.” Perfect. I refuse to have wimpy pets.

Belonging...

Someone asked me yesterday where was home? I’ve been in Cairns now for about 18 months. I said home is Cairns. They said but you had to come from somewhere that you called home. I find that thinking foreign. It’s not like in biblical legend when supposedly everyone had to piss off back to where they were born to get counted or whatever the story was depending on whose telling it.  I believe in the saying ‘home is where you hang your hat’.  Maybe that’s because I’ve moved around a lot. More than likely it’s because I’m not so fixed in my thinking. Or I reckon it’s I believe you belong to yourself first and if you’re happy with who you are, despite, the character flaws, that’s all that matters. A point of embarkation isn’t important. It’s about how you feel about who you are and how you get from place to place and what you make of yourself. I tend to think some people never work out who they are. Why? Possibly they’re too worried about what others think of them. That’s not a way to live.

Home and belonging – it’s about who you are. It’s not dependent on where or who you’re with.  Be at home with yourself first.

Yoda speak...

Thank god, Friday, is it.  Happy, Amarinda is!  Hmmmmmm.

Blood oath Yoda mate.

I was at work and the manager said….

…. he felt ‘as weak as a girl.’ My head turned instantly and I looked at him – you know that slitty-eyed-are-you-out-of-your-mind look. I have worked very hard to pull the men into line in the office to make them stop calling women sluts and whores and indicating they’re nothing more than bodies to hump. The manager, to his due, instantly cut his tongue out…ok, he didn’t, but he immediately apologised because I can be quite scary and he had already agreed the men in the office had to pull their heads in when it comes to discrimination and the language they use in regards to women. Anyway, the IT nerd who has basically had no other job in his life and therefore has no life experience with women in offices or out said ‘But women are weak…unless they’re lesbians.’ I rose to my statuesque best of 5ft 2 inches and I said 'If we are making half arsed generalizations based on no fact whatsoever then let me add to the mix that IT people who still live at home in their thirties and have cyber girlfriends could be considered by many as losers.'   

Do not ever judge anyone by their sex or sexuality or one day yours may be brought into question and as for generalizations? Make them at your own peril.  

Anzac Day...

I went to the Anzac Day dawn service on the Cairns Esplanade. What is Anzac Day? Click here. It’s a day that’s extremely important to Aussies. In many ways it forged our national identity and we don’t forget what made us the people we are. I always think of my great Uncle Sinclair who survived Gallipoli but died shortly after in a small town ‘near Albert’, as his war records tell me, in France. For all those who have died in war, to those who came back scarred both mentally and physically and to those who soldier on in any arm of the defence forces, I certainly don’t forget what you do and why.

 

What I like about the monument on the Cairns Esplanade is that the statue of the soldier faces out to sea. It’s very evocative. To me it signifies courage, hope, belief and the desire to do the right thing even though you know it may call for unbearable sacrifices. The time on the clock remains fixed at 4:25am in recognition of the men who stormed the beaches at Gallipoli at that precise time moment and forged a tradition of courage we can only hope to emulate.  

Lest We Forget.  

Coupledom...

I was at a friends place the other day.  They’re a couple. I find coupledom somewhat of a cult and frankly weird. Have you noticed couples always seem to be together and they go out with other couples or they actively search for couple friends and they often tell you that which makes you, as a single, person query the weirdness of couples telling you this and you start thinking cult and whether you should contemplate an intervention. And if you’re at a function where there are only couples? It’s weird. My father has a saying ‘it’s like being a spare dick at a wedding.’ I didn’t say it was a poetic saying or one of deep spiritual meaning but it basically indicates you’re on your own because couples speak in a couple language that omits every third and fourth word to confuse the single. No really. You listen to a gaggle of couples and they say things like “We went ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­______   ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­______ with Binky ________   ________ and Bonky said _________  ­­­­­­­­ ___________ and we _______ __________ blue umbre­llas." It’s like that sound only dogs can hear. It’s weird man.   ­

But the freakiest thing is when faced by a gaggle of couples at a party and they listen to what you’re doing, as a single person, and their eyes glaze over because you’re not in a couple, you don’t have a precocious, snotty kid and you don’t even have a family dog called Jemima to redeem you as you tell cute remember when flea ridden Jemima ate the postman and how we laughed stories. Essentially Dr Seuss was correct. If you find someone weird you fall in love and become a couple. Ipso facto – couples are weird and single people are normal.   

Thought for today...

So, I was at the Docs waiting to get a flu shot and test results and I was skimming through a magazine as you do.  I came across this article about how easy it now was to have fat sucked out of your arse and put into your face to plump it up and get rid of wrinkles. I don’t know that I would put butt fat in my face because I cover my arse for a reason. I don’t want to look at my arse and frankly, it’s not often I have to contemplate it so having it literally in my face would be extremely confronting. And have parts of your arse on your face? Does that make you a butt head?  I believe that’s a no to being arsed-face.

Empowerment in Pink....

I read about these ladies in a magazine at the hairdresser. They seek the equality of women through education, health and if they have to hit a few men around the head to make that happen? So be it.   Imagine how empowering it is for these women, who live in dire, desperate circumstances, to come together to fight oppression.  

One day when Sampat Pal Devi, a simple woman living in a village in Northern India, saw a man mercilessly beating his wife. She pleaded with him to stop but he abused her as well. The next day she returned with a bamboo stick and five other women and gave the rogue a sound thrashing.

The news spread like wild fire and soon women started approaching Sampat Pal Devi in droves requesting similar interventions. Many women came forward to join her team and in the year 2006 she decided that the sisterhood needed a uniform and a name and thus the pink sari was chosen, to signify the womanhood and understated strength.

The Gulabi Gang kept a watch on all community activities and protested vociferously when they saw any manifestation of injustice or malpractice. On one occasion, when Sampat Pal went to the local police station to register a complaint, a policeman abused and attacked her. She retaliated by beating him on the head with her lathi. On another occasion she dragged a government official out of his car to show him a crumbling road that was in need of urgent repair. After all, what cannot be endured must be cured!

http://www.gulabigang.in/index.html

Norman...

So, until Verity, my car, gets her engine replaced, the car dealership has loaned me a new car who I call Norman. Essentially there is nothing wrong with Norman. He is 6 months newer than Verity but basically the same car, model and make. The thing is he’s grey. Grey. I’m so not a grey person. Verity is lime green. Norman is grey. I lose Norman in car parks because there are so many other cars like him. It’s not Norman’s fault. Clearly I have issues when it comes to grey. I don’t hate it. It’s just boring and staid and when I get inside Norman I know there is no adventure that will befall us. Yes, some may say that’s a good thing because the recent excitement of the guts of the engine falling out of Verity was probably too much adventure – yet I just feel blah in Norman. Poor Norman. If I was keeping him I would tart him up. But I’m not. The best I can do is track sand into his seats and carpets from the Esplanade and the beach and sing loudly as we drive along to make him feel less ‘meh.’ I expect whomever ends up buying Norman will love him and may wonder every so often when the volume mysteriously goes up on the car radio….   

Start message…

Yes, yes, yes, every writer writes a unique story that isn’t like any else’s and of course no writer would dream of cashing in on a trend – and yes absolutely anyone who gives an opinion against your genre has to be wrong or misguided or unable to understand the angst ridden moments you've had writing about whatever you’re writing about because you are very deep and meaningful. Just like me…sorta…kinda…blah, blah, blah.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Anyone can write. Look at self publishing – and no, don’t roll your eyes. Some people are kicking arse when it comes to doing it by themselves and I say kudos to them. I wonder about the mindset of writers who cling to established epub sites, disrespecting others for what they do, yet at the same time being too scared that if they’re cut off from XYZ publishing they’re doomed. You’re only doomed if you allow yourself to be.

So in essence, as I recently wrote on another blog, opinions are like arses. They’re prevalent, they’re everywhere and those who own them will still function regardless what anyone else thinks.

Opinions = arses.

End message.

The bod...

So I was standing naked in the bathroom, brushing my teeth, at oh-god-it’s-frigging-5am-in-the morning. I looked at myself in the mirror and laughed. A lot. And that was a good thing. Why? Because I’m over body issues and the perception of what may or may not be attractive when it comes to me. My body is just that. A body. I can do the best to exercise it and keep it healthy but the outer layers? They’re just there. I could have stuff lifted, tucked and sucked out but the ‘stuff ‘ I have is functional and it’s got me to the point I am in my life so far so what the hell, it’s better to have a laugh at yourself than worry about what you’re not. A couple of years ago I learnt a very valuable lesson from a wise friend about bodies and nudity and using the ‘stuff’ you have to the best of your ability be it pleasure or the pain of boot camp. So go on. Strip down. Stand in front of the mirror – toothbrush or not - and have a good laugh. Body shape is not worth getting upset over.

It’s farked…

So, I was driving back from my lunch break to work. I turned a corner and I heard crunch, bang, grind and something that sounded like I was dragging another car underneath my car….that, or an elephant on roller skates had somehow tried to limbo under the car and got stuck. I pulled over and got out of Verity, my car. I looked at her. She said nothing. I understood this because as a woman the extent of my knowledge of car troubles is no petrol and placing the keys into the hands of a mechanic to do whatever they do to fix stuff. Behind me a beaten up old car pulled up and two feral looking gentlemen came towards me. Greeeaaaat…just what I needed. The boys from Deliverance. But they had seen what happened and went to the front of the car and indicated I lift the hood as they reckoned the engine was ‘fucked’. At this time, a good friend passed by in his car and he stopped as well. I popped the hood after searching for the lever thingy - I forget where that is. Well, who uses it? The hood came up and the first two men said ‘she’s fucked the engine.’ She – being me. They peered further inside and said ‘she’s put a rod through the block’ and confirmed their first conclusion ‘it’s fucked.’ My friend agreed and said ‘she’s put a rod through the block.’ I pointed out to all three of them that I did no such thing and stop saying that. They didn’t. Apparently it’s bad to put rods into blocks – which I assume is the engine block. Fine. But it’s not my fault.

Anyway long story short, the car got towed under warranty and I have a loaner until they fix poor Verity, which means removing the engine and replacing it I believe. Apparently what happened to me is a one in a million thing. Naturally. I can’t win the lotto but I can have the rod through the block thing happen. Lucky. But I did get something out of this experience. When someone says a car is ‘fucked’ it generally is. And men speak a different mechanic language to women and I shouldn’t be offended by the ‘she did this or that.’ That’s just the way men are. And knights in shining armour can also appear in battered old cars and look like swamp rats. As for friends who stop in your time of need? Priceless. Thank you big time.

Chookery...

When I went down south to visit my father at Easter, I met up with one of his carers who had a vast knowledge of chooks. That’s chickens to non-Aussies. I’ve always been interested in having some chooks as pets. So, we had a long discussion on chickens with the carer. My father listened in and added in interesting comments like ‘your mother always liked ants because they look busy’. I think that’s why I like chooks. They’re birds who look like they have things to do and places to go. Anyway, I now know exactly what I need when it comes to chookery – possibly a made up word. I do understand they only lay for a couple of years and then ‘it’s best to get rid of them.’ My father chimed in at this saying ‘Oh Amarinda can’t kill anything she names.’ I agreed that was indeed correct because I do give names to all sorts of things and once named I feel honour bound to animals, birds, insects, lizards and horny, misguided bandicoots called Neil, to make sure even if they are retired and wonky in the legs with age, they still will be able to hang out or wobble around my backyard without threat of the chop.

So, with all my new found knowledge in mind, I have started looking for a hen house. There are lots of abodes for chooks to live in. At present, I am undecided what housing requirements I want the chooks to have. I like a lot of room to do stuff in. I expect no less of any chooks who wander the grounds of XH, my home. I did check out some abodes in my lunch hour but none appealed to me. However I did buy several toys for the budgies, who are spoilt rotten for toys, while looking at chook housing. I wonder what chooks like to play with….hmmm…

Four pages...

So I’m working on a story that has a plot and no sex until at least page 21. Yeah, I know. That’s crazy talk in ebook land. It’s a well known fact that there has to be sex every four pages to sell erotica. And it has to be strange, submissive sex. Hardcore sex. Anal sex. Multiple men sex. In a weird place sex. This story has none of that. It has two people, love, romance and sex that involves feelings of lust and love without having a second, third and fourth man waiting to climb onto the heroine and have his go.

Do you think women want crazy, painful, multiple partner sex? I don’t think so. I do think they want to read about illicit sex. However, in the end, I believe most women just want one partner who understands them like no other. Not having to explain yourself is huge. It’s sexy to have someone who looks at you and knows where you’re coming from and who you are. It’s total freedom to throw away inhibitions and just be with him without wondering if four pages have passed and you can have sex again. Counting is so boring.

Sex. Just because you can sell it doesn’t mean it’s good and repetition isn't sexy. Let's face it, few working girls are millionaires...

A girl thing?

So, boy band One Direction is in Australia and masses of girls are screaming, fainting and generally hysterically trying to do dumb things to meet boys that they probably wouldn’t do more than giggle over and screech at if they met them face to face. Ah, I remember those days. Me and a couple of friends inadvertently stumbled upon a well know Aussie pop star a million years ago and for a week we were famous because we touched him. Yeah, I’ve felt fame, baby.

Anyway, I was thinking to myself, do teenage boys feel threatened by the intense adoration of girls for these boy bands? Some of them would have girlfriends screaming over these pimply demi-gods…have you noticed that said demi-gods all have hair that seems to be brushed the wrong way? What’s that about? If I do that my scalp hurts. But back to my question, do teenage boys suffer the same pain of unrequited love for the totally-never-going-to-happen-unattainable popstar? Do they secretly want to scream over whomever the hottest, hair bushed backwards, singing teenage girl sensation but they man up and keep it inside or are they too busy brushing their hair backwards?

Hmmm…

Open doors and minds....

So, I wrote something on facebook about liking the fact that men still open doors for me. No, I’m not some fluffy, helpless little woman who flutters her eyelids to get want she wants…oh wait…maybe I do the last bit when it suits me. However my point is that I’m a disgustingly independent woman who is capable of opening a door on my own but I appreciate it when a man does it because he wants to and that he was brought up to have good manners. Give me a man with good manners over a supermodel hunk any day.

One comment on facebook observed ‘woman’s lib be damned.’ The women’s liberation movement was never about denying men or castigating them for being gentlemanly or for wanting to do things for a woman. It was about the equality of the sexes – equal pay and equal say. And, nah, so many women don’t have the pay/say thing sorted yet but we have come along way when it comes to women’s rights. We still have a long way to go. But, on the whole, most women can do, say and be things we were shut out of before. That’s huge. Can you contemplate living in a world where the Suffragettes were fighting for the vote and were being taken to prison because of their protests?

Independence? Yes. Gentlemen with manners? Yes, I admire manners. It’s not all about being staunchly one thing or the other. Liberation in any form means freedom and the right to act as your conscience dictates without penalizing another for their thoughts and actions.

Granny knickers…

So, I was buying new undies the other day. Yes, too much information but there it is. I wear underwear. In particular I like wildly coloured knickers. The brighter the better. Why? I don’t know. I just do. Anyway I saw these amazingly, trashy bright undies at Kmart and I made a beeline for them. Then I halted. They were granny knickers. Hmmm…Granny knickers…I stood and contemplated the brightness factor and wondered could I wear Granny knickers? How is this a conundrum you ask? Well, maybe it’s all to do with the perception of age. While I don’t consider any age to be old or ancient as age is dependent on a person’s character, I realized I had consigned big panties into the category of ‘maybe when I’m 80 slot.’ But these ones? They were colourful…sluttishly so. Tramp verses the perception of age. Was I slut at heart or a closed minded-non Granny knickers bigot refusing to accept more material because I was living in a bikini pants delusional world of flouting authority by showing one's belly button? I decided while I enjoyed a good moment of flouting, I needed to get over my Granny knickers issue and I bought them. The colour did it.

I advocate saying yes to colour and no to discrimination against big panties…

When I rule the world, everyone will have coloured undies and there will be no war as everyone will be fascinated by everyone else's undies to start arguments. And size? It will never be an issue. Vote 1 Amarinda Jones.

Ripped...

So, I’m looking around for a new pair of jeans. I came across ripped ones. I thought ripped jeans went out with acid washing and carefully manicured five o’clock designer stubble and men with waaay too much hair gel. Yes, yes, I know there’s nothing new in fashion and everything is cyclic but I have never been able to work out, despite what age I am, why ripped jeans are deemed fashionable. Please explain…

Shag ‘em senseless….

So, of late I have been getting lots of email requests from unknown men to do terrible things to them. Now one ponders a couple of things the first being that no woman can do half of what they suggest and if she could she should be paid great sums of money because she’d deserve it. I also wonder how many of these men would be surprised if you said ‘yes, I will have random, meaningless sex with you, an unknown, undoubtedly feral individual who repulses me but what the hell, I haven’t been shagged by a Neanderthal before. Where do you live? Are you free now?’

Speaking of Neanderthals, that reminds me of an ebook I read a million years ago when I was doing book reviews. The hero was an actual Neanderthal - you know – the whole deal with the weird cranium etc and the heroine was besotted with him because…well, I can’t remember why because I thought it was fairly silly but then in light of shag ‘em senseless five men and one woman so called ménage romances – yeah, I mean that – it would have been on par with those. Tell me, why don’t we see five women shagging one man in ebooks? Hmm? Could it be that women don’t play well together as a team of shaggers and men are just grateful to see any woman naked?

But back to random sex with unknown, email weirdos…no thanks. I’m too damn good for you. Aim waaaay lower…

Bunny boilers...

So, last week at work this guy told me he was nervous because his newest girlfriend was arriving to spend the Easter weekend with him. Why nervous? He said he wasn’t sure. He just was. She arrived at the office and when introduced to me I summed her up in two seconds. Needy and a bunny boiler. No really, women can do that. We have an inbuilt radar for seeing bunny boiler-ism in other women. When she, a foreign national, explained that she was only on a short visa but was hoping to stay in Australia for a very long time and looked over adoringly at him, I nearly yelled at him, ‘Run Dopey! Flee Dipstick!’ But I didn’t because people in love are dumb and stupidly blind and he wouldn't have listened because she was dazzlingly pretty and stroking his arm to deactivate his brain. Anyway, he turned up to work today and announced she was weird and that ‘she was really needy about getting married and how weird was that?’ Poor sap. Men just don’t have that radar do they? I did point out to him that the prettiest girls are normally the most insane. Well, they are…

It just is, baby...

I’ve been thinking of late about what I’m doing, where I want to be, how to get there and who I want in my life. You know, the deep meaningful where-am-I-going-and-will-the-shops-be-open-when-I-get-there-stuff. So does it really matter if I don’t have the arse of a supermodel, the brain of an Einstein and if I have the beginnings of crow’s feet at my eyes? Is the fact that I’m less than perfect but amazingly flawed, plain, average and fallible an issue in the scheme of life? I could be prettier, faster, slimmer and smarter but would it make the journey easier? Do I want easy? I’ve come to believe that I don’t. I like the weird, the difficult, the intense, the bold, the stupid and the painful. I like to feel life – the pain, the passion, the what-the-fuck-moments and know I’ve lived it and said to ‘hell with you’ to the people have said ‘you can’t do that.’ Life…it just is, baby…

Whatever you believe...

...be it religion, the resurrection, insurrection, erections, chocolate, eggs, alcohol, a long weekend or the belief that one day you WILL lick your elbow...have a peaceful, safe Easter.

So there we all were. Ten of us. On the Cairns Esplanade. Dressed in exercise clothes. Lying on our backs, legs up in the air – wide open - and our hands on the inside of our thighs pulling them further apart, laughing hysterically as we did it. Those who passed us looked at least three times to make sure they were seeing what they were seeing. I heard a dim echo of my mother’s voice from years ago when I was just a little girl of 4 or 5. ‘Sit with your legs closed. You’re a lady.’ Of course Mum was right. You have to learn stuff like that so when you get older you can lie on your back with your legs wide open, laughing your arse off and thinking ‘damn it’s good to be a lady.’

Now look here, insignificant author type person…

This is a mass email to the mass of you author people. We have no idea who you are but we figured you may write for us or have written for us or looked sideways at us so basically we include the whole world in this email. That includes you Obama-dude. We want to apologize for our slack-arseness in responding. We have been…tick the applicable…

- drunk
- hiding out

- in deep do-do

- bitching about whiny authors

- in Tijuana
- lost in the infinite corridors of time.

This is to let you know that you have emailed several times and that you’re annoying as all hell but we figured better to answer and try and fob you off so you will shut the hell up. We are trying to summon the interest level to care and answer your email. We plan to have responses to everyone whenever or the 12th of never whichever is sooner.

Sincerely,
Heaving Bosoms Publishing

In accordance with our star signs, religious beliefs, medical conditions, the waxing moon and on the off chance we all get captured and experimented on by aliens, this message cannot be sent to anyone living, dead, kinda dead, stoned, drunk, in a ménage, living with a vampire or a werewolf or under the influence of chocolate and or the sniffing of laundry powder. So be a good, scared little author and do not distribute, copy, post, share, do a sock puppet play or do an interpretive dance to the contents of this email otherwise we will not be happy campers and will stamp out feet. A lot. No really. We will. I’m not kidding, Amarinda.

Bizarro world....

So, I got asked to run in this du-athon thing. Huh. I looked at them in surprise. Why me? Why not you? I pointed out that I generally come in last on a run. “So?” they said. “This is about fun.” Riiight…running. Fun. Huh, again. They also added it’s a ‘team thing.’ Well, fuck…fancy willingly being in a team? I don’t do teams. I am a solo artist who enjoys individuality and I make no apologies for it. So running in a team for fun? Was that legal? I did contemplate the idea that at that moment I had stumbled into a parallel bizarre world universe where everything was the opposite of my own. But no. They were and are serious. As for me? Jeez, I don’t know. While I’ve been running at boot camp for fitness and yes, I’ve been killing myself trying to improve my time – which I have through sheer bloody minded determination - I just can’t see me running for fun...in a team of people...who take running seriously. Triple huh...

The things people ask you…

“So 90 percent of sales were discreet ebook downloads…”

"Ana," as he calls her, willingly and excitedly agrees to spanking, whipping and gagging, with props like ice, rope, tape -- a repertoire right out of a BDSM [bondage, discipline, dominance and submission] manual.

The heart of the romance is the notion of submission and the way in which Steele accommodates Grey to "make him love her,"according to Rachel. "She sees being submissive as a necessity to save him," she said. "He was broken. That was more of the appeal. And the sex was a bonus."

British mom and former TV producer James initially wanted to replicate the success of the "Twilight" fan fiction series. The novels were published by a small independent Australian press and hard copy distribution was limited. So 90 percent of sales were discreet ebook downloads...."

http://abcnews.go.com/Health/50-shades-grey-women-turned-sexual-submission/story?id=16059118

Hmmm… So 90 percent of sales were discreet ebook downloads? Wait a second….that can’t be right. Explicit sex/porn on ebook sites is apparently forbidden and you can get reported for it and have bamboo slithers put under your fingernails making it impossible to type ever again.

Makes you wonder don’t it? A skeptic would say it's making too much money to ban it and money makes the rules....hmmm...

We're perfect...

A male friend said to me ‘men don’t discuss their feelings’ Really? What a shocker…

This is why women should rule the world. We say stuff that has to be said. If we waited for a man to articulate something we’d be 89, in support hose and slugging gin out of a botte and trying not to trip over the cat on the way out of the house to buy chocolate.

Women – say, do, act. Damn…we’re perfect.

Well, there you go....

So, I had this woman come up to me at work and say ‘I know nothing at all personal about you.’ She then stopped and looked at me as if she was waiting for me to divulge all my secrets to her. I just said ‘Well, there you go.’ That’s Aussie speak for 'ok, so what?' Don’t you think if you don’t know anything about someone that there is the very good probability that the person you don’t know anything about isn’t inclined to share anything with you? And why is that? Because they don’t want to. Why not? Because in the scheme of that person’s life you may mean stuff all to them. Not everyone is going to share every intimate detail of their life with someone they work with. Work is work. You’re forced together with others for financial reasons. Fact - 99% of people wouldn’t show up at work if they didn’t have to. 1% will because they’re insane and generally have no life. Occasionally at work you’ll meet someone simpatico who you enjoy talking to but the reality is most of the time work is doing what you have to and waiting for the hands of the clock to move to that appointed time when you can get the hell out of there. I don’t want to hold hands and sing Kumbaya with you. It’s work. It’s not personal. It just is.

Half past get out....

So, I have been going through the correct channels with Ellora’s Cave to remove all my books from them. Why? Because I don’t trust them. They once used to be very good but that was back when readers had little e-book choice. They were top dog and due to lack of competition they were sitting pretty and they generally did the right thing. Oh sure, I was concerned when I first started writing there as ‘old’ authors were leaving in droves saying EC was crap and the ‘new authors’ were also ‘crap.’ Now I’m not big on worrying about what people think of me so I took that with a grain of salt and subbed there. That was until I became concerned about payments and the randomness about when cheques got sent out. Others noticed it too. So, I decided, to move on from EC and sub elsewhere. Now, this was a huge thing to do as Ellora’s Cave have or had this policy where they try and put your tits in a vice so you are unable to move to any other publisher. It’s ruling by fear and many people stayed frozen as they were scared to upset EC. I’m not one to be held when I want to move on so I moved regardless and subbed elsewhere. My tits are still intact.

Anyway, back to getting books back. I had the last four to get back. I emailed the correct ‘Please revert the rights back on these books.’ Now EC is not big on answering emails from their authors. Why? Possibly ignorance and lack of honesty. I don’t know. Anyway, I had been waiting for this publisher to revert the last 4 books back and I had waited the required six months. No word from them. They’re supposed to be professional and say something along the lines of ‘We revert the rights back as of such and such a date.’ That’s the proper way to do it so you all know where you stand.

Today, with no response from them, I checked their website as I have been to see if the books were still there. They weren’t and no word from EC. Initially I was pissed off at their once more unprofessional way of doing business. But then I thought about how a company that is losing authors and readers is most likely in dire financial straits and professionally answering my rights reversion letter was probably not possible when they’ve got their proverbial fingers plugging holes to avoid sinking. Yes, yes, it has been rumoured many times EC is/was going under. I won’t be surprised when their doors close.

So, thinking of subbing somewhere? Do your homework. Ask around. Just because a publisher sucks up to you doesn’t mean they’re good. Do you have a bad feeling about a publisher you’re with? Then you’re probably correct. It’s up to you to sink or swim. This is a tough business. No one gives a crap if you fail. Look after yourself first.