Lousy sleep–it’s too damn hot to sleep–and lousy dreams. Then, as I’m wandering the internet this morning I find an article about the upcoming Toy Story 3 movie, which reminded me of Toy Story 2, which I hate and can’t watch.

“But, Stace,” you say, “how can you possibly hate such a sweet little kid’s movie?”

I’ll tell you why. Because it’s awful and sad and tragic. Sure, it’s fun for the first hour or so. Look at the toys, aren’t they funny, Barbie is an idiot slut, la la la. Then we meet Joan Cusack’s character, and then we hear her tale, and they sing that song about how life was beautiful when that fickle girl loved her, and we see that fickle girl abandon her by the side of the road and go off with some boy, because all women will eventually abandon everything for a man, and by that time I’m sobbing and on the beginning of a depressive shame spiral that will only end in a lot of vodka.

I can’t possibly be the only one who feels like this, can I? Who sees that and starts remembering all of my toys, the stuffed animals and horse statues and Weeble-Wobbles and stuff, now lying broken and abandoned in a ditch somewhere, alone and scared, at the mercy of the elements, sobbing and spending their entire eternal toy lives wondering what they did that was so wrong, and why I forsook them so coldly? And wishing desperately I would just appear and hold them one more time?

Seriously. I have enough shit on my conscience. I don’t need that, too.

After reading that article I literally cried for ten minutes. Why don’t you just play a recording of Helen Reddy’s “Candle on the Water,” to complete the childhood misery deluge? (See, I have this theory about “Candle on the Water.” I believe that while we as children thought it was a sweet song, and maybe kids today still do, you cannot play that song to any adult over the age of, oh, thirty, and expect them not to dissolve into tears. Seriously. We should look into this as a weapon. Whoever owns the Helen Reddy records owns the world.)

Did I mention the hideous, oppressive heat, and how it makes me half-convinced that the earth is just about to burst into flames? And saps every bit of energy out of me, and makes me slow-witted and sad? I hate the damn sun. I hate the damn heat. It makes me ill (literally; I’ve always been really sensitive to heat).

And then, something was crawling–well, I say crawling, but what it was in fact doing was racing–up my arm, and across my lapdesk. I–acting purely on my killer animal instincts–killed the thing with a spiral notebook. And guess what? It was a spider. It’s bad luck to kill a spider. Like I need more of that these days, right?

Sigh. So this day is not shaping up to be a great day, but let’s hope it improves. And it actually has a bit, because I popped over to Twitter to drown my sorrows and found a new review of UNHOLY GHOSTS, which, coupled with the one I got in my email this morning, makes me feel much cheerier.

From All Things Urban Fantasy, 4 out of 5 bats:

Any series that is described as “a cross between Ghostbusters and Escape From New York” is going to get my attention, big time. Of course that also means said series is going to have a lot to live up to. And in one of the wonderfully rare cases, UNHOLY GHOSTS does exactly that. It’s cool and twisted, just the way I like my urban fantasy.

From Book Chick City:

I’m so excited about this book – I LOVED it! I haven’t read an Urban Fantasy this good in quite a while…The writing is perfectly paced, I didn’t get bored once and everything slots together at the right time. The plot is just brilliant and had me engrossed until the very last page – I didn’t want to put this book down!

So let’s hope my slightly cheerier feeling lasts.

How about you? Looking forward to a good weekend, or a dull one? Does the heat make you feel oppressed and trapped beneath the weight of all the world’s misery too? Do you like Toy Story 2, and does “Candle on the Water” make you cry?

You may have heard of Young Adult Authors Against Bullying, a Facebook group made up of–as the name implies–YA authors who disapprove of bullying. I’m not technically a YA author but I’ve joined, as have a lot of others. And a few weeks ago many writers posted their bullying stories on their blogs. I didn’t; not because I don’t have bullying stories or wasn’t bullied as a child/preteen/teen (believe me, I was, horribly) but because I didn’t learn about it until it was already in progress and I already had this post sort of planned, as I said above.

A lot of this is in reaction to the death of Phoebe Prince, a high-school girl driven to suicide by a gang of less-than-human teenage shitweeds who decided she deserved to be mocked, bullied, teased, insulted, and otherwise abused because she *gasp* dated a guy who used to date one of the aforementioned shitweeds (and the guy later joined in, which just makes me lose hope in the future of humanity, but then, this whole story does).

It reminds me a bit of the Megan Meier case, in which a girl was cyber-bullied not just by kids her own age, but by the mother of one of her acquaintances. A grown fucking woman, who thought it was a good idea to harass and play tricks on a young girl online.

And that’s sort of what I want to discuss. Adult bullying, and the society of mean.

One of the most troubling–of many extremely troubling–aspects of the Phoebe Prince case was the fact that school administrators and teachers knew what was happening, and did nothing. They watched this girl being harassed, and did nothing. Prince’s mother spoke to the school on at least two occasions, and still…nothing.

I’d like someone to explain to me how we live in a world where school administrators seem to think it’s their job to police what sort of food and drink I give my children (even at home), send home letters telling parents their kids are obese, tell me I can’t send my daughter to school with pale pink nail polish on her nails, oversee the moral and/or religious education of my children (whether pro or con), expose my children to the internet over my objections and insist they use it to do their homework, turn my children into salespeople, or encourage my children to lecture me if I have a glass of wine with dinner or a cigarette after, and yet they do not think it’s their job to protect the children in their care and foster a safe learning environment for them.

It infuriates me, but it doesn’t surprise me. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn the teachers joined in, frankly; some of them certainly did with me, when I was in school. I lost count, for example, of the number of times my eighth-grade Social Studies teacher smirked while the other kids in my class picked on me, then gave me demerits the second I opened my mouth to defend myself. Or the drama teacher in seventh grade who decided I was whiny, and encouraged the other kids to make whining noises every time I tried to speak. Just because someone is a teacher and/or an adult doesn’t mean they’re mature and decent; I remember quite a few teachers with malicious smiles in their eyes as they watched me or someone else get picked on, teased, put down. I remember quite a few of them who tolerated or even fostered such behavior in their classes. I remember them playing favorites.

You see, they apparently still wanted to be one of the Cool Kids.

They still wanted to be popular; they still wanted to be liked by that little gang of socs (that’s what we called them) with the money and the fashionable clothes and the perfect hair. And if a few kids got left behind, got their feelings hurt, got destroyed by it? If the only reason some of us didn’t commit suicide ourselves was because we had a cat to take care of? Not their problem, man. Hey, it’s not their job to make people like each other. (NOTE: I want to make it clear that I am talking about a few teachers, the proverbial bad apples who spoil the bunch. I in no way think or intend to imply that all teachers feel or behave this way, okay?)

But it’s not just in schools, you see, that this atmosphere of bullying–this attitude which I feel is a desperate attempt to prove that you are indeed one of the Cool Kids–is present. Not just in the workplace, either, though it certainly can exist there. Hell, we’ve seen it in publishing–particularly epublishing–with authors being intimidated and abused by editors or publishers. We’ve seen it outside of epublishing–though nowhere near as often–with writers being bullied by agents or editors or publishers. In fact, I can think offhand of at least one “industry” blog which seems (to me at least) to exist solely so the owners/bloggers can feel like Cool Kids and make fun of others, using the most inflammatory language possible.

We all remember when Corey Haim died last month. It was a terrible shame, and it was awful to see a man just a few years older than me who’d had so much and lost it all. The night he died Corey Feldman went on Larry King, and the hubs and I watched it. And–it pains me to admit this–I really admired what he said, and agreed with it (yes, I know. A world where I admire and agree with Corey Feldman? Shocking).

What he said, basically, was that Haim had problems, yes. Serious problems. But those problems were exacerbated by a society which seems to think it’s okay to pick on people, to kick them when they’re down. That failure isn’t bad enough; that failure must be made into a joke, and constantly shoved into the face of the one who failed. A society, in fact, which doesn’t just think this is okay, but that’s it’s fun. It’s a good, acceptable thing to do; it shows you’re one of the Cool Kids, if you can think of the snarkiest, wittiest insult for someone who, as Feldman said, “never deliberately hurt another human being in his life.”

Haim’s crime was to grow older, and not be a cute teenager anymore. Sure, he probably became arrogant and difficult. And maybe if he was, people were justified in turning their backs and not wanting to hire him. Hell, we all know what kind of business the film industry is; if you’re not hot anymore, you’re out. And you know, that’s the way it works and that’s okay. But to turn someone into a punchline because they’re no longer hot? To spend long, happy hours making fun of them, insulting them, laughing at them, because they no longer have a career? That’s not okay. Do you call up your relative who was made redundant at his job and laugh about how he’s a failure, how he can’t support his family, how he’s never going to find another job and he should just give up? No? Why not? It was okay to call Corey Haim a loser online, where he might see it (and in fact did on at least one occasion). Why wouldn’t you call other people losers to their faces?

Corey Haim was a human being. Phoebe Prince and Megan Meier were human beings. Just as we are all human beings, even though some of us don’t act that way.

A discussion has been going on in the PublishAmerica forums at Absolute Write recently where a PA author is claiming, basically, that PA only acts the way it does because some disgruntled writers are meanies and blah blah blah. He was, essentially, accusing those who contribute to those threads of being cruel to PA. This is of course not true; PA is a vanity press with terrible customer service which misleads writers and at times outright lies to them, and that information should be spread. But it did get me thinking about what the difference is between making fun/snarking on and providing a service/warning others. The line is definitely there. I believe the PA forums at AW provide a valuable service to writers. I believe all the threads in the Bewares & Background Checks forum provide a valuable service to writers, as does Writer Beware and many of the reader blogs which will pass on information about publishers treating their authors badly or whatever. That’s not snark and it’s not making fun. It’s exposing a wrong, and it’s the right thing to do, I believe.

So I suppose there is a point where you can say, “So-and-so brought this on themselves.” Certainly when I see writers who go off on readers who left them less-than-stellar reviews, I find myself thinking said writers are kind of fair game; they started it. But even then I find there’s a point after which I think it should stop. It infuriates me when writers behave that way, yes, for a number of reasons. But does one mistake really mean someone deserves to have their career ruined? Does one mistake mean it’s okay for people to pile on in droves and start making fun? I’m not talking about condemning the behavior; I’m talking about personal comments. I’m talking about name-calling and insults. Yes, we all get carried away sometimes, myself included. I’m not perfect. But I regret having been carried away like that, and I resolve not to do it again, whereas I know there are people out there who do not feel such regret, who don’t think about what effect their cruelties and jokes may have had on another person, and just move on, often patting themselves on the back for a job well done.

Bullying is bullying, whether the victim is a celebrity or someone whose name you don’t know and never will.

I’m not the most sensitive person in the world, I’m really not (as many of you probably know). The hubs jokes that I would make a great government assassin. And I think he’s right, actually. Lots of things, feeling-and-emotion-type things seem to go right over my head. But I do know that it hurts when people make fun of you, when they have a feeding frenzy over your cheap clothes or your hairdo or height or weight or glasses or flat chest or big stomach or hobbies or that you said something dumb. I can imagine it feels the same when they’re doing it because you were once successful and aren’t anymore, or had a drug problem, or whatever.

Yes, sometimes people’s behavior should be pointed out as wrong. Yes, sometimes people who bully and intimidate others need to have their actions exposed. And sometimes those people get a taste of their own medicine when they are exposed.

But there’s a difference between pointing out that bullying or intimidation in order to help others, and making the perpetrator an object of ridicule, and encouraging others to make fun of them. The former is, even if there are unintended consequences, a positive act, an attempt to make a positive difference in the lives of others. The latter is an attempt to show everyone, once again, that you’re one of the Cool Kids. It’s a power play; it’s the equivalent of calling all your friends to jump the guy who bumped into you on the street, just because he didn’t apologize (not that it’s okay not to apologize, of course). There’s no public service being done, no aid being given to those who might have become victims. The object is to intimidate, to hurt, to show someone you’re better than they are.

I’m tired of it. I’m tired of seeing it. I’m tired of dealing with it. I’m weary of all the anger I see online these days, everyone furious about something, everyone ready to place blame and point fingers and act like everything is a personal affront. I’m tired of seeing insults and bullying and intimidation. I’m tired of people being treated like objects, tired of their feelings being treated as if they don’t matter, tired of hurting others being seen as sport.

When did we all become so fucking important, so fucking special, that we no longer need to take other peoples’ feelings into account? When did we all become so perfect that nobody else is allowed to make a mistake? When did hurting people cease being something we were ashamed of and started being simply an afternoon’s entertainment?

I’m very opinionated here, I know. And I hope I’m often funny here, and that we have fun. I know I joke about people and things. But I also know that I try not to make it personal (well, yeah, I’ve said some pretty icky things about Madonna and Princess Diana in the past, and yeah, I can think of one person who I’ve always been civil to but who makes it extremely difficult for me to be so, and I have no qualms about being mean to that person because that person is mean to everyone else and it literally makes me see red). But in general I try not to step over the line between joking and cruelty, I try not to be mean. I don’t see the fun in hurting people; I’ve been on the receiving end of those kinds of jokes my whole life, and they generally don’t make me laugh. And yes, the barrier is a little lower when it comes to people who have put themselves in the public eye. They have invited us to have an opinion on them–demanded we have an opinion on them, demanded our attention.

But the barrier still exists, I think, at least publicly. I believe it should exist for all of us. Hurting people isn’t a game. At the risk of sounding like a “One to Grow On” spot, hurting people doesn’t make you one of the Cool Kids. And quite frankly, if it does? I’m glad I’m not a Cool Kid. Because that’s not the person I want to be.

What kind of person do you want to be? Where do you draw the line? Are you seeing this “new mean” online and elsewhere as well? Please feel free to share any stories of your own in comments (anonymously if you like), too, especially if they relate to adult bullying or adults who bully, or of course the publishing world.

And…if this post made you think, please pass the link on. Please write your own post on the subject and leave the link in the comments. I know I’m coming to this late, but the YA Writers Against Bullying had the right idea, a great idea; let’s make this part of our dialogue, let’s reach out our hands and hope someone who needs it will see it, and grab on, and find a place where they’re accepted.

So I’ve been trying on and discarding various blog topics for several days now. And most of them are topics I do want to touch upon at some point–some of them are topics I’ve been mulling around for some time. And I know today’s post is about something quite a few people have already seen, but I’ve only just become aware of it (remember, the busy-ness? Haven’t been online much) and yeah, I want to say something about it.

Porn for Women.

For those who don’t want to click the link, let me tell you what this is. A group calling itself the “Cambridge Women’s Pornography Cooperative”–which in itself is a horrible name–has produced this “funny” book, which is ostensibly the type of thing that really turns women on. And it’s a book full of handsome men vacuuming, or saying things like “I don’t need a reason to bring you flowers,” or “Gee, since the NFL playoffs are today, I bet we’ll find lots of parking at the craft fair,” or whatever.

Yes, that’s right. Yet another group of women have decided to make money off of the “Tee-hee we like chocolate and bubble baths and darn, we just can’t resist dessert and I’d rather be shopping,” stereotype of women.

I get that it’s a joke. It’s just not a funny one. It’s degrading to both women and men, frankly.

First, it implies that women are not sexual creatures, and that instead we use sex as a reward we give to men in exchange for them toeing the (domestic) line. That to us sex isn’t an act of pleasure or of love but is instead that horrible messy thing we do for him, in order to keep him around. That while men enjoy pornography which is actually, you know, porn, women don’t like to see those awful naked people doing That Dirty Thing We Must Endure To Get Babies, and so our idea of porn involves eunuchs just being nice to us.

See, if you think women are whores who put out to get what they want and/or are so desperate for affection that they’ll trade their bodies for flowers or a nice dinner, you’re right, according to this book. If you think woman’s sexual responses aren’t tied to sex or affection but to how much money a man spends on us or how many favors we can make him do for us, you’re right again, according to this book. In this book, a man who buys a woman flowers or takes her to a craft show has evoked a sexual response in her; therefore, yes, she does owe him sex if he buys her dinner, because he’s just done something pornographic. Something guaranteed to turn her on. It has nothing to do with body types or even sexual parts or prowess; we’re so pitiful and desperate that just having a man take out the trash makes us slavering sex-beasts. (Yes, I am stretching the point, but so? So did the people who wrote this book.)

The second level of offense is, yes, the idea that all women, because of their teeny brains and silly hormones and That Menstruation Thing, share exactly the same opinion of what’s sexy and what isn’t. This infuriates me in exactly the same fashion that those damn “Holiday Gift Guides,” with their insistence that what women really want for Xmas is bath gel, make-up, spa treatments, and New Age music, do. You know what? I don’t give a shit who takes out the trash. I enjoy watching sports. Most chick flicks make me feel ill, or I can take them or leave them. I don’t like to take baths; I have better things to do with my time, frankly. I don’t like being brought flowers; what the hell is the point? They die anyway. Yeah, thanks for bringing me a present that self-destructs after like a day and a half. I can resist dessert fairly easily, frankly, and do not turn into a giggling mess when confronted with one. Potpourri makes me sneeze and/or feel queasy. I hate crafty-type stuff, generally; there is no lace in my house. I do not buy useless tchotchkes. I do not obsess about the cleanliness of my home. I generally wouldn’t recognize a designer purse if you shoved it in my face, and I have no special desire for one.

And I’m not some bizarre aberration of the female gender, either. Most of the women I know–in fact, all of the women I know–do not behave in that fashion or think that way. And I resent people who treat me as if I do, or who tell others that’s how I am. It’s offensive. It implies women do not think on their own or have their own tastes or are their own people. Instead we’re just a hivemind, a large squirming mass taking over the malls and demanding flower-scented foaming bath beads. You’ve met one woman, you’ve met them all. All they really want out of a life is a man who’ll mop.

Let’s not forget the men, here, though, and the many ways this book also reduces them to stereotypes. In the “Porn for Women” world, men are brutes. They don’t do their fair share of the housework, or, indeed, any share of the housework–not even traditionally “male” jobs like taking out the trash. They don’t enjoy doing things with their women; if they did, such things wouldn’t be “porn,” right? Wouldn’t be something presented as special and guaranteed to elicit a reaction? The normal man, as seen by the “Cambridge Women’s Pornography Collective,” is just as vapid and devoid of individuality as the normal woman. He spends all day in front of the TV watching football, ignoring his wife’s desire that he pay attention to her. He refuses to help around the house at all. He never thinks of her or does anything for her just because he loves her.

And, it seems to me, he is also a brute who leaps on top of her, gives her a couple of halfhearted thrusts, then rolls over and falls asleep with no thought for her feelings.

All of this is bad enough. But along with it is the darker, more insidious implication that a woman who doesn’t find this stuff sexy, who doesn’t wish she could spend all day every day in the bath with some bon-bons, is ABNORMAL. Not a real woman, see, because she doesn’t find this stuff arousing–or this joke funny.

Just like a man who does take out the trash, or vacuum, or bring home dinner just because, or goes shoe shopping with his wife or girlfriend, is also ABNORMAL. Not a real man, because he doesn’t act like a lout–and probably not a real man because he doesn’t think this shit is funny, either.

Isn’t it time we move past this shit? Past the idea that what women really want is hugs’n'chocolate, because sex is just something we do for him? Past the idea that men only do nice things in order to get sex? Can’t we agree now that women are adults, and diverse, and so are men, and that to put out a book this simple-minded and ridiculous and call it “porn for women” is shameful, and sexist, and just plain not fucking funny?

Second…well. My last post got considerably more attention that I ever anticipated, so that was quite a surprise. And I have some follow-up questions about it, but those I think will wait until another time. At the moment I just want to address one thing quickly, and another in a bit more detail.

First, as always, when you put things out on the internet and people see it, they’re going to react, just like when you write a book and put it out there people are going to react. And really, part of being a writer is learning to accept that and let the negative stuff roll off your back, or learn from it. It really doesn’t bother me anymore, and the comment I want to discuss didn’t bother me personally, I just find it’s indicative of what the whole point of my post the other day was.

I discovered, quite by accident, that apparently there are some people who feel that Moira and myself, and any other writer who shares our opinions, are simply kissing ass. I find this extremely sad, I have to admit. Is this what the world has come to, that when people see a wrong and speak up about it they’re immediately assumed to have some sort of ulterior motive?

Have we really reached a point where “Writers hate readers” has become the default position, so any writer who claims to actually like readers and want to see them treated well is automatically suspected of just being a big old liar, who probably spends their private, secret hours lurking in bookstores and tripping innocent readers as they pass by, just for fun? Or who runs around various reader blogs and sites leaving anonymous comments along the lines of “You’re all just thieves why don’t you go fuck yourselves you selfish bastards?” Seriously. Am I the only one who finds it really sad that we live in a world where a writer who says “I love readers, and want to please them, and want to see them treated like human beings instead of dogs,” must be an ass kisser, because the person making the accusation apparently can honestly not imagine any other reason why a writer might feel that way and express that feeling?

The thing is, I’ve been writing for about eight years now. I’ve been seriously writing–with an eye toward publication–for about five, and I’ve been publishing for almost five. Now, math is not my strong suit at all, but that’s about 6% of my entire life that I’ve spent as a professional writer. I’ve been a reader since I was four, which means I’ve been a reader for about 95% of my life (I think).

Which brings me to the other topic. As I followed links back to my post and other people having discussions about this topic, I found a sizable minority of readers who seem to honestly believe that writers hate libraries. I even found one who said an author she knows (she actually said “a new author,” which I find very telling) informed her that libraries who loan ebooks are thieves who violate the law, and that if she had her way every library would be made illegal because they all steal profits from writers.

Personally? I think if you show me a writer who doesn’t love libraries, I’ll show you a writer who really doesn’t care about literacy or reading or the craft of writing, but is merely interested in writing-as-get-rich-quick-scheme and in playing Author: The RPG.

Because a writer is supposed to care about reading. And about reading being something for all people. You guys already know my feelings on a future where literacy is only accessible to the wealthy. That’s not just a future where everyone has to pay to publish, it’s a world without libraries.

We didn’t have a lot of money when I was a kid, and I was a voracious reader. I read anything and everything I could get my hands on. And where did I manage to get my hands on books? At the library. We went every two weeks to return a stack of books and check out a new one. I read so many books the library gave me a special dispensation to go over the limit, because at that time children weren’t permitted to take out more than, I think, five at a time.

My fifth birthday present was a library card. I’d been getting books from the library already, of course, but my mom had to check them out for me because you had to be five to have your own library card. So bright and early on the morning I turned five, my mom took me to the library so I could get my Very Own Library Card. I’m sure I got other gifts that year, but that library card is the one I remember; it was one of the best presents I ever got.

Every year the library had a summer reading program, where you read books, filled out a little report on them, and handed them in to get stickers and prizes. Every year my little sticker row was full by mid-July.

There is no way in hell my parents could have afforded to buy me enough books to feed my habit. The library was all I had.

I think it’s pretty safe to say that I wouldn’t be a writer today if not for the library, for all libraries (because when we’d exhausted our local we’d visit some of the other libraries in the system). I would never have had access to all the wonderful books I read as a kid and a preteen and a teenager if not for the library.

And I want other kids to have that. I want them to be able to escape into books the way I did. I want them to grow up knowing that just because you don’t like one book doesn’t mean there aren’t thousands of others out there just waiting for you. I want that because I care about people reading. I want people to keep reading. I want kids to grow up reading and to love reading.

Because I love reading. I love words. I love it all. The process of writing is a sensory one, a sensual one, a journey of discovery every time. Finding new ways to play with words, to make them fit together, to use them so that when a sentence is done it says exactly what I mean it to say…that’s exciting. It’s always exciting. It’s always fun. I believe firmly, and I always have, that if you can read, and understand what you read, you can do pretty much anything; reading is the basis of intellect.

So it shocks me to find a writer–or someone who calls him- or herself a writer–who believes that literacy and books should only be accessible to those who can pay for it. There’s no sense there of the beauty and wonder of words and how they can change and touch people’s lives. This is someone who sees words not as tools for expression and the building blocks of our entire society, but as clicks in a cash register. I have a hard time believing that person truly loves writing, which makes it hard for me to believe there’s any real passion in their writing, which makes it hard, frankly, to believe they’re any damn good at it.

Libraries and piracy are totally different things. There is no similarity there. The fact that libraries buy their books–and usually buy them for more than cover price, sometimes considerably more–isn’t the issue. The issue is respect. Pirates hurt me; libraries make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

So there I go, I guess, kissing ass again.

And like any other writer with a book coming out, I’m thinking about promo. See, I want you to buy the book(s). I want you to get all of your friends to buy the book(s). I want to sell thousands and thousands and thousands of copies. I want to hit the NYT list, or the USA Today list, or the Publisher’s Weekly list, or Bookscan or whatever. Lists make writers happy, you see. And they make publishers happy, and everybody’s happy. Happiness is good.

And of course, I would hope that you guys, my lovely readers, would want to help me sell books or hit lists or whatever. Because we have something of a symbiotic relationship, you know, you and me. I write books, and you buy them, and when you buy them you encourage me to write more of them, and it’s all very cheering and makes me feel warm and happy inside to think that I’ve given you something you enjoy (I honestly love giving presents; I’m one of those weird people at holidays who gets more excited about the things I’m giving than what I might get).

But here’s the thing. While I would hope that you would want to help, I don’t expect you to. I’m surprised and thrilled and grateful whenever you do, but I don’t expect it. At all. Ever. And I certainly wouldn’t presume to INSIST you do, or berate you for not doing so. Or imply that you’re stupid for not purchasing my books in the exact fashion that I would prefer you to do so.

Sadly, it seems sometimes as if I–okay, I and several of my close friends–are alone in that feeling, that instinctive cringing when we see readers being treated like nothing more than open wallets whose sole purpose is to drive said writer to greater glory.

Do I want to hit a list? Of course, although I would never presume to think I have a real shot at it. Do I think it would be great if readers everywhere held off on buying my books until the day of release? Well, sure, I guess so, but see the aforementioned “I would never presume to think I have a shot at a list anyway so what does it matter,” answer. (Yeah, I know, that wasn’t the full answer, but it’s what I meant.)

Are there things readers can do to help a favorite author hit a list? Yeah, but not as many as you think, really. Sure, waiting until release day–or the day before, since books release on Tuesdays and sales are counted for the entire week, so buying on Monday is okay–helps. That’s a good thing to do, if you’re interested, but really that’s about it. It’s certainly all I would ever think to ask.

See…I work for YOU. I mean, yes, I work for myself, but I DO the work for you. You are my audience. You are not my slaves. You do not exist in order to feed my ego or allow me to add a shiny “List” pin to my vest. It’s not for me to tell you where you’re allowed to buy my books or in what format. I’m just amazed and grateful that you buy them at all.

I’ll be perfectly honest here. There are times when it feels as if the world of readers and the world of writers are at war. Readers want certain things; they have a right to want those things as consumers. But writers/publishers want certain things as well, and we have a right to want those things as content creators and producers. And don’t even get me started on copyright violations/piracy, and some of the justifications for those. Again, to be honest? There are times when I see discussions of it, or come across my books on filesharing sites, and have the sick, deep feeling that I should just give the hell up. I can never “win”–by which I mean earn a decent living consistently, when I’m being stolen from.

And it’s not just the financial theft, it’s the feeling that someone has literally reached into my mind and taken something from me without permission. It feels like I got drunk and told a deep secret to someone I thought was a friend, and that so-called friend turned around and told the world, and they’re all laughing at me. Or like a when a guy you really like sleeps with you and then never calls you again, you know? It makes me feel worthless, and frustrated, and lonely and sad. Sure piracy bothers me because of the money, sure, but really?

Piracy just hurts. It hurts to think someone is using you for entertainment but doesn’t think you deserve any compensation for that. It hurts to think you’re seen as less than human; as some sort of machine which exists for the gratification of others but is not permitted any gratification of its own. It hurts to feel that someone thinks they’re entitled to the fruits of your labor–the expression of the truth as you see it and the worlds and people you created and love–without paying for them. It doesn’t feel like a royalty payment was stolen from you. It feels like a tiny part of your soul was stolen from you.

That shit hurts.

And I imagine it hurts readers, too, when they’re made to feel–from being yelled at, lectured, or treated like they’re stupid–that they exist solely to provide the writer with titles and accolades. That just buying and reading and enjoying and talking about a book isn’t enough, that they now must buy it at certain times, in certain places, in certain formats, at certain phases of the moon, or whatever. Just as writers are not simply typewriters churning out words, readers are not simply notches on that big bestseller belt. They are people.

I’m not really sure where I’m going with this. Just that I think it’s wrong.

Do I want to sell a lot of books? Hell, yes!

But I don’t want to just sell a lot of books. I want to entertain a lot of people. I want to give them something. That’s what this is about, not numbers or lists. It’s about books and writing and reading and the way when we read a book we love we feel connected to that book, and those characters, and that author. And when we discover another fan of those books we have a connection with that person, and books created that connection, and it wouldn’t exist without writers, readers, and publishers.

So do I want to hit a list? Of course. Have I thought of various promotional things to do, fun things, that may help facilitate that? Sure.

Do I want to hit a list at the expense of readers, by berating them or nagging them, by treating them like my minions or like they fucking owe me that goddamn list, so they better get off their fat asses and do what I say?

No.

That’s not worth it to me. I don’t want it that way. It wouldn’t mean anything that way.

I may never hit a list. But I will always be grateful that people have bought my books, and read them and loved them and took the time to tell me. Yes, this is a business, and I want to succeed in it and make money. But not at the expense of readers, and not at the expense of my own soul.

So that’s it. Just some things I’m thinking of, and will continue to think of as we get closer to the summer and the release of the Downside books (finished copyedits on CITY OF GHOSTS last week, and am quite pleased, btw).

So…thanks.

ETA: Moira Rogers, who writes awesome books, has also done a post on this topic, and I highly recommend you check it out too. My response to it? Ditto.

Because the water can splash and land on other things, thus spreading bacteria.

I had to laugh. I love the idea, first of all, that the FDA is recommending against a basic sanitary routine because the people doing it are apparently not capable of cleaning up after themselves. Seriously.

But it got me thinking about one of my biggest, hugest pet peeves ever, which I’m going to share with you.

See, I am anal about raw poultry and/or pork. Seriously. I treat that shit like it’s nitroglycerine. Nitroglycerine which also carries the Ebola virus. And is armed with razor blades.

Here’s what I do:

I open the chicken or pork “package,” (you know, they usually come wrapped in plastic or paper) in the sink, with the water already running. I not only rinse–and I have been known on occasion to mix a capful of bleach with a gallon of water and use that for the first rinse, followed by quite a few thorough inside-and-out rinses–but I leave the water running while I remove the chicken to a plate. Then I wash my hands, wrap the original package in paper towels and throw it away (I always have a foot-pedal trash can). Then–water still running–I wash whatever I used to open the package, my sink, and the surrounding countertops. Then I wash my hands again and then turn the faucet off. Then I dry the sink & counters, then dry the chicken. Then throw away those paper towels. Then I wash my hands again, and while my hands are soapy I wash the faucets and spigot.

I touch the raw chicken only with my left hand, if at all possible, so I can use my right to get things from the fridge, cabinets, open spice jars, whatever (I usually don’t have to, since I gather those things in advance, but sometimes it happens). If I have to use my right on the raw meat, I then use a double thickness of paper towels if I have to touch anything before washing my hands (and faucets) again. If I splash, I wash it immediately. If I accidentally touch something else, I wash it immediately.

Once the chicken is cooking I wash everything again, including my hands, the plate the raw meat sat on, and whatever utensils I may have used on the chicken, or touched after touching the chicken, even if I know I did not in fact touch it, and the spigots. Then I spray an anti-bacterial countertop spray on everything, including the floor, in case there were any drips.

Yes, I am anal. I’m not like this with all foods, and I’m not freakish about kitchen cleanliness in general, but after seeing an HBO documentary a long time ago about how salmonella can spread and kill people, and about trichinosis (found in raw pork)…yeah. (It may also come from being a nurse’s child and one-time candystriper, where we were taught the proper bathroom procedure: flush, wash hands, leave water running while you dry hands and use paper towels to turn the water back off and open the bathroom door, tossing the towels as you exit. Really. You will never carelessly use a tap again, after having all of that drilled into you.) Sure, the odds are slim. But that’s no reason not to be careful. And honestly, though it sounds like I go through a lot of steps, it’s really not that difficult or complicated when you’re actually doing it. It’s really just about minding what you touch.

So here’s what pisses me off. Cooking shows.

I cannot remember the last time I saw a cooking-show chef observe any kind of proper cleanliness standards when it comes to handling raw pork/poultry. Ina Garton’s roast chicken looks delicious, right? But Ina Garton does not wash her hands properly. None of them do. It drives me crazy. My eyes literally track everything they touch after touching that raw chicken, and I picture bright pink gobs of oozy, breeding germs all over their kitchens. The other day I watched Ina do her roast chicken. She touched the raw chicken with her hands and put it in the pan. Then she picked up her knife and chopped some vegetables. Then she used her salt and pepper shakers and handled some fresh-growing herbs–tearing the leaves off the potted plant on the counter. Then she got something out of her fridge, I think.

THEN–this is the best part–she says, “Oh, and it’s important to wash your hands when handling raw chicken.” She turned on the taps, rubbed her hands together for a second or two under the water–no soap–and turned the taps back off. So even if she HAD washed her hands properly, she’s just picked the bacteria back up from the tap, and then of course she chops something else with the knife whose handle she touched immediately after the chicken, and uses her spices some more, and all of that.

And it’s not just Ina. They ALL seem to do it. Guys, a casual rinse is not washing your hands. And you should be doing it immediately, not five minutes later after you’ve left a seething trail of illness and death all over your kitchen, where any unsuspecting person could set down their cookie or whatever. Don’t touch raw poultry and then rub your hands on your fucking dishtowel! What the hell is the matter with you? If a health inspector saw that you’d be in huge trouble. I understand you have a time constraint, but is it that hard to at least do your useless “wash” immediately after touching the meat, rather than after you’ve contaminated everything?

See, here’s the thing. People watch these shows to learn how to cook. They watch these chefs–experts–to pick up techniques and learn how to handle food. The impression they give that it’s fine to just slop a little water on your hands is not okay. Imagine doing that, then handing a cracker to a child. *shudder* I watched something (again, on British TV) a while ago where, after watching a woman prepare a chicken for roasting, they ran one of those black lights over her kitchen to show her all the things she’d touched without even thinking. It was fucking disgusting.

The woman was horrified (and rightly so) because she had, in fact, gotten her daughter a drink while she still had germy hands. But why on earth hadn’t she just washed them? Because she never thought about it. Because none of the cooking shows she watched emphasized how important it was, how even the slightest little drip of bacteria-laden liquid or the slightest touch of bacteria-laden hands can spread serious illnesses.

Seriously, I know I’m a bit freakish but it just bugs the fuck out of me.

So I had to rant about it here, because if you can’t share your weirdo obsessions on your blog, where can you share them, right?

What are your food weirdnesses? Ever watch cooking shows?

Tomorrow I’m going to blog about castles and do some links and updates and stuff. At least that is the plan.

Agent Miriam Goderich rebutted it here very nicely. So, I’m sure, have others, but I’m about to add my voice to the chorus simply because that’s the way I roll, baby.

Do you need an agent?

Yes. Yes, you fucking do.

Period.

Okay, sure. If you’re planning on having a career in epublishing, you probably do not need an agent. If you’re planning to self-publish, you do not need an agent. There’s nothing wrong with either of those things. I started out in epublishing, without an agent, and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I’m glad I did it and am grateful to Ellora’s Cave for treating me so well and enabling me to make some decent cash. Working with them was a pleasure for me.

But–no offense–I wanted more than that. I wanted books on shelves. I wanted advances. I wanted a bigger career. I wanted to move out of genre romance/erotic romance; not because I didn’t enjoy it or don’t enjoy it (writing and reading), but because the more of it I wrote the more a little voice inside me told me it was simply not quite the right fit for my voice or the kinds of stories I wanted to tell.

To accomplish those things (aside from moving away from writing romance, which of course is a huge genre in all forms of publishing: ebook, mass market paperback, trade paperback, hardcover, audio, whatever) I needed an agent.

Here’s what fascinates me (and infuriates me) about the original Galleycat article (aside from the fact that its author apparently also runs a website devoted to helping writers self-publish; again, legal, but certainly interesting). It’s this paragraph here:

One published author who asks to be unnamed disagrees, “What do you need an agent for anymore, really? Why? To negotiate a meager advance? You can’t get them on the phone anyway. You’re stuck promoting the book yourself because publishers don’t put any marketing dollars into your book unless you’re John Grisham. I don’t see the whole point when I can hire an attorney to negotiate my publishing contract for a flat fee or just upload the book to Kindle myself.”

Let’s take a look at these points, shall we?

1. “To negotiate a meager advance.” Hmm. Speak for yourself, buddy. My advances aren’t huge, but I certainly wouldn’t call them “meager.” And having been involved in the negotiation process–through regular discussions with my agent, every step of the way–I’m well aware of how much bigger they became once he started negotiating them. In fact, several surveys have been done proving that the average agented advance is something like twice the size of an unagented one; Tobias Buckell’s, for one.

2. “You can’t get them on the phone, anyway.” Dude, if you can’t get your agent on the phone, you need a new agent. (Or perhaps you need to stop calling several times a day; ever considered that maybe the problem is you?) I can assure you, each and every one of you, that if I picked up the phone right now and called my agent, he would take the call. He always has, and he always will. And you know what? He calls me, too. When I send him a proposal, he calls me to discuss it. When he sells subsidiary rights (yes, we’ll get to those), he calls me. As I said above, he called me every step of the way, sometimes several times a day, when we were negotiating the sales of the Downside books and the second & third Demons books.

He calls me when something happens, like when my release dates changed. He calls me when we get cover art so we can discuss it. He calls me to talk about ideas.

Do we talk every day? No. Do we talk every week? No. Do we talk every month? No. But we do talk. And we do email, and he always answers those too. My agent is THERE FOR ME. And I am not unusual in that, I promise you. Every single writer pal I have is in the exact same situation. We talk to our agents. All the time. About all kinds of things.

An agent who does not have time for you is not a good agent. Find a good agent and stop bitching.

3. ” You’re stuck promoting the book yourself because publishers don’t put any marketing dollars into your book unless you’re John Grisham.” First, this is about agents how? Second, patently unfuckingtrue. Those books you see on front tables, end caps, mid-aisle tables, and those little rotating shelf things in bookstores? Are they all by John Grisham? No. Are they all, even, by known, NYT-Bestselling authors? No again. I see debut authors on those things all the fucking time, and guess what? Marketing dollars buy those spaces. Marketing dollars that publishers, real ones, put into the books they sell every fucking day.

And again, this has nothing to do with agents, as promoting your book to the public isn’t their job.

Here’s what my agent does for me. You look at this list and tell me if you think it’s worth it:

1. Reads my work, discusses it with me, offers suggestions
2. Sells my work to editors for major houses (not just “sends” or “submits.” SELLS. Pitches. Anyone who’s ever worked a sales job knows that isn’t easy.)
3. Negotiates not just my advances, but my CONTRACTS. All those confusing things about royalties and schedules and payouts and subsidiary rights and non-competition clauses and options and exclusive- and non-exclusive? He knows what all of it means, and how to get the best possible deal for me.
4. Sells those subsidiary rights. I would not have a UK deal without my agent. I would not have an audiobook deal without my agent. Which means readers in the UK and those who enjoy audiobooks would not have access to those books without my agent.
5. Keeps track of what monies have been received and which haven’t. Follows up on checks.
6. Keeps track of royalty statements. Follows up on those, too.
7. Knows what’s selling and what editors are looking for.
8. Talks about me; lets editors know I’m available (if I am) should they be interested in working with me.
9. Discusses my career with me. Offers guidance. Helps me plan my schedule.
10. Is a third opinion in discussions with my editors, should either of us wish him to be. Should a problem arise, my agent will step in to help. My agent is always on MY SIDE.

These are all equally important, at least to me. These are things that MATTER. My agent is the lifeline between myself and the world of publishing. He is invaluable.

Sure, I could probably do those things myself. I could fly to New York regularly and try to build relationships with editors. I could submit over the transom and wait a year for responses. I could spend ages learning about contracts. I could fly out to Frankfurt and London for the book fairs there and try to sell foreign rights (after first thoroughly researching all the publishers in lots of other countries, to determine if they’d be good for my book, and hope they’ll be interested), and then I could spend a bunch of time figuring out exchange rates. I could mark my calendar to make phone calls to follow up on payments and statements and all that stuff. I could be my own, my only, advocate, and jeopardize my relationships with my editors should disagreements arise.

What I probably couldn’t do, if I were doing all of that, is still have time to write.

If you want a real career, you need a real agent. You need an agent. YOU NEED AN AGENT.

Anyone who tells you that you don’t is either wrong or is trying to sell you something. Or both. Don’t believe them.

So here’s what happened. Wednesday, the New York Times ran an article about the Kindle and how many Kindle owners are now buying more books than they used to. The end of the article contained the following paragraphs:

Ms. Englin has linked her Kindle to the Amazon account of some nearby friends, allowing all of them to read books like “The Lost Symbol” at the same time — while paying for them only once.

“I read much more, I tend to read faster for some reason, and I read a greater variety of things,” said Ms. Englin, adding that this is nearly the same as lending a physical book to friends. “We haven’t really looked closely at Amazon’s terms of service. But I do suspect we are breaking the rules.”

Now. I read the original NYT article because it was linked to in Publisher’s marketplace, in the daily emails I get from them. I saw that last paragraph and, I admit, had a twinge. A moment of “Hey, that doesn’t seem quite right.” But then almost immediately after I thought two things:

1. That this was clearly just a couple of friends sharing books
2. That this is in essence no different from, say, a group of friends with low incomes or little disposable cash, who pool their money and buy books together to share. I did this a few times as a teen; mostly for hardcovers, but sometimes to get three books instead of one or whatever.

And that was basically it. I closed the article and went about my day.

Too bad some other authors didn’t do the same. I’m not going to name any names here. You can find them if you really want. But a few other authors also saw that article, either through PM like I did or because they get the Times or whatever. Those authors went on Twitter and began what I can only describe as a witch hunt, a name-and-shame campaign where they not only scolded Ms. Englin and called her a thief, but actually listed her Twitter identity in their tweets–her Twitter identity, which appears to be her professional identity, as her Twitter seems to be used almost exclusively for business (she’s in marketing or consulting or something like that).

No, I’m not kidding. These people actually felt perfectly justified in naming and publicly scolding this woman, and in encouraging others to retweet their rants and join in berating her as well, in public, in front of her friends, family, clients, and potential clients.

There are so many problems with this I don’t even know where to begin. The first one, but in my opinion not the biggest one, is that what Ms. Englin is doing is in fact allowed by the Kindle Terms of Service. She’s not committing piracy. To infer piracy from sharing a few books with friends is a breathtaking leap in logic.

The second one is even if she was committing piracy, even if she was committing a crime, the idea that it’s somehow okay to start calling her names in a public place, and encouraging others to do the same, is wrong. So wrong. Disgustingly wrong. I was literally made ill when I saw this. I used to follow one of the authors who participated in this lynching, and I say “used to” because, sadly, I unfollowed her due to this. I’m shocked that anyone would think this is okay. This woman wasn’t convicted of raping children or of breaking into the Louvre and destroying the Mona Lisa. She shared some books with her friends. She now reads MORE books than she used to.

Even more upsetting is that when it was pointed out to some of these Upholders Of The Law authors, they had the nerve to issue half-assed apologies. (Some are here in Ms. Englin’s blog post about the incident.) One or two of them even tried to lay the blame at the feet of the original writer of the NYT article, claiming it was his fault because the wording of the article was misleading or because he included the quote about how Ms. Englin had a sneaking suspicion they were bending the rules. Excuse me? NO. Your hideous behavior is your fault. I don’t give a fuck what the NYT writer made it sound like. YOU chose to go on Twitter and start shouting this woman’s name, branding her a thief. YOU chose to encourage other people to do the same. The NYT writer didn’t do that and he’s not to blame. YOU ARE.

Let me ask you a question. If your child was beaten up, and the child who did the beating tried to claim it was little Joe’s fault, because little Joe said your kid said something mean about the kid who did the beating, would you then say, “Oh, of course,” and go after little Joe? Or would you rightly call bullshit, because it doesn’t fucking matter what little Joe said, that shithead who beat up your kid was the one who made the decision to beat up your kid and followed through on it? Exactly. All of your “the article was misleading and so we’re victims too” crap is exactly that–crap. You’re not a victim here, you’re a bully, and you’ve behaved abominably, and I am horrified by it.

But even worse is how this incident has called to light something that’s been bothering me for some time, and that is what seems to be some sort of war between writers and readers.

I don’t understand how it happened, or why. But it seems like I see this sort of thing more and more lately; readers demanding things, and authors responding as though readers are supposed to care about the minutiae of their day and never, ever buy used books or check out books from the library or whatever because they’re supposed to keep first and foremost in their minds the Writer’s Need To Make A Living. Yes, we want to make money from this; I certainly do. But vilifying readers who share books or buy used isn’t the way to go about it. It’s not really their problem, and I’m tired of hearing about it.

I personally have shared ebooks. I’ve bought ebooks for people. I give away my ebooks fairly regularly, for any number of reasons but often just because it’s fun. I’m totally excited about Barnes & Noble’s upcoming Nook, which will allow ebook sharing; finally!! It’s about time! I can’t wait to see what changes this will bring and think it’s awful that we haven’t found a way to do this before. I can’t wait for it to come out and for readers who prefer ebooks to have that function available, and as I said above, I was pretty pleased to see that there is a way for readers to share books on Kindle. I think lending or sharing books is a good thing for all of us, and I think most writers agree, and most readers do too.

But why is it that it seems everywhere I look these days there are writers and readers arguing? Why does it seem that although in theory we both want the same things, it also seems that neither of us can speak without the other getting angry? Why are there writers out there who feel justified in yelling at reviewers or readers for bad reviews, or publicly berating readers, or screaming about how when you buy books used they don’t make any money, or whatever? Some of the bad behavior by authors, directed at readers, that I’ve seen over the last few years has been enough to almost make me cry. But on the same token, why are there readers out there getting angry with authors for things about which we have absolutely no control, or accusing us of hating them or looking down on them or thinking they’re evil thieves?

Granted, that latter accusation is certainly more understandable, when we have incidents like what happened Wednesday. But it seems to go so much further than that, and I don’t understand why. Only a few authors participated in the public lynching, nowhere near all of us. But it feels–it can feel–as though we’re all being tarred with the same brush, much as I guess many readers feel tarred with the same brush simply for expressing an opinion or sharing a book or whatever.

Yes, I think the vast majority of authors should shut the fuck up about how they earn their money. Explaining exactly how piracy effects us is one thing, because I do believe there are people out there who genuinely don’t know. And because piracy effects our ability to deliver books to readers, I would hope it’s an issue readers would be concerned with. And you know what? They are! I have never seen a genuine. publicly enthusiastic reader actually defend piracy. What I have seen are readers condemning it, over and over again. And it upsets me when I see those same readers being accused or yelled at or whatever. It upsets me to hear that those same readers feel they are being looked at askance because they buy ebooks.

But at the same time, it upsets me when authors are looked at as greedy or bad because, for example, we only sell North American rights to our books rather than World. Here’s the thing; my publishers didn’t offer for world rights. And even if they had, and even if I’d agreed to it, that is absolutely no guarantee that they would have used those rights. As things stand now, UK and Australian readers will be getting the Downside books two days after they release here, because Harper UK wants to get those books out so UK/Aus readers don’t buy the US editions from Amazon or whatever. Had I sold world rights to Del Rey? I absolutely love Del Rey but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they’d decided to hold on to those rights until they see how the book performs here. Why not? If UK or Aussie readers bought it from Amazon, the US company would be making the money. (Let’s not even get into the fact that Random House UK and Random House US are not the same company with the same catalogues and release calenders [they're simply two separate houses under one umbrella], and do not answer to each other in terms of production schedules, and how the foreign branches of all the big houses are not the same, so how that would even work.) The fact is, UK/Aus readers are getting the Downside books precisely because Harper Voyager bought those rights separately, and having bought them now have incentive to use them.

Now, I totally understand the frustrations of readers in other countries who want books but can’t get them (I lived in England for three and a half years, remember?) I totally understand the frustrations of readers who want ebooks to release the same day as print. I don’t understand why that doesn’t happen. It frustrates me too. So why can’t we work together on it? Why are writers the enemy, or readers the enemy, when we all want the same thing–good books, released in a timely fashion, in a convenient format?

For the record, here is a list of things authors have NO control over. Absolutely none. There is no point getting angry or upset with us over these issues, or telling us we should be doing something about them, because we have zero say in them:

Release dates
Formats (i.e. Kindle, paperback, etc. This may change when it comes to hardcover but I don’t know; what I do know is nobody has ever consulted me about format and had I offered an opinion they wouldn’t have cared)
What countries our books are released in
Pricing of either print or ebook editions
where our books are sold
DRM

I understand that some of these are hot button issues for readers. You know what? It bugs me too. I hate that ebooks cost more and don’t understand why at all. I hate that ebook readers have to wait and think it’s silly. I hate that DRM means you can’t use your book on more than one device you own. I hate that I have to wait for someone to buy or choose to exploit foreign rights before I can see editions of my book in French or German or whatever.

But again, I can’t do anything about it. To be perfectly honest, in those situations I have less power than readers do. They can write letters to publishing companies in their countries asking for those publishers to acquire certain books. They can write letter to publishers complaining about delayed releases or ebook prices or formats not available or just about anything else. I can’t.

At the same time, I understand that being made to feel like thieves, or being deprived, is a big deal for readers. I understand that when you feel like you’re being kicked around the last thing you need is some author whining about not getting paid for used books. Quite frankly, it’s not your problem, and you shouldn’t be expected to give a shit about it. Why the hell should you? It’s the height of arrogance to expect you to somehow put your financial worries above mine. I too get tired of seeing writers bitch about this, especially when–sorry, the gorge just rose in my throat–they use it as fucking justification for their own decision to terrorize a reader online (and I assure you, “terrorized” is probably a mild word for what Ms. Englin must have been feeling at one point). When your apology for your hideous behavior includes anything like, “But you have to understand, people steal from us and so that’s why we jumped to conclusions,” you need a class in how to properly apologize and probably some therapy too.

I just find it upsetting, all of it. When I see discussions like this one at Dear Author, where it seems everyone is speaking at cross-purposes, it upsets me. It seems to me we had a perfect opportunity, in the Case of the Harassment of An Innocent Reader, to come together as one, readers and writers, and maybe find some new common ground. To reach a place where we could all agree; to act as one. We have power together, writers and readers. We can perhaps accomplish some things together we couldn’t as lone entities. We can be a community. But the comments seemed to quickly degenerate into an Us vs. Them, and it’s heartbreaking, and I find myself wondering what if anything can be done about it. I don’t want to be afraid of readers, or of expressing an opinion. Especially not when I am always, always, a reader first and on the side of readers first. Not when I go out of my way to make my blog, especially, a place where anyone and everyone can feel welcome and wanted, regardless of their politics or religion or color or anything else. But neither do I want to be vilified simply for trying to entertain people or having my own concerns.

When did we all start to feel so entitled? When did we start to feel that instead of being people who loved books and reading that we were separate entities, and that it was our right to condemn the other and order them around?

We need to work together. Yes, without readers I–and other writers like me–would be out of a job. But without writers I–and other readers like me–wouldn’t have anything to read.

And that would be the saddest thing of all.

First of all. If you are a follower of Urban Fantasy Land (and if you aren’t, why the hell not, because those girls are awesome; they love the genre, and they’re fun and well-informed, and they’re doing Reader’s Choice Awards at the moment and you could win stuff) you already have some inkling of this, as they broke the news a couple of days ago. If you are a member of my Yahoo newsgroup you already know this, as I sent out a message yesterday (see? There are some benefits to belonging to the group!)

I can’t tell you everything. I honestly don’t know everything. What I do know is that DEMON INSIDE and any future books in the Megan Chase series will be distributed through Pocket Books (S&S) as part of a new arrangement with Juno Books.

So. DEMON INSIDE is up on Amazon! And I have my very own Author Page on the new Simon & Schuster website, which is here.

Both pages give the new release date as JULY 29, 2009. Mark your calendars! Place your pre-orders now! Riot and dance in the streets (you know you want to)!

But seriously. Here’s what this hopefully means for you. It hopefully means that DI will have a much “harder” release date; there will be more copies on the shelves, on the release date and after. It will likely be easier to get and find. (And I certainly hope you think that’s a good thing.)

What it means for me? I honestly don’t know yet. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.

But wait! There’s more!

Again, if you’re a member of the Yahoo group you know this already, but yesterday I got the official word that I will be a Guest at Dragon*Con, September 4-7, Atlanta GA. (It is very weird to see my name on that list, especially right above Susan Kearney’s, as she is a USA Today bestseller and I am just…well, me.) So, I will be signing books, participating in panel discussions, and generally jibber jabbering away at Dragon*Con! I am totally excited; D*C is awesome. Check out the rest of the site and see:

Dragon*Con is the largest multi-media, popular culture convention focusing on science fiction and fantasy, gaming, comics, literature, art, music, and film in the US.

…and I’m going to be part of it! Holy crap!! I’m already thinking of fun promo activities and stuff; a scavenger hunt, perhaps? Miss Caitlin Kittredge and I have some Nefarious Plans in the works as well…muahahahaha!

Now, this last bit of news hasn’t been announced to the Yahoo loop, as I thought two big announcements were quite enough for one day. BUT, this is really, very exciting.

My Ellora’s Cave novel Demon’s Triad, co-written with the excellent Anna J. Evans, will be a print book, available for signing at the Romantic Times convention in April!!

Those of you who were here when the book had its ebook release last year will recall, this is our supersuperdirty X-rated book; the one almost too dark and wild for Ellora’s Cave. I repeat that here not just because I’m kind of proud of that in a sick sort of way, but to warn you. The blurb says “This book is not for the faint of heart” and that is NOT a warning to take lightly. At least one reviewer was apparently not shown the blurb, which also explains that the book contains female/female sexual activity, male/male sexual activity, and non-gratuitous scenes of rape and incest, and gave the book a terrible review for it; who can blame her, really? If you’re expecting a sweet romance, well, you will get that; it *is* a romance and one Anna and I were very proud of. But it is also a dark, violent, and graphic book, so if you’re not interested in that or if it’s simply not what you expected–especially considering most of my EC work leans toward snarky and humorous–you will want to give this one a wide berth, okay?

But I’m extremely excited and proud that it will see print, and I am extremely happy to say that Anna J. Evans, my darling co-writer, will also be at Romantic Times, so this is your chance to have the book signed by BOTH of us.

So. That was the fun stuff. Now we have a couple of serious things to talk about.

This week marks one year since the Cassie Edwards plagiarism scandal broke, on the Smart Bitches Trashy Books website. You guys know I love the Bitches; they’re clever, they’re funny, and they are always interesting, in addition to being–I think–two really lovely, kind, and caring people. I think it can be easy, when dealing with review sites, to tar them all with some sort of “Snarky reviews=Mean Girls” brush, and I think that’s wrong. If you read the Bitches’ site regularly, if you pay attention to the discussions there, you can see the deep respect that shines through even the snarkiest comment (though I don’t think their reviews are particularly snarky anyway, personally); respect for themselves, respect for readers, and especially respect for writers. (The fact that they are both writers themselves may contibute to this; they have their own book coming out in April, a non-fiction book about romance novels, and I imagine it will be a must-have for anyone who likes or loathes romance.)

Anyway. A year ago one of the Bitches loaned a friend a few Cassie Edwards novels. The friend did not enjoy the novels, but more to the point, the friend noticed some distinct differences in the authorial voice at certain points in the text. The friend was, I believe, ill at the time or recuperating from a broken bone, and so, having time on her hands, she decided to Google a few of the oddest passages.

And discovered that they were stolen.

They were not Cassie Edwards’ original work. They were entire passages lifted verbatim from research articles; from old novels (one of which was a Pulitzer Prize winner); from magazine articles and websites.

In short, Cassie Edwards was a plagiarist, and the Bitches posted the evidence of her CRIME, of her BREACH OF MORALS AND ETHICS AND HONOR, on their website.

And all hell broke loose. (The post I linked to above is tagged “Cassie Edwards”; clock the tag to view the whole saga. Astounding. I was especially interested to see a statement, purportedly from Edwards, which claimed that “…all romance authors who use research for historicals have to use reference books to do this.” Um…yeah, I used a lot of reference books and materials in writing Black Dragon, my Cerridwen Press medieval. But funnily enough, I didn’t realize I was supposed to lift entire passages verbatim; I actually went through the trouble of incorporating my research in (what I hope was) a smooth manner, and, you know, writing it myself in my own words, rather than simply copy-and-pasting it into dialogue and figuring my readers wouldn’t know the difference. Silly me. I guess I was absent from Writer School the day they told me that, contrary to what I’d been taught my whole life, that was okay).

But this is the thing. This really isn’t about Cassie Edwards. It’s not. I’ve never read one of the woman’s books; I don’t know her or anything about her.

What I do know, and what this is about, is that plagiarism is wrong. It is a moral and ethical absolute: PLAGIARISM IS WRONG. YOU DO NOT STEAL THE WORK OF OTHERS AND TAKE CREDIT FOR IT.

And here’s what I don’t understand. The Bitches broke this story. They alerted the world that this egregious wrong was taking place. In doing so they drew attention to the actual writers of the stolen work, people whose words were earning money for Ms. Edwards, while they struggled. People who’d put years of effort into the work she so carelessly, irresponsibly, and coldly stole from them for her own gain.

In alerting us they made publishers and readers more aware of plagiarism; what it is, and what the consequences are. Not just to the thief, but to all of us. When our words–our self-expression, the contents of our minds and hearts, the basis of our very selves, the tools of our souls–are stolen, it is a vicious and terrible crime. It is the raping of the mind. It tells us, on the most basic level possible, that we are nothing but grist for the plagiarist’s mill, nothing but a series of sentences for the plagiarist to steal.

Who among us has never had this happen? There’s a reason why “copycat” is such a vivid playground epithet; the copycat is not original. The copycat is stealing your ideas and pretending they’re his or her own. Who among us has never had anyone copy us? Has never had a co-worker take credit for one of our ideas? Or a boss? Has never told a joke or come up with a witty comeback, and heard someone else use it later, pretending it’s their own? Who has not felt that impotent rage when it happens? The feeling that nothing is sacred, not your thoughts or words or self?

Plagiarism is disgusting. It is foul. It is wrong. It is a behavior that should not be tolerated, by anyone, for any purpose.

And yet…the Bitches are being threatened for it. As though they’ve done something wrong.

When someone breaks into your home and steals from you, and you catch them in the act, do you deserve to be blamed for their subsequent imprisonment? How about if you catch someone stealing from your neighbor’s home; are you then to blame? What if you witness a murder or rape? Or any crime? Are you obligated to keep silent? Or are you obligated to tell, because the basis of our society is respect for ourselves, other people, and the law, and every incidence of turning a blind eye, of excusing such crimes, of pretending it doesn’t matter, is in and of itself a crime, a show of incredible disrespect which takes us one step further away from civilization and toward an unfeeling, inhuman anarchy?

There are people actually sending threatening notes to the Smart Bitches–especially regarding their appearance at the Romantic Times convention–for doing what was and is RIGHT; for standing up for the abused, the stolen from, the ignored and the ill-treated. For standing up for the basic human right of all of us to own our own words, thoughts and feelings, and not have them ripped from us by someone else looking to benefit financially from the sweat of our brows and the fruit of our souls.

This is disgusting. It is wrong. It lessens the humanity and fairness and integrity of our society as a whole, and of the community of readers and writers.

Thank you, Smart Bitches, for standing up for writers; for treating what we do as something individual and valuable, and for recognizing our right to our own intellectual property.

I had more but I think that’s long enough for one day, huh?