“Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.” Virginia Woolf
Writing can be a lonely process. It often requires escaping to somewhere quiet, in the dark recesses of the mind. I’ve blogged about this before—getting lost, coming up for air only when the characters are done speaking, losing track of where I am and where I’ve gone. Writing is powerful. At least it is for me. It’s hard, too, when you put your work out there for all to read. No matter what we write as authors, it is a part of our souls that we give, subconsciously or consciously. The Natalie Edge Series was more of a subconscious experience for me. It wasn’t until the last book that I realized so much of who I am is in these books. So much of my experiences and wounds tainted and created the story. What I thought was mere fiction became a quest of enlightenment, especially when life threw me curve ball after curve ball in my relationships with love and loss. Still working through all that. Inspiration comes at a cost and without the ability to able to control it, prevent it, or change it. It is what it is. Our muses speak to us without our consent. But recently, I have discovered that writing doesn’t have to be such a lonely process. It need not be one of total insecurity and seclusion. I suddenly found a group of like-minded writers. We began to support one another. Talk to one another. Truly ENCOURAGE one another, without competition, without judgement, without pettiness. It is refreshing. It has emboldened me. It has changed me. I choose to take risks now. It’s even beyond that. It’s acceptance. To Mr. B. and the Wicked Pens Writers: I dedicate this blog to you. Thank you.
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I’m assuming that if you’re reading this then you’re either a reader or a writer, right? I mean why else would you be reading a blog entry on piracy or eBooks if you weren’t one or the other or both? So I may just be preaching to the choir here, but maybe, just maybe it will get you or someone you know to stop and think about the issue of piracy and its consequences.
Okay. Now I’m going to sound like a scolding mother. Go ahead. Picture me pointing my finger into your face almost touching the tip of your nose as I shake it furiously, telling you to stop doing whatever it is you’re not supposed to be doing. And yes. Picture yourself as that little kid rolling your eyes the minute Mom turns around. I was there one too many times myself as a child. And I’ll admit, it never worked very well. I don’t imagine me scolding you will on this issue will either, so I try another tactic. I’ll never forget where I grew up, a struggling little town outside the city, where people knew each other by first names and where I could ride my bike just about anywhere. Mom and Pop shops graced many of the street corners and knocking on your neighbors’ doors was commonplace and welcomed. The Hilary Clinton anthem of “it takes a village” really was alive and true. My dad was a struggling businessman (who finally did make it big—but that’s a topic for a different blog) and my mom worked two jobs. But I never wanted for anything. And I was loved and cared for without material items. My neighborhood was a community. And we trusted and looked after one another. Mr. Ciccolini’s little store was a neighborhood favorite. He had rows and rows of candy. I particularly liked the candy cigarettes which makes me laugh at the irony of that now, considering I abhor smoking, having just lost a family member to the deadly cancer it causes. My friends and I went to his store almost daily after school. Sometimes just to say hi or pass the time; oftentimes to get a little treat behind our parents’ backs before dinner. He had an old-fashioned ice cream bar in his shop too that my whole family often enjoyed on a Sunday after church. Put simply: Mr. Ciccolini was part of the fabric of my neighborhood. He was extended family. One day visiting the esteemed Mr. Ciccolini, I realized I didn’t have a penny to my name. My friends were going up and down the rows, picking out their treats: Bit o’ Honeys, gumballs, those disgusting not quite chocolate things with the nuts like taffy, whose name escapes me right now. I was jealous and embarrassed, truth be told, that I didn’t have any money. I looked both ways and when no one was looking I stuffed my fav’s in my pockets, my candy cig’s, and sauntered out the door, waiting for the rest of my crew. When everyone met me outside we hopped on our bikes and rode down to the elementary school to sit on the jungle gym and share our snacks. I pulled out my cig’s from my pockets, enjoying the sugary sin right along with my friends. “Hey,” my friend Sam said. “I thought you didn’t have any money.” My face crimsoned. “I…” “Wait,” Rebecca laughed. “Did you steal those?” “Well…I didn’t…” “Oh my god! That is awesome!” Before I could apologize or explain the stupid whimsy that had come over me, I was a hero. High fives were given. Laughter erupted. The little goody two shoes had stolen some candy, and now I was somehow elevated to Super Woman status. It was confusing and humiliating. I knew it was wrong. I knew I shouldn’t be taking praise and yet I went along for the ride, staying silent. Years later when Mr. Ciccolini’s shop closed, along with many of the other Mom and Pop places, we were all devastated. Abandoned buildings became the norm, Wal-Mart took over for candy, along with CVS and other “convenience’ stores, and I didn’t quite understand economics. I asked my mom why he had to close and she tried to explain it me. That he couldn’t keep up. That he couldn’t raise prices to where they needed to be to make a living. I confessed to Mom, even though I knew it really didn’t matter anymore. It just felt bad. It felt wrong. And I knew it. Stealing is wrong. Period. No matter how big or small. It is someone’s life, livelihood, future, art, words, or contribution that is being taken away. And somehow I can’t help but think that I contributed to his loss, to the loss of his livelihood. Mr. Ciccolini put his blood, sweat, and tears into that shop. And because of a myriad of things, he couldn’t stay afloat. People want a deal. They want a bargain. They want the cheapest avenue to get what they want. And eBooks are no different. Many indie authors are putting their books on Amazon for as cheap as they can. Many offer them for free for a time, hoping to lure in readers because they know people don’t want to pay full price. I, myself, though not an indie writer, struggle because my books are a bit more expensive. I use a publisher. And with that comes cost. There are proofers and editors and uploaders and graphic artists…the list is infinite. And we all get paid very little. It’s a trickle effect. People stop paying for books, no one gets paid. No one gets paid, no one can write and produce quality material. And what’s left, quite frankly, is shit. The Wal-Mart of Writing. I love to write. There is nothing more natural to who I am. Nothing that comes as easily as putting pen to paper (or really, fingertips to keyboard). But editing, rewriting, revising, coming up with the perfect blurb, the perfect cover, having editors gruelingly comb through the manuscript, promoting the final piece to be shared with the world—it takes time and it takes money. It’s daunting. It’s expensive. It’s time-consuming, and scary as we wait for those reviews to come rolling in…if and when they do. None of us write because we think we’re going to be the next E.L. James or that we’re going to be millionaires (though we may dream of it). We write because it’s in our blood. We write because we have no choice but to allow our voices to drip onto the page. We write because, for some, we want to be happy and make a living off of it, not to be rich in our pockets, but to be rich in our souls. It feeds us, both literally and figuratively. If people don’t think stealing books, pirating them, is wrong, there’s really not much I can do to change their moral code. And like my friends from the neighborhood, some even brag about it. “You paid for that? Ha! I got it free. Why would I pay when I get it free?” But don’t come crying to us when the quality of eBooks begin to disappear. With piracy will come extinction. Help us survive. We’re not asking for much. Mutual respect. A nod to the arts. How would you feel if you worked all week and your boss decided not to give you that paycheck? Would you keep working at that job? Of course not. You’d have to work elsewhere. You wouldn’t have a choice and neither will we. Please think about the person who is behind that book before you steal it. Writers are human beings and we bleed every time one of our books are pirated. In the spirit of John Lennon: “We are a brotherhood of man.” Let’s try to support one another instead. After all, we’re all in this together. I look forward to your comments. (Editor's note: Since writing this article, I have published two series as an indie author. My opinions still have not changed.) |
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I LOVE to write and read. I particularly enjoy reading erotic romance that has tons of emotion in it. I hope you will ask me questions and share your favorite authors and novels. I welcome all feedback.
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