So, there’s an epidemic happening on the Interwebs. Maybe it’s been here the whole time and I didn’t see it, or maybe it’s new. I don’t know. What I do know, is that a lot of Indie authors are suffering from it. What is it? I’m not sure what it’s called, but it’s clear life isn’t fair for Indie authors, and it just keeps getting worse. Everywhere, all over Cyberspace, self-published authors are reporting massive fuckings. Fuckings so horrific, we can barely write anymore. It’s like the whole world has turned against us. As if publishing books ourselves isn’t hard enough, now we have to deal with giant corporations trying to annihilate us by making it impossible to make a living doing what we love. It’s a conspiracy we simply can’t break out of.

OH. MY. SHIT. How can we be expected to create, to thrive, to just write the stories filling up our hearts and our minds when we have to think about getting fucked every second of every day? All we can do is write about it and hope that someone, somewhere will save us. It’s not like we can save ourselves. I mean, we’re getting fucked here. You can’t do shit when you’re bent over taking a screwing like that. All you can do is keep your head down and cry for help.

First it was the traditional dicks fucking us, and now it’s Amazon. Next, it’ll be the fucking readers. They’re deviously fuckish, that bunch. What are we to do?

Have I gone too far? Have I hurt your tiny feelings?

 

Well, I’m not sorry. When did we become a bunch of whiny little fucktards? Indie authors should be made of sterner stuff. WE ARE BETTER THAN THIS. And I’m tired of listening to my peers, who are mostly talented and smart individuals, bitching and whining about how they can’t catch a break. I’m tired of hearing that Indie authors have it SO HARD, because let’s face it, folks, publishing is hard. It’s never been easy and never will be for very good reasons. It’s a job. It’s work. You have to EARN your money at any other job. Why should writing be any different? Yes, it’s a tough gig. Yes, it’s like pushing a goddamn square wheel uphill, through piles of sticky shit and against hurricane force winds, just to sell a single book. Yes, it’s unfair that damn fine authors are living in obscurity while those that write about sex with One Direction are getting fat and rich.

Suck it up, bitches. Life is hard and all that. Pull up the big girl panties (or big boy panties if that’s what you prefer) and figure out a different way to get what you want. No one’s going to do it for you.

Amazon (and the bazillion other self-publishing platforms out there) has never NOT been sketchy. Bookstores have always supported traditional publishers, because that’s where the money is. They’re businesses and to stay profitable, they can’t worry about the little guy. (You and I would be the little guys, in case you’re unclear on that.) Selling anything is hard, because consumers don’t want to pay for shit. Whether you’re selling books or pizzas, your customers are always looking for the deal, the freebie, the least expensive way to get what they want. It will never get easier and there will always be a dick waiting to stick it to you.

Writing about how unfair it is or how bad it’s going to get doesn’t change anything.

But I have good news, folks.

There is a cure for this plague sweeping across Indie publishing. Here it is: Take charge of yourself and your career and make some goddamn decisions. You might also want to stop blaming everyone else for your failures and disappointments.

Or, an easier remedy: Stop moaning about getting fucked if you’re going to keep bending over.