"Yesterday's Bitches, 1-10"
Bitch #1 Bitch #2 Bitch #3 Bitch
#4 Bitch #5 Bitch #6 Bitch #7 Bitch #8 Bitch
#9 Bitch #10
Bitch #1
Today I'm
bitching about Philcon in a broad sense, and the Program Chair and NESF – an
organization I'd never even heard of till now. Gee, since I've never heard of either this
person or NESF, they most be peon-type nobodies who don't deserve the sweat off my
panties.
Sound a
little harsh? Well this is the logic that they have obviously used to deny programming to
a large number of pros at World-Con. I don't know about everyone else, but they waited
until about a week ago to tell me I had no programming. In
fact, they probably never would have told me if I hadn't asked. So now I have non-refundable plane tickets to go
along with my non-refundable convention tickets, and I'm forced into a position where I
can either not go and waste all that money or I can go to the convention – where I
don't have pro status – and waste still more money as I spiral into an abyss of black
depression giving my self contractions trying to get the fans there to believe that my
books are really worth buying.
They even had
the nerve to ask Campbell Award nominee Kristen Smith if she had done anything special
besides publishing a novel!
Apparently
all of this injustice and rudeness is a bid for them to exclude "Neo-Pros" from
filling up programming. Now after having been published in many respected magazines and
anthologies in this field and having just turned in my third novel and a story for the up
coming Thieves World anthology, with contracts for two more books – not to
mention having edited and published Brian Hopkins Stoker Award winning novel, being a
paying member of SFWA and having been in this fucking business for 20 years – I don't
much appreciate being busted down to Neo-Pro status by some trek book reviewing nobody. I
already know of at least one author who has programming at the con who, while deserving,
has far fewer credits in the field than yours truly and not one single novel credit to her
name.
Simply put,
these morons in charge of programming at Phil-Con have demoted to non-pro ranks all of
those authors whose names they don't recognize.
For those of
you who may be asking, "Why has Selina got her panties in such a wad?" here's
your answer. First off World-Con is a very expensive event for writers. No one gets comped
except the guests of honor, and the only way you will ever see the $160.00+ membership fee
is if you A) have programming, and B) the convention makes a profit. The hotels are always
expensive, and then there is the air fair for most of us. You go because it's a lot of
exposure, huge programming rooms with up to five hundred people in an audience. Except
wait! We don't have any programming, so we get no exposure. Gee, why are we even fucking
here?
Because the
bastards waited till the last fucking minute to tell us we didn't have programming,
that’s why. Because we don't want to
have paid for tickets we can't get our money back on, and like I said, World-Con tickets
as well as cheap airline fairs tickets are NON-REFUNDABLE!
So I have to
go and at least try to make some contacts. I will be locked out of the green room since
I'm not a pro, which means I will have to either buy all my meals or eat the crap they
give the fans in the Con Suite. Which is the difference between eating sandwiches and
stale corn chips.
This is our work, our livelyhood that this bitch is playing with. We need the exposure.
After all, if she had recognized our names, we would have had programming. The famous
writers don't need the exposure. Hell, most of the big shots don't even show up for their
panels. While we'll be running around trying to get anyone at all to notice us, they'll be
party hopping and having a good time. They, who have plenty of money, will be eating
sandwiches while we're eating stale corn chips. Perhaps it makes them feel more important
to be separated from we non-pros, though I doubt it.
Most of the big name pros that I know remember when they were in the same
position that I'm in right now. Most of them weren't born into wealth, and they know what
it's like to bust your ass just to get your nut.
Here's what I
want you to do. If you are going to World-Con go up to any of the button makers there and
have them make you a button which says, "Who is the Program Chair?" When people ask you what it means, simply tell
them that she's the woman who decided who was and wasn't a writer on the merit of whether
she knew them or not. If she happens to come up to you and say, "I'm the Program
Chair," look at her and simply say, "I'm somebody, too."
This bitch
has been brought to you courtesy of I'm so Fucking pissed and PMS – always a
bitch’s best friend.
Selina
P.S. If you're the Program Chair, you and think that I have slandered your good name, then
feel free to write a rebuttal. We'll print it as written. However I feel it's only fair to
tell you what my old grand pappy used to say, better a bad reputation than no reputation
at all. And thanks to people like you who
down grade our hard work it's almost impossible for a new writer to make their mark in
this field.
Bitch #2
The bitch for today is actors who bitch about reality TV. Why? Well,
because for starters here are people who make a trazillion dollars a minute to pretend to
be doctors, lawyers, cleaning ladies, cops, fashion designers, etc. And they’re
bitching about, doctors, lawyers, cleaning ladies, cops and fashion designers who are
pretending to be actors.
I started chewing on this when I saw one of the actors from Friends bitching about
Survivor. I'm thinking, Wait a minute! These people went to bat a few years
ago and demanded that they make 100 thousand dollars an episode to make a thirty minute
show, and they're complaining because... well, let’s face it, Survivor kicked their
ass. On the other hand, we have Survivor – a show where the winner makes a
million dollars – the equivalent of one of the actors on Friends take home pay for
ten shows. Sixteen people have to live together, shit in a hole, eat bugs, get
rained on, starve and compete in rigorous competitions – all while on camera 24-7.
The runner up gets 100 thousand dollars – the equivalent of one of the actors
on Friends take home pay for one show. The rest of the cast makes scale.
Apparently the outraged actors big argument is that they have worked at their craft and
are professionals being pushed out by "ordinary" people.
Which brings us to my real bitch. Apparently they feel like only professional
actors should be on TV or in the movies, etc. Well, you know what? I have
spent most of my life honing and fine tuning my writing skills. It's a tough,
horrible business. See, there are lots more people in the world, but fewer and fewer
of them read as a pass time. Instead they all watch TV, or movies or buy music
CD's. CD's literally sell millions of copies, and movies are box office smashes on a
regular basis. If a movie only had a million people go to see it, or a music CD
only sells a million copies, it's considered a disappointment at best. But if you
sold a million copies of one book it would be on the best sellers list for weeks; it would
be a mega success.
With fewer books being bought by a rapidly diminishing group of readers, it might be
nice if studios would start hiring real writers – you know, professionals who've
honed their skills, and whose business it is to write believable, exciting tales.
But this rarely happens. See, actors are constantly writing scripts, as are
directors and producers. They think they know what the public wants to see.
This is the reason most of the crap on TV and in the movies is such hacked up shit.
If it isn't bad enough that writers have to die to have a book of theirs made into a
movie or TV series, actors and rock stars are always writing books. Books which
take up slots in book stores. Slots which are filled to the gills with actors, rock
stars and politicians pouring out the secrets of their horrible troubled lives, instead of
the books of writers. You know, professionals who have honed their craft.
And here's the real kicker, people who would never think to pick up a book written by a
real writer will buy these "biographies" of people who had everything handed to
them on a silver platter and some how still managed to screw it all up, or people who
clawed their way to the top only to sit there and push everyone else down.
They say it takes money to make money. I say once you have the money and the
fame, people just give you everything else. It's as if you only become truly
deserving once you have everything.
Like reality shows or hate them, anything that makes the “haves” sweat is all
right in my book. Want to change my mind, Hollywood? Then quit writing and
just act.
Selina
Bitch #3
Does J.K. Rowling Really Need Any More
Accolades?
Back in the infancy of Yard Dog Press we used to publish Yard Dog Comics and when the
pages didn't come out even and we had too much dead space I would fill that space with a
column entitled Things That Suck, in which I listed all the things that had happened
recently that sucked. J.K. Rowling winning the Hugo for best Novel for the Harry Potter
book would have gone on that list.
Why? I mean
her story is a real tear jerker, a poor single mother waiting tables and living on the
dowel in England, who suddenly becomes a huge success and a bazillionaire. It gives us all
hope right?
Wrong!
Because all of us in the hell which is the real writing world have been just as broke,
just as down on our luck, and have worked every bit as hard, probably a hell of a lot
harder when it comes to our writing, and we know it's all just the luck of the draw.
Jody Lynn Nye
was been doing wizard academy books for many years before JK Rowling jumped onto the scene
so it isn't even an original concept. In fact I'm sure that Jody is getting sick to death
of being told, "Oh it's just like Harry Potter."
Now I'm not
saying that her works not good, even great, maybe it was the best novel nominated. I just
don't give a shit!
I see it this
way. Anyone who didn't read every book nominated shouldn't have voted. You know and I know
that the book won simply because it had the most name recognition. We all know that many
of the people that voted for it, hadn't read any of the other books hell some of them
hadn't even read the Harry Potter book, it was just the only title they recognized.
Was J.K.
waiting breathlessly for her name to be called? No. She didn't even bother to come,
although it certainly wouldn't have been any strain on her bank account to do so. Some fan
who was delegated by the con com picked up her award, she didn't even bother to have
someone pick it up for her. I doubt she even knows what the award is. It doesn't matter
one bit to her and do any of us really believe she needs it to sell books? Do you really
think they are going to stop the presses and add Hugo award winner on the cover of her
books?
All the rest
of the nominees were there. It would have helped their careers, they would have been
thrilled, it would have been added to their jacket covers. In short it would have made a
difference in their lives. For at least two of them it would have meant the difference
between relative obscurity and breaking completely out.
When Kristine
Smith won the Campbell award she was so thrilled and excited that she was close to tears.
It was the moment of truth – for a moment all the hard work was worth it. It was her moment to shine, and she couldn't
believe it was actually happening. Later on when you saw her in the hall she was clutching
it to herself still obviously in a state of shock.
I'm thinking
when Rowling gets her Hugo in the mail she's going to say, What the hell is this?
and stick it on some shelf to collect dust with all her other accolades.
Selina
Bitch #4
I thought everyone was supposed to
be willing to sacrifice?
Part 1. Here it is, my bitch
concerning the attack on America as promised. I'm sure some, or perhaps all, of you will
be surprised by the direction this bitch
takes.
First, I have the same bitch that all Americans have right now. How dare the terrorists
target any of us – much less people whose only great sins were getting on a plane or
going to work. How dare they attack every American citizen by demolishing our already
sagging economy, and scaring the hell out of us!
We all want swift retribution. We all want them tracked down, and most of us – let's
say the words – want then killed. It's my personal belief that this is the only way
to actually stop them. I hope you also share my hope that we can do this without taking
out civilian populations that are no more guilty of these atrocities than our dead were
guilty of committing any crimes against these morons. In the past few encounters of this
kind we have launched air strikes which seem to hit civilian targets while allowing the
Gadhafis, Hussains, Ben Ladens, and their troops to walk away basically unscathed. I truly
hope that we have learned a lesson from these encounters and take more successful action
this time. Do I know what these actions should be? No, but I'm hoping someone in
Washington does, and that “the powers that be” will listen.
I'm sure that we all share deep grief for the scar that has been inflicted upon our
country and have the deepest of sympathies for the families, friends, and loved ones of
those who died in these attacks. Just as I'm sure that we all think Jerry Falwell is a
complete and total idiot, and that he has created a format for the non-apology that
hypocrites will use for many years to come.
Hopefully we are all aware that backwards fundamentalist beliefs of all kinds are equally
as dangerous, and this will cause us to ride a tighter reign on the loonies who associate
themselves with our different religions and creeds. Muslim extremists are no better or
worse than the lunatics who live among us, and we can't now allow the Religious Right here
to use this as a forum for squelching our personal freedoms in the hopes of God's favor
returning to us as Falwell and his cronies have suggested.
All that said, here's my bitch. Time and time again we have heard many different leaders
and concerned citizens say we are all going to have to sacrifice, and that we should give
till it hurts. As usual, this mostly means us. When I see a movie star or Fortune 500
hundred dude driving a Hyundai, I'll believe that they have given till it hurts. We are
being told that we have to keep spending, or people are going to be laid off. In fact,
many companies, including the airlines, are already talking about massive lay-offs... It's been less than two weeks.
What about the fat cats who have gotten rich off the sweat of their labor force? What
about them sucking it up? What about them making some sacrifices? How about they
give back to the American people who have made them so filthy rich by keeping people
working? By just not laying people off. They're going to lose money; so what! We all
have to make sacrifices, right? Maybe if they
don't lay all these people off, the economy won't implode. Maybe in the long run it would
save us from a depression and wind up making them even more money – and isn't that
what it's all about to the corporate giants who have sucked up private enterprise and
stomped out the little guy?
What about a show of patriotism from these money grubbing bastards? After all, these are
real Americans they're laying off in the tens of thousands. It's the American economy and
way of life that will be hurt in the long run – so that they don't lose some profit.
Isn't it about time that the filthy rich gave till it actually hurt? For some of us a
donation of $5.00 bucks means we don't eat lunch one day next week. A donation of $25.00
means a bill gets paid late. A donation of a hundred bucks hurts like hell. For a guy who
makes three million dollars a year, giving away a million dollars doesn't hurt, hell it
doesn't even sting! He deserves no pat on the back at all. For the guy making minimum wage
doing a job that eats his soul and breaks his back, a $25.00 donation is a really big
deal. Confetti should fly right out of some fat cat politician’s ass every time
someone from the middle class donates anything.
Do we really think that mega corporations who have their fingers in twenty different pies
are going to go bankrupt, and that their executives are going to be living in pup tents if
the don't lay off several hundred employees?
Come on, big shots, have a heart. Don't lay people off. Come down to our level and do
what's right for the country even if it isn't good for you. Millions of people all over
the country are donating more money than they can afford to try to help out at this
devastating time. We don't have to be told to give till it hurts; we would do it any way.
That's why we aren't rich.
Face it. In order to be rich you have to be a total jerk. I know, I know. You just thought
of half a dozen people who you know that are rich who have done really nice things, but
think about this. I'm not talking about people who have worked hard and have lots of nice
things. I'm talking about people who have so much damn money that they literally can't
spend it – and they're trying. People with numerous mansions and sports cars. If you
have that kind of money, then it's a given that you're an ass hole, because it means that
you can look at all the pain and suffering in the world and say you need another car more
than those things need to be fixed.
Right now the corporate giants are closing down shop to keep from losing some of their
precious money, when the truth is they'd have to lose a hell of a lot before they'd be
hurting.
So who's really being asked to give till it hurts?
Part 2. I think for myself
the hardest part is wanting to actually do something and really having nothing I can do to
help except send money. I have an idea that may work for many of us, as well as being a
way to make some money for the survivors. We are talking about doing a chap book
tentatively called "Beyond The Sky Line." This isn't something just for writers.
I would like for anyone interested in this project to write one to three paragraphs Give
your name, what you do for a living, where you were and what you were doing when you first
learned of the attack. Without white washing them I want your first thoughts. Then if you
could write the outcome of this action what would it be. Keep it short. I would like to
get as many people in this as possible. Each person would be asked to donate their work
and profits from the sales of the book would be given to one of the charities helping the
families and loved ones of the dead. This will be the only project for which I will accept
E-mail submissions. The sooner you can get them in the better.
The idea is to write something honest. For instance – The phone woke me up. It
was my sister calling to tell me that bomb had blown in one of the towers. I turned the TV
on, and before I could get off the phone with her and actually figure out what was going
on, the second plane had hit. My first thought, Damn! I knew this was going to happen.
After that, in order... I wonder if it was one of our lunatics or one of theirs? Both
of our kids are of draftable age. Wow! This is going to screw up the economy. And
finally, What a horrible loss of life! What do I hope the outcome will be? That we
run a successful campaign to eradicate these idiots once and for all. That it makes people
start to run herd on their own fanatics, realizing that anyone who believes they
have a God-given right to force their will upon the masses is potentially dangerous. There
isn't a very big jump from that to, Let's kill them because they aren't the same as us.
All submissions sent will be printed until we run out of room, unless they contain hate
mongering crap. Sorry, but it is a free press, and this one is mine.
Selina
Bitch #5
How
Come The Middle Man Is Sucking Up All The Profit?
Hang
onto your hats, folks! This one's gonna be a
doozie.
I hate to have to tell you this, but it will be a long time before you will see
Yard Dog Press titles on shelves in chain book stores or even independents that insist on
going through a distributor, and here's why. Distributors are an unnecessary middle man
created by the big publishing corporations and the big book chains so that they don't have
to deal directly with each other. Both big book stores and big corporate publishing houses
deal in bulk, and so they don't mind paying a distributor 40% of the price of a book to
basically shuffle books from one place to another. They don't even mind dealing with a
distributor like Ingram – which has a cover tearing policy – because writers and
their books are like cattle to them, and if a few die on the round up, who'll notice once
you get rid of the flies… So who cares if you're talking about writers careers and
peoples lives?
OK. The distributor gets 40%, and the dealer gets 15%, so that leaves the publisher
with a piddly-assed 40% of retail. With this we have to pay the cover artist, pay for the
books and any promotion, oh and we have to pay the writer. And get this, we have to pay
for all the shipping costs to the distributor, and then pay the shipping on any
returns. On top of this, some of these distributors tack on a first timer fee of $75.00 or
more. Oh and by the way they don't pay you up front for the books, they only pay you if
they sell them. So they keep 40% of the profit and haven't paid for any product. In fact,
have no investment what-so-ever, save a few warehouses. Which, by the way, they can leave
your book in – in which case guess what? YOU AREN'T ACTUALY BEING DISTRIBUTED.
I'm a little pissed off because I know how much our writers and artists want to
walk in to book stores and be able to find their books. Most Barnes & Noble stores
won't order their books even if they've scheduled them for a signing unless people place
orders in advance. And they won't let the authors carry their books in with them to the
signing – even if they offer to give B & N the bulk of the profit. Borders is a
lot easier to work with, but they often fail to order the books the author needs or order
them so late that you'd have to launch them with a huge catapult to get them there on
time.
I don't know about you, but I don't like to be ripped off, and the more we talk to
the different distributors the less I see that they actually do. They take the lion’s share of the profit, yet do
they do absolutely anything to deserve it? Not
in my estimation. Truth is that if it wasn't for them the chains would have to deal with us directly, and everyone could make
more money and sell books cheaper.
It's a racket. Why can't I find some way to make myself seem necessary and make a
butt load of money by basically performing a totally unnecessary task?
Because we buy our books in relatively short lots and pay quite a bit of money for
them up front, we could jack the price of the book up so high that it's no longer a marketable price and we'd still
be losing money. Here's some figures
– Mark Shepherd’s Blackrose Avenue (an amazing book by the way) sells
through us for $14.00. If sold through a distributor, in order to make any money at all we
would have to jack the price up to $18.00 a
copy (just like it is on Amazon which charges 55% since they are both the dealer and
distributor). At that price we make thirty cents that we then split with Mark. So
we each make fifteen cents. Hardly seems worth all the effort. The reader paid
$4.00 more for the book, and we made roughly $4.00 less. Oddly enough, I think that the
person that wrote the book, and the people who edited it, and paid to print it, box it,
and ship it ought to make enough money to at least buy a cup of coffee.
Distributors policies are definitely not small press friendly. However – and I
think the independent book stores know this – they are also not small book store
friendly. Because the dealer, any dealer, can buy directly from us for a wholesale price
which is way below what they'd have to pay a distributor, and we would still make more
money, and they would make a damn sight more money. I have no trouble with book
stores making money; they actually help sell books. They supply a very real and
necessary service.
So... simple solution, don't deal with distributors? Except that then the big book
chains will only order books from you when people ask for them, and even some small book
stores only buy books from distributors, though I can think of no reason why. Then there
is the problem that unfortunately some people don't pay their bills – even some
distributors – and when you're a small business you don't have a big greedy law firm
to force them to pay. So once again it's one of those things where a few people ruin it
for everyone else.
There really is no
simple solution. Our writers desperately want distribution, and they deserve it, but in
order to get it for them I have to be willing to lose large amounts of money. I have to be
willing to pay fees and shipping costs and hand over thousands of dollars worth of product
to these people, and if everything sells, and everything goes perfectly, and no one farts
at the wrong time, I might make fifteen cents a book. However, if even one thing goes
wrong. I lose a shit load of money.
Homey just don' play those odds. Here at Yard Dog Press we've never been shy about
blazing new paths or knocking over and beating to death sacred cows. I say we start a new
trend by getting people to come to our web-site and buy the books directly from us. We
make more money, the writer makes more money, and the customer saves money. It's a
win-win-win situation.
Encourage your local book dealer to contact us directly for our low direct
wholesale prices. We have a six month return policy – If they don't sell our books in
six months they may return perfect books for full price and damaged books for a reduced
price to be determined by how badly damaged the books are. Bottom line, because of who we
are and how they operate, we will not get widespread distribution any time in the
near future. We will continue to publish great books at good prices, and if you'd like for
your money to go to real people instead of some faceless, money-grubbing, soulless
corporation who hates you and only wants to take all your money to fund their covert
terrorist projects, then buy the books from us (and encourage your friends to do so, too)
or support your local independent book dealer.
Distributors! We don't need no stinking distributors!
Selina
Note from Technical Editor: So, how do we know all this?
Because one of our authors – Mark Shepherd – spent a great deal of time
contacting several distributors. Four contacted us. So, aside from Amazon, we have
contracts with three distributors: 1) Brodart – primarily serves libraries and
schools, though it also serves a small section of the independent market, 2) Marginal
Distribution – out of Canada, serving over 800 Canadian locations, and 3) Baker &
Taylor – on an order-on-demand basis. Of the three, only Brodart actually makes us
some money. We’ll have to wait and see about the others.
Bitch #6
The Grinch Who
Bitched About Christmas
Actually, my bitch isn't about Christmas. My bitch is about people who bitch about
Christmas.
Now I'm Jewish, so you might think I'd be happy people were bitching about
Christmas. I'm not, it just pisses me off. See, I'm Jewish, but most of my family isn't,
so we celebrate Hanukkah here at the house and Christmas with the rest of the family.
Christmas is a great holiday. I personally think of it as a secular holiday that
most people enjoy. Every time I see one of those signs begging people to put the
"Christ," back in Christmas, all I can think is, "Why? Do they just want to
ruin it for everyone?"
Face it, people, the reason why Hanukkah, Ramadan, Kwanzaa, and Christmas land at
this time of year is that winter solstice lands here. The Pagans were having a big party,
and if the new religions wanted to recruit followers they were going to have to show that
they were competitive.
Raise your hand if you knew that Hanukkah is the celebration of a military victory
and a minor Jewish festival which wasn't intended to be a big gift giving holiday
(traditionally the big gift giving holiday is Purim)… If you knew that Kwanzaa was
basically a made up holiday… That Christmas isn't even close to Jesus’ actual
birthday… That (compared to the others) Ramadan is a suck holiday with all sorts of
praying and fasting and stuff, but it lasts 40 days during which loads of fun is had by
all… So the idea was that this is the time of year when people should party. I'm sick
to death of people bitching about how commercial Christmas is. Christmas is
commercial; that's one of the great things about it. Everybody likes to get presents, and
unless you're just a greedy f-ck, it's fun to give presents, too. It's your own damn fault
if you feel like you have to spend yourself into bankruptcy. If you really don't want
people to look at your gifts and be thinking what a cheap Scrooge you are, you can always
make your gifts. Then no matter what it costs you, people think how
"thoughtful," you are. You could stick two pine cones together with glue, spray
paint them gold, and Grandma will give you a hug and a big wet kiss and scoff at the new
TV cousin Jerome gave her. That's just money – you gave something of yourself.
Let's all tell the truth, does any one truly want to open a package on Christmas
morning and find a card that says, Ten dollars was donated to orphans who suffer from
cat hair allergies in your name, Merry Christmas?
And what's this shit degrading Santa Claus? Calling him the god of commercialism.
Santa is the guy who tries to make sure that every kid who deserves it gets a toy, a
reward for being good. It's not Santa’s fault if permissive parents stuff their
bratty-assed little monsters stockings with expensive stuff they don't deserve.
I'm also sick to death of the psychology gurus who say we shouldn't lie to our
kids, and that telling them there really is a Santa is a lie. How ever are we going to
explain (when the time comes) that we lied to them about Santa Clause? Two
things, first off I disagree. It's perfectly all right to lie to your kids. In fact, I
think I can make a case that your children will have less childhood trauma to work through
in their adult years if you do lie to them. I mean... let’s say a kid’s
really ugly or stupid, or trips a lot because he has one leg shorter than the other, and
he comes home from school one day crying because the other kids made fun of him. Do we
really believe that it would be beneficial to tell the child the truth? Well, Little
Johnny, while the children should see your inner beauty, it is true that you are
incredibly physically handsome challenged. – OR – Suzy... this is the
sixth time this week you forgot to pull your panties up after you went to the bathroom, of
course the other children have noticed that you're dim witted. – OR – Don't
worry, honey, Wal-Mart’s always looking for door greeters. – OR how about
– Well, Willy, you are a deformed
freak that God has forsaken. You just remind those bullies of what good penmanship you
have.
Second, what's wrong with letting kids believe there is at least one person in the
world who gives presents out of the goodness of his heart, with a sense of judgment, who
gives to you not because you’re rich or poor but because you're good? Someone
selfless and hard working, someone magical.
The real world will bite them on the ass soon enough, and I'm not talking about because
they'll be crushed when they find out there is no “real” Santa. No, soon enough
they'll learn things like the rich guy always gets all the good stuff, assholes always
have the best luck, and that with enough money and corruption any idiot child can grow up
to be president.
And all you Scrooges out there who hate the whole holiday season, how about this?
The economy of our entire nation, maybe even your own job, relies on the fact that
Christmas is commercial. One third of retail sales, people! One third. Screw a stimulation package, all
we need to do is have two Christmases a year. Put another Christmas in June, and we've got
it made. Especially since everything would have to be different. The June Santa would be
clean-shaved and run around in Bermuda shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and a ball cap. All in red
and green, of course. Instead of reindeer and a sleigh, flying porpoises would pull a flat
bottom boat. The traditional June Christmas Feast would be a big assed bar-be-que. Instead
of decorating a tree you'd hang ornaments on the festival lawn chair...
But I digress. My point is...
I'm pretty sure I had one…
Oh yeah! Yard Dog books make the perfect holiday gift for everyone on your list.
Happy Holidays!
Selina
Bitch #7
Two Bitches – No waiting
#1 How I know that Survivor is Fake
As
many of you know, over a year ago I decided I wanted to be on Survivor. My motives were
pure. Forty million people watch the show. If only 10% of them read, I'd sell out of books
faster than you can pronounce one of the stupid-assed tribal names. And let’s face it
I have the back ground for it, what with living without electricity and running water for
sixteen years of my adult life during my days as a back-to-the-lander. Then there's the
other thing – you know that my hobby is basically building stuff out of trash. Those
of you who know me well, know that if I had a tenth of what those suckers were given I'd
build a castle.
I
figured I was a shoe in. They say they want diversity in the group, and as a fat Jewish
dyke from the South, I am diversity.
Hell, if they had taken me they wouldn't need any other minority groups.
So...
I made a tape, filled out the miles of forms, bought a damn passport, started working out
an hour a day, cut my caloric intake, and started dropping weight. I had it all figured
out. I had plenty of weight to spare. I'd train my body to break down the fat stored in my
cells to feed itself. I'd save the last forty pounds, and while they were all starving to
death, I'd be cruising on easy street. Of course, I'd also have been the first one eating
bugs and edible plant life. I wouldn't be too worried about taste. I understand that food
is food, and when you're hungry you eat what there is to eat. I became a mean, lean
fighting machine.
Well,
they didn't take me to Africa, and I'm not going on the next one, either, and do you know
why?
Because the whole thing is a big fake!
I
mean, let's get this "straight." There has been at least one obviously gay man
on every single one of these things to date, and yet not one single lesbian. This is
apparently because effeminate gay men love to rough it in the
jungle-outback-savannah, but gay women like to stay close to home – no doubt cooking
and primping and all those other things that dykes are famous for.
Yeah,
right!
We
all know that the number of applications from lesbians has got to be fifty times what it
is from gay men, yet... none of them were chosen. Maybe it's because the general public
thinks gay men are funny, but just finds dykes disconcerting.
Whatever
the reason, I feel as if I have been robbed. I would kick ass on that show. For one thing
they could definitely use someone with a sense of humor. For another I actually am a
survivor.
And
that's why I say it’s all a big fake. It occurred to me after watching the Australian
adventure (too late – I'd already sent in my tape and all the information, and they
never allow you to resubmit) that they didn't want capable people. What they really wanted
were a bunch of idiot nancy boys and prissy assed pretty girls with athletic ability and
no common sense, sling a couple of “folksy” old people (at least one of which is
a flagrant homophobe) in the mix and a couple of dumb assed jocks. In other words, the
people in charge of casting this thing got their experience watching reruns of Three’s
Company.
Apparently
the big draw to "Survivor" is to watch these plastic cut out people run around
bitching about each other and the lack of food as they starve for forty-eight days and
stab each other in the back trying to win a million bucks.
My
friends have suggested that I either would have been the first one voted off because I
would have told them what a bunch of dumb-asses they were when they started to do some
really stupid thing, or I would have made it to the final four simply because they would
have kept me around to do all the work and to be comedy relief – then they'd vote me
out because they'd know I didn't give a damn about winning. Which is true, because I
already would have sold every book of mine that they could print! I’d already be a
fucking millionaire; I wouldn't need the damn prize.
I've
been screwed yet again, and so I want you to tell your friends, tell your neighbors, tell
people you don't know that you run into on the street that the whole show is fake. Because
let's face it if it wasn't fake they would have picked me, and now I'd be rich and famous,
and... OH WHY CAN'T I EVER CATCH A BREAK!!!
#2 Getting Older Sucks!
My
birthday is looming on the horizon, and I am once again reminded that getting old sucks.
Now
we've all heard people who think they're funny, laugh and say "It beats the hell out
of the alternative," but no one has ever proven that to me. Seems
to me like dead people catch all the breaks. They don't have to pay bills or worry about
the kids doing stupid shit. They don't have to look back at a life filled with bitter
disappointment and failure and realize that was the best time of their life.
Lynn
says I'm having a midlife crisis. Hell, I thought I did that years ago. Seems to me that I
need a hell of a lot more money and a red sports car if I'm going to do this thing right.
Apparently
people having a mid life crisis do crazy things, spend lots of money, have affairs with
younger women, drive off and stay gone for days – all in an effort to recapture their
misspent youth.
I
can't do anything right! I'm too cheap to spend the money even if I had it, too ugly and
broke to attract a younger woman, and I'd feel too guilty to do anything about it even if
I could. (Then there's the Lynn beating with a baseball bat while I sleep thing.) I
couldn't possibly leave and stay gone, because then I'd never catch up on all the crap I
have to do here.
In
other words I'm entirely too sensible and busy to do this midlife crisis thing right. So
I'm mostly sitting around thinking that I've wasted my life and that death is a
suitable alternative to growing old.
My
friends and family keep telling me things like I'm still young, have my whole life ahead
of me and such crap as that. On good days I act like a believe them. On bad days I tell
them to kiss my ass.
Analyzing
this – as I analyze every speck of dirt which comes into my life – I think I
have pinned down the driving force behind midlife crisis. You look in the mirror one day
and realize you're no longer young, everything sags and what doesn’t sag hurts and
sometimes both. Most of us spent all the years we should have been having fun and
adventures working our asses off to try to buy a home and raise the kids. All in the hope
that someday something magical would happen, and we'd be exactly where we wanted to be.
When
you're young there are all these things to look forward to. The birth of children, finding
that special someone, buying a home, getting the job you want. There is all this hope and
that pushes you through the rough times.
But
then you hit forty, and the kids are grown, and they do really stupid shit on a constant
basis. That “special someone” now farts at inappropriate times, reminds you of
every mistake you ever made, or has divorced you and taken everything you worked for. The
house of your dreams has a leaky faucet or roof, and your payments and maintenance costs
make sure that you have no money left over to do the things you'd like to do; it's a
prison with an overstuffed chair and an entertainment center, neither of which are paid
for. Oh, and your job... what a fucking cruel joke that was. You worked your whole life
towards being "whatever it is" only to realize that it's not all it was cracked
up to be. The money, the hours and benefits suck, oh and no one respects you one bit more
than they did on the day you started.
So
now at midlife there is nothing to look forward to but menopause (you deal with it by
osmosis if you're male), bad health, watching your kids throw their lives away making all
the same stupid mistakes you made, and more of the same shit that you've put up with for
the last forty-some-odd years, and unlike then you now have an unarguable knowledge that
nothing is likely to get better – just older. If you have the money and the
personality, you go hog wild. This last quest for adventure and glory gives you the
necessary oomph to shove you through the rest of your dull, meaningless life.
But
what about the rest of us? Those of us that are too broke or too responsible to take the
cure? Is there any hope for us, or am I just going to go on and on with my middle-aged
depressive rant while going no where? I have a solution! Every person who can't afford a
proper midlife crises should be allowed to fulfill at least one life long dream.
You
know, like going on Survivor so that you can become the rich and famous author you always
hoped you'd be instead of some whining, sniveling, suicidal rag doll posting a bitch on
her web-site in the hope of gleaning a little sympathy.
Happy
@#$%^&* New Year!!
Selina
Bitch #8
A Stream of Bitchiness
I
use Juno because it's free, which means I have to put up with the ads, which are annoying
but who cares, we're talking about free. However they sell my address to every hot
teen/animal/incestuous/sick sex, penis enlarging, lower interest rate, computer selling
site in the free world.
Every
morning, or evening, or three days later, whatever, that I check my e-mail my box is
filled to over-flowing (which can be a good or bad thing depending on how you look at it)
with this crap, and I can't just delete it without looking at it because mixed in amongst
this crap is correspondence from writers and artists and friends, book orders, and query
letters.
So
I'm wondering... does this selling technique actually work? And the answer is of course
"yes" or they wouldn't do it.
So,
somewhere some guy is sitting at his consol right now and he opens his e-mail and reads,
"Enlarge your penis by inches," and he thinks, "You know, I never really
thought about it, but it might be nice to have an extra inch or two. I better go check
that site out.” Or... "Would you like to watch hot teen sluts get it on with
rutting farm animals?" and he thinks, "You know I think I would like to watch
some sluts screw ponies," and away he goes.
But
most frightening of all is that somewhere right now someone is
thinking it's a good
idea to buy a computer or refinance their house with someone who advertises by using SPAM.
So
it's now 9:00 in the morning, and I have already written one rejection letter, shot down
one novel query, told a woman on the phone that if it cost a nickel to shit I'd have to
vomit, so I therefore wouldn't be donating money to her children's charity. I'm thinking
if I can find a cute puppy to run over and make a little baby cry, my day will be
complete.
Writing
rejection letters sucks, even when it's the worse crap I've ever read, because I know that
the person that wrote it doesn't think it's crap and that there's a good chance that some
other editor out there in the world wouldn't think it was crap, either. I know I'm ruining
someone's day because I know how I feel when I get one. I hate knowing that someone is
walking around their house thinking what a no-talent hack I am, and how I just don't know
what's good, and I obviously didn't understand their vision.
They're
cursing me, and I already have enough bad luck.
But
what I really, really hate is when I have to reject a perfectly good story because either
I already have a similar one that's better or I just don't have the room to include even
one more piece. The last slot in the most recent anthology I edited literally came down to
a coin toss to decide which piece stayed and which piece went.
Two
people who don't know each other, from different parts of the country, with different
ethnic, and religious backgrounds, and different sexes had written almost exactly the same
story. The writing quality was the same, and so were the themes. I knew both of the
writers, so there was nothing to set the two pieces apart, and they were both damn good.
So I'm sitting there trying to make an informed decision and wound up tossing a coin so
that (as I told the writer whose story wasn't included) it's God's fault not mine.
Lately
everyone who owes me money has apparently decided that they need the money more than I do.
For the entire month of January no one has paid me, from my 21 year old son who is
supposed to pay me 20 dollars a week to clean his room (in his house – he no longer
lives at home because he’s all grown up) and do all his laundry (his idea not mine),
to my renter, to the people who bought investment property from me, to one of my
publishers who shall remain nameless. Apparently all of these people think their financial
problems are more important than mine, even though my financial problems are actually
being created by them.
I'm
wondering how you make people understand that when they owe you money and they don't pay
you, then the money in their pocket isn't theirs, it's yours. I have done some service, I
have supplied some sort of commodity which they needed, yet I'm not being paid.
So...
basically, I'm a slave.
I'm
thinking seriously about serving some eviction notices and going on strike... Hey maybe
that's equal to squashing a puppy and making a baby cry.
Selina
Bitch
#9
A Kinder Gentler Selina?
Lately
I find myself being nicer to my publisher, making excuses for him, defending him.
Why?
Have
I become a kinder and gentler Selina?
Hell
no, I'm still the same bitch I've always been. It just suddenly dawned on me that his
house is like twenty times as big as Yard Dog, which means that he has to put up with
twenty times as much crap.
What
sort of crap?
Artists
who wait till the very last minute to turn in the art for the cover while the author is
asking if there's any possible way that the book can be done by this or that particular
event.
A
cover comes in five minutes before you need to ship the disks to the printer, and the
writer – who has been in contact with the artist all throughout the creative process
– announces that the picture looks nothing like the character.
Whose
fault is it? I don't know, and right then I don't care. It took me a year to get the
artist to do the work, the writer wants to take the book to WhatsoeverCon, and the only
way I can pull that rabbit out of my butt is if the disks go into the mail priority this
minute and nothing goes wrong at the printers. I don't give a damn that the character's
eyes are a slightly different shade of green, and I'm thinking the reader isn't going to
care, either. All I care about is will that picture sell books? If it will then... I just
don't get the bitch. Now, if the character has two legs, and on the cover he only has one,
that might be a matter of some concern.
If
the writer doesn't have the book by WhatsoeverCon, no matter whose
fault it is, they'll blame me. I didn't do the cover, but if they hate that... That's my
fault, too.
But
all in all, our writers and artists are easy to get a long with, because if they aren't I
don't work with them. Why the hell should I? I turn away dozens of decent things that were
written by pleasant people simply because I don't have the room. So why on earth would I
work with anyone who was difficult or worse yet a jerk? It's hard enough to deal with
artists who wait till deadline to turn in work, and authors who excitedly want to hold
their book in their hand. I'm not dealing with a bitchy temperamental artist or the
writer who tells me, I'm not changing that because you don't know what you're talking
about, maybe you should read this or that book.
My
answer, You don't have to change it, leave it like it is and send it
to the house that published this or that book, because all of hell would freeze over
before I publish anything with your name on it.
As
a general rule, it's never good to tell an editor that you "aren't," doing
something and/or they're stupid.
The
real pissers are the guys that send me unsolicited manuscripts, and then write me daily to
ask if I've had a chance to get to their manuscript. Hell, I'll be lucky if I get through
the ones I asked for with out jerking every hair out of my head. When I tell them
that I've stuck them into the pile and it could take me months to get to their work, and
that I'm not really reading for anything right now, they find it necessary to tell
me how much better their story is than all of the other stuff I've published.
Obviously
they didn't send me their story because they thought I had good taste or integrity as an
editor. Obviously they sent it to me because they think I'll just publish any ole crap.
So
I pull their manuscript from the pile, write a very nice rejection letter, and send it
home to mama.
Like
I said, I don't want to work with jerks.
I'm
reading, editing, dealing with people. I'm doing more conventions than I want to think
about. Stapling books together, folding and pressing them. I'm taking orders, gathering
the books, boxing them, taking them to the post office. I'm talking to this author and
that artist. Trying to keep straight whose got what and when this is supposed to be done.
Lynn's
putting formatting the books to go to the printer, printing the chap books, writing up
contracts, managing the website, figuring out the taxes and royalties, making hotel
reservations, and teaching school full time.
In
my spare time I run the farm, write my own books, cook, clean and fix all the stuff that
breaks when you own a home and a small farm. Sometimes – when we're feeling really
selfish – we try to have a life. We go out to dinner; maybe we take in a show.
Sometimes we sit on our asses and mindlessly watch Buffy The Vampire Slayer while
sucking down microwave kettle corn.
Is
that all right with everyone? Because it dawned on me that every writer every where seems
to think that their short story, novella or novel should be the most important thing in my
life! That all other things should stop till I have dealt with their book!
And
so... I'm being kinder to my publisher these days.
Selina
Bitch #10
Knee Deep In the
Pooplah
~ or ~
People Screaming
Loudly With Their
Heads Planted Up Their Asses
The idea of non-conciliatory fantasy
makes me want to puke.
It's not that you can't have a bleak and
abysmal ending of sorts, but the idea that the entire purpose of a book
should be to morbidly depress the reader – not to challenge, or to subvert, or to
question – just to depress. It is absolutely status-quo oriented –
completely, rigidly, depressing – and I hate that idea.
I think the best fantasy is about the
rejection of shit we can see on the six o’clock news... using the fantastic to
console.
There is a whole new cache of writers
out there who are getting rich selling stories they call "thought provoking."
Which, unfortunately means that the stories are nothing in the world but the same
stylilized, depressive drivel they peddled in the 60’s and the late 80’s.
They're all acting like they invented this crap.
Hell, this kind of morbid crap written
with no real set up, very little plot, and protagonists that are about as likeable as
Hitler, has been around since the first time man set pen to scroll to write fiction –
just look at the Bible.
There have always been those
pseudo-intellectual hacks who think that by writing really depressing stuff really badly,
and aiming way over the heads of most readers, they can make a mark for themselves in the
literary world. Their work is "thought provoking." Perhaps they’re right. Perhaps their work is thought provoking, because
people finish it and wonder why they spent seven bucks for such a piece of trite crap.
Here's the reality. Any idiot with a
number two pencil can write something depressing and thought provoking. The real talent
lies in writing something "thought provoking" that doesn't make the reader want
to slit their wrists.
This crap is written by one of two kinds
of people, either the poor bastards have led a truly miserable life, and think it's
therefore their duty to make sure that everyone feels their pain. Or – and this is more likely the case –
they are those lucky individuals on whom no shit has ever fallen. Their careers were
handed to them. Their hardships include not having a phone in their rooms when they were
kids, having a father who never told them he loved them, and not getting to go to the
college that they wanted. This is their way of experiencing pain. They are trying to show
a personal depth they don't possess, and explain things they have never felt.
They are writing shit and wrapping it in
a blanket of intellectual superiority. If you
don't like their work, then you must be an idiot.
Don't piss on my head and tell me it's
raining. If I want to be depressed I'll sit and dwell on the last forty-two years of my
life – or watch the six o’clock news.
Fiction should evoke thought, but it
should do so while it entertains the reader.
That's right. Entertains. That word that the so-called literary
people seem to hate.
So... if I'm right, and these people are
wrong, then how come they're getting rich and I'm still broke?
I blame college kids.
See, college kids have to act like they
like all the "status symbol" books. They have to look down on the rest of us as
uneducated idiots who just don't understand the world in which we live. How can they do this unless they can prove that
they understand things that we don’t?
Like badly written, boring, depressing
drivel.
So... is there anyone I have failed to
piss off this time? No? I didn't
think so.
Selina
