Good morning, Readers!

Some good news!  The books I ordered for Can Con have arrived.  It looks like I will have all I need for my table there.  Yay!  Set up is taken care of; thanks to the Amazing Flatmate.  A schedule is almost ready to be released, so I'll soon be able to tell you where I'll be and when.  Yay!

Some bad news!  I discovered last night thanks to my Kung Fu brother who is also a G.P. that I likely have a partially torn tricep.  Ugh!  On the one hand, I'm really ticked off it happened.  On the other, I'm glad that the pain I was feeling last night, which resulted in my really pathetic attempts at some of the exercises (which I had to quit because of the pain... I hate quitting), was actually for a reason.  I wasn't just being a total wimp.  So, no weights for me for a month or so, though I think I'll do more core exercises while my arm heals up.  I am sad.  I was looking forward to getting stronger faster.  Oh well.

Neither of these things have anything to do with what I intended today's post to be about.  I just needed to celebrate and whinge in that succession.  I've done it now and now I feel better.

On with today's post!

Last night, I read this article.  First of all, I want to commend the author.  It's not easy to look in the mirror and recognise the true source of feelings like this.  Most people don't.  They bellyache and groan and throw tantrums like overgrown toddlers, and never dig any deeper than their own bruised egos.  They snipe at the perceived reason for their hurt - other people.  Successful people.  They tell those people to go away.  To stop.  To do something else and just cease and desist with all your success already!  (Looking at you, Ms. Ruth Graham)

They hurl insults.  They get angry at the person in question.  They spread their indignation and their disdain in an effort to tear the other person down, to minimise their success.  They may call that success luck.  Or chance.  Or blame it on the successful person's looks ("they only made it because they're pretty" (or some such rubbish)), or perhaps they "were total sluts and slept their way to the top."  They will call that success anything other than what it is: deserved.

Some people go so far as to attempt to sabotage the success or even the life of the person whose success inspired their envy.

I know this condition as Tall Poppy Syndrome.  For those of you who don't know, this syndrome is 
"a social phenomenon in which people of genuine merit are resented, attacked, cut down, or criticised because their talents or achievements elevate them above or distinguish them from their peers." (thank you Wikipedia for a better definition than the one I tried to come up with).

The fact of the matter is, just as the author states, the problem is not the other person.  That person's success isn't the issue.  The issue lies with the people perceiving some deeply personal slight from another's success.  The issue lies with how the injured party deals with the success of another person.

Envy is a perfectly normal emotion to have.  It is even reasonable.  It's tough to be plugging away at something all your life, only to be overtaken by someone else.  It's hard to sit back and watch the world celebrate someone else, while you are ignored; sitting in a corner with tears streaming down your face wondering what it is they have that you do not.

I know it's hard.  I am, it has to be said, an incredibly jealous person.  I always have been.  And there are so many people I am jealous of.  So, so, so many.

There are all the women I know personally who are so much more beautiful than I am.  I'm not talking about movie stars or models.  I'm talking friends and family members.  There are a whole lot of them, and every so often I feel the stabbing icicle in my chest that is envy when I look at them.

There is the wonderful Leonie Dawson, who has built an incredible, heartfelt business for herself.  And has a beautiful family.  And just has her shit together, you know?  I went to high school with her.  The personality you see shining bright and glorious on her website and throughout her business, I can guarantee you that's genuine.  She's really is that awesome.  Always has been.  And I've been watching her build this incredible business and family and life from the start.  And I know she has worked, and continues to work, her arse off.  All of her success is definitely deserved.  And I'm still so fucking jealous you would not believe.

Free plug:  If you are looking to start a business and don't know where to turn, Leonie has all the resources you could possibly need, and has also built an incredible network of like-minded entrepreneurs which you can tap into at any time.  I highly recommend her services.

I'm jealous of anyone who isn't living pay cheque to pay cheque.  Seriously.  Jealous.

I'm so very jealous of the artistic talent of my mother, and of my friend and Kung Fu sister Caroline.  Seriously though, they're amazing.

Speaking of Caroline, I am so envious of her strength, and of the fact that she keeps getting to work on it while I watch from the sidelines moping like I'm back in high school and Formal season is approaching.

You get the point.  I'm jealous a lot.  There is a lot of green running in my blood.

So I get envy, I really do.

I do not get Tall Poppy Syndrome, and I never will.  I don't understand how trying to destroy someone else in in any way helpful to anything.  It's simply not constructive.  Wouldn't that energy be better spent if put to use towards one's own success instead of tearing another down (or trying to)?  Does it really make people feel better to hurt someone else?  Because that would make me feel more miserable.

Envy is natural.  I am not looking down my nose at anyone who feels it, even if the envy seems stupid or silly.  I am looking down my nose at anyone who acts in spite.  Petty people are obnoxious.

One cannot help how one feels.  What can be helped is how one reacts.  Emotions are what they are.  They will always be.  Actions can be changed and or controlled.  That's the thing about possessing a brain.  It is possible to halt and think, "Wait.  What good is this going to do?  Who is this helping?" and most importantly and unfortunately very rare, "Why am I acting this way?"

So to the author of the Salon article, Mr. Nathan Rabin, I referenced: sir, you are well within your rights to feel envy.  You are also incredibly brave for admitting it.  Few would.  And I admire you all the more for recognising that John Green is not the problem, that he has done nothing wrong.  It takes wisdom to see through the emotional haze, and it takes great strength to examine oneself so closely.  I salute you.

Self-examination is scary.  We don't often do it because we may just find out we are the cause of the shit we've been blaming on everything and everyone else.  We may just be the monsters we are so afraid of.  Self-examination takes work, and it's hard work to unpack all the hurt.  Self-examination takes courage.  Facing that hurt squarely, poking at it, turning it over, often having to feel it all over again is an enormous act of courage.

I salute all of you who do it.

I wish more people did.

TL;DR:  Envy is natural and you shouldn't feel ashamed if you feel it.  Acting out of spite is petty and obnoxious and you should feel bad if you do it.  And probably get a therapist.  In fact, everyone should get a therapist.  We all have shit that needs to be sorted out.

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

As you well know, I am obsessed with the television show The Quest.  I've dedicated a whole different blog post to it before.

And I'm doing it again.  You can stop reading now if you don't want to hear me wax lyrical about something this utterly mundane (trust me, I know how silly this obsession is).

Also, stop reading right this minute if you haven't watched the finale but want to.  There is some serious spoiler territory ahead.

First of all, the finale was fantastic.  I particularly loved that the other Paladins were given roles to play at the end; they got to battle evil forces in a bid to help the One True Hero (TM) defeat the enemy.  That said, it was incredibly cheesy, the ending.  Still good fun, and I am so thrilled the other Paladins got to participate.

What really made me happy, though, was that the One True Hero (TM) was a woman.  Specifically, this one:

Yay!  A woman!

Being a fan of Xena: Warrior Princess since I was a little girl and being into all kinds of martial arts as an adult, I know women can kick arse.  And she did.

Incidentally, I read somewhere in the comments on their Facebook page that some butt-hurt commenter believes that this show was rigged from the start for a "girl to win."  As if a woman couldn't possibly have done it on her own without special treatment by producers.

This is supposed to be a light-hearted post, so I won't go into the various ways this really pisses me off.  (Get a couple of whiskeys in me, though...).  Here is a previous blog post that might help you understand my position.

Right, anyway, she won, and it makes me incredibly happy.

I was very sad to see Bonnie get banished.  The same for Patrick.  He seemed like a good person.  Shondo, despite being physically up to the challenge, lost my vote ('cause clearly that mattered so damned much) when each Paladin had to make a case before the chief of the lizard people, whose race name I cannot for the life of me remember.  I want to call them the Parda?  Padra?  Pada?  Pana?  Gods damn it!  Something beginning with a 'P'.  Point is, all the blustering made me sad.  There is a fine line between confidence and arrogance, alas.

So, once poor Patrick was eliminated, I was hoping for Lina or Andrew.  Lina mostly, because, well, it's nice to see women kick arse on screen.

As it turned out, I was wrong about two of the characters.  Maybe.  Turns out, this guy who was so obviously evil was actually evil:

These are all just theories, of course.

I am, however, disappointed that they pulled a Wormtongue with his character.  It was so obvious, I really thought they might try to be more clever with the character.  It is possible to hate an ally, but recognise their necessity.  And it is possible to love the queen and hate her champion, and doubt the prophecy, and to do so without betraying said queen.

Anyway, I am annoyed about this.

I am almost as equally annoyed about this guy:

First of all; yes, I know.  The man is, admittedly, dreamy.  And I'm a sucker for a man in armour.

I wish I was lying about that, but I'm really, really not.  Seriously.  Not.

Turns out, the guy could be trusted after all.  For some reason this irks me.  On Twitter, I said it was because you can never trust the pretty ones.  Perhaps my afore-mentioned bitterness is clouding my judgement, but here was an opportunity for a deep, shocking betrayal...

And it was missed.

Of course, the man's a hero, and if I'm being honest with myself, I liked that he was ornery but basically decent and courageous and still dreamy...

...Where was I?

Oh, right.

No, I didn't trust him.  Yes, I was wrong.

That said, we didn't see to whom those hands at the end belonged.  I contend that he may still be someone to distrust (even if it was only because of his capture... perhaps he was subsequently converted somehow and did not escape, but was set free).  There is a distinct possibility that I'm over-thinking this.

Anyway, now I'm torn about his character.  I think it would be neat if he was still not to be trusted, but now I kinda want him around and to remain his grumpy-but-basically-good self.  Can't decide.

That irritates me too.

So, anyway, I'm chewing my nails until season two.

It is getting a season two, right ABC?  Right?  Right?!

FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GREEN AND GOOD RENEW THIS SHOW!

Alrighty, I'm done.

For now.

I should go write.

Ciao!

Finally!  I've been sitting on this for quite a while now.  The readers of my eNewsletter got to peek at this first, because they're special folk and I love them more than you.  Not really.

Well, maybe a little.

Anyway, the point is I can finally show you the beautiful cover for The Winter Wolf, slaved over by the exceptionally talented Laura J. Miller of An Author's Art.  So, without further ado, here it is:

Isn't it gorgeous?  I'm so enamoured with it!

Also, there is some other good news.  If you are part of the Goodreads community, there is a free copy of the book up for grabs.  The competition is running until the book's launch date (Hallowe'en).  You can click below to enter:

I will also have five advanced copies with me at Can Con this year.... I hope.  This is assuming the order I placed with the printer arrives on time.  I'm cutting it a bit close.  Entirely my fault and a long, boring story.  The point is, I hope to have five copies with me during the convention for convention goers to buy if they choose.  They'll be getting it a month or so before the actual release date; a perk for coming to the convention.

Like you needed any other reason than Can Con's awesomeness.

If you're unable to come to the convention, never fear!  The book is available for pre-order.  You can order the paperback via my store HERE.  If you're a Kindle user, you can order it from Amazon HERE.  Smashwords also has it available for pre-order in multiple formats HERE.  I will try and let you know if it becomes available for pre-order anywhere else as I find out about it.

Phew!  I am so thrilled to finally share it with you.  Keeping Laura's beautiful work a secret is so damned hard.  All I wanted to do is put up the picture and scream, "LOOK AT THIS FANTASTIC PIECE!  IT'S ART, PEOPLE! ART, I TELL YOU!"

But I couldn't, because I promised my eNewsletter peeps that they'd get the first look.

One last thing, if I can beg a favour.

Word of mouth is everything, even to established authors.  I would be so appreciative if you'd help me out with that.  Just a quick mention on social media about this book is really all I could possibly hope for; a tweet or even sharing the Goodreads give away.  Of course, you are in no way obligated to do it, but it would be an enormous boon to me.

Alrighty-then.  I should get on with writing!

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

So, discussions I've been having this week have gotten me thinking a lot about success versus luck.  Most specifically, I have gotten the impression that an awful lot of people think that a writer's success is actually luck and has nothing to do with hard work.

Of course I disagree.

There is an awful lot that goes on which people looking from the outside simply do not see.  Even if an author's work takes off and gains its own momentum, there was an awful lot of pushing uphill that permitted that particular ball to start its roll.

Yes, certainly an element of luck seems to come into play.  More often than not however, if we really think about it, that luck is actually just the author's talent; their ability to convey some mysterious quality in their writing that readers latch onto and become excited about.  Still, no one would have any inkling of that talent if the author did not put in the work to sit at a computer/typewriter/note pad and slog through the tough writing days, the hours of writers block, the hours upon hours of editing, the heartbreak of rejection, the silent tears in the night inspired by self doubt, by exhaustion, and fear.  People don't see the unpaid toil that is writing a book and ensuring that it sees the light of day in the best possible iteration.  They only see that the book has touched a nerve and become popular.  What luck for the author!

Success, even for the 'lucky' ones is the result of hard, hard work.

Does that mean that everyone who works hard will be successful?  Well... no.

Look at me, for example.

I have been writing seriously since I graduated university in 2007.  My first ever self-published book came out in 2010, and was rereleased in 2011 (small plug: it was The Dying God & Other Stories).  Since then I've come out with a book a year.

Am I able to make a living from my writing?  Nope.  One giant, fat nope.  And it's not for lack of trying, let me tell you.  In fact, I have spent more money than I've earned trying to get this writing dream off the ground; so much so that I'm hunting for a second job to support it.  Tables at conventions cost money.  Getting stock to sell at said conventions costs money.  Getting people to do book covers (because I am genuinely unable) costs money... It's money well spent, mind you.

It's all money well spent.

But I'm not earning a living from my writing.

By all counts, that makes me, and this venture, a complete and utter failure.

And I'm totally okay with that.

I don't have many readers, and that's okay.  The readers I do have are all, without exception, wonderful people.  Some of them started out as friends and are now also readers.  Some of them started out as readers and are now also friends.  They have been the most wonderful support network anyone could ever ask for.

Though I work really hard at it, marketing is just not my strong suit.  I'm not good at it.  As a result I am, after seven years of writing and four years of publishing, one giant unknown.  It's frustrating.  It's heartbreaking.  There are times I lock myself in the washroom and cry because of it.  Never mind the tears that happen because of rejection by publishing houses.  There are a lot of those.

Yeah.... I cry a lot.

I have heard arguments along the lines of 'Well, you chose to be a writer.'  Yes.  Yes I did.  I chose it in as much as a people with a passion for numbers chose to be accountants or mathematicians.  I chose it in as much as people who crave knowledge of the ocean chose to be marine biologists.  I chose writing the way a child obsessed with the heavens chooses to become an astronomer.

Am I somehow less worthy of being paid because my passion is creative?

No.  Yet people often treat me, and fellow writers, artists and musicians as if that is the case.  How dare we seek to earn a living from a creative passion?  Some demand our hard work for free with the promise of 'exposure,' and if we get successful, people throw into question our hard work.  They call it luck.

There are some days when I find myself begging for the 'luck' other authors have received.  Only, once I've calmed down, I know that they never had the kind of luck I'm hoping for.  They succeeded because they deserved to, because they showed up every day and did what needed to be done.

What I'm doing now looks an awful lot like failure.  I cannot see it like that.  What I am seeing is the things people looking in from the outside do not see.  I am seeing (and experiencing) all the work that goes into success.  And one day, I can stop pushing that ball uphill.  One day, that ball will start to roll all on its own.

And I will stand on the top of the hill, and the people who do not know, who cannot know, or who refuse to know will all stare and say, 'What luck!'

But I will know better.

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

Well, today is the day after the first day back at Martial Arts training since I went on holidays over a month ago.  It was two hours.  It might have been three, but I don't like grappling, so I don't participate in the free grappling session that happens before class officially begins.  Yesterday was also the day I started doing a short, pre-training workout.  I've started weightlifting.  This isn't because I want to bulk up, but because I am completely exasperated with my inability to haul my own body weight around.  I can't lift myself over a wall, for example.

And don't even get me started on how freaking hard it is for me to do a single chin up.  My last count on unassisted chin ups achieved was a whopping zero.  Ugh!

So, finally exasperated with my lack of strength, I approached my Kung Fu brother J.K., who has been helping some of the guys with weights, about maybe joining in with the pre-training weights session.  He very kindly agreed and so, yesterday, I started weight training.

I am absolute rubbish at it.

I'm so, so weak it isn't even funny.  I'm just...  I'm not impressed with myself, to say the very least.  It was frustrating and disheartening.

And it really, really pissed me off.

So now I am determined to do better.  I am determined to be stronger.  I don't know why I care so damned much about my lack of physical strength.  It's not like humanity is hurtling towards a self-created extinction event that I'm keen to survive or anything...

Ahem.

Speaking of, I found this shirt and I really want it:

Seriously, though.  I'm really annoyed with myself.  I can do better.  I can be better.

My training partner, C.S-L. is miles stronger than I, and I'm very jealous about it.  I mean, I love her and would never ever let my jealousy affect her, but I am jealous.  She knows.  It's been said.  And in truth, the jealousy is also a motivator.  I now have someone I can measure myself against, and while I will always find myself lacking, at least I have a goal that can be reached.  At least one person before me has reached it.

Now I have a starting point.  It's not as great as I would like it to be, but it's a base point that I can use to measure my improvements against.  It can only go up from here, right?

A quick note about my Kung Fu brother J.K.  He's is the ideal weightlifting instructor for me.  There is no yelling.  There is no eye rolling (though honestly my efforts were very eye roll worthy).  There is simply his gentle encouragement and good humour.  Honestly, that man is a saint.  I learnt long ago that I do not respond well to being yelled at.  Thanks for teaching me that lesson, Drill Sergeant Wheeler.  Some people find it motivating.  I find it makes me want to simultaneously attack the screaming coach and burst into tears (sometimes I get so angry, all I can do is cry).  J.K.'s quiet voice and very serious 'I don't want you to quit,' has made me want to work harder.  It's easy to walk away from an arsehole.  I would feel utterly miserable if I did that to J.K.

On the plus side, I managed an extra tasty dinner after training last night.  Just for Geoff, Lina and Zoe, it was an amazing gluten free pasta with steamed kale and olives smothered in a sauce made from butter (so much butter), garlic and onions and then topped with copious amounts of freshly grated cheese.  It was fatty and it was frakkin' delicious!  I intend to eat that particular meal as often as humanly possible... though I should really add some chicken or something.  I'm going to need the extra protein.

Sigh.  Back to ridiculously expensive grocery bills.  Yay?

Speaking of, breakfast this morning did nothing for me.  I'm determined to find Vegemite so I can add some (gluten free) toast with Vegemite to my regular breakfast.  Om nom nom!

This week, training is only on Tuesday and Thursday.  My usual schedule of Monday through to Thursday begins next week.  Thankfully, I will only be doing weights on Tuesday and Thursday.  Also, very happily, I have three friends who have decided to sign up for Kung Fu on Monday nights.  Not only do I get to share my awesome Kung Fu school and my passion for it with them, I also get to see them far more regularly than I already do.

And that makes me very happy.

I didn't see another friend who was supposed to be joining me on Tuesdays (and Thursdays?) but that was largely because he was unsure of the time, and I was training when he tried to contact me to get the time.  I didn't see it until after training ended at 9:00pm.  Oops.  Hopefully he'll come Thursday.

Right, I'm sure I've bored you enough with tales of my Martial Arts shenanigans.  I'll leave you all to go about your day.

I have work to do too, after all.

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

Well, didn't yesterday's post start a really interesting discussion!  You can read it HERE if you wish.

First of all, thank you to everyone who commented.  We might not agree on the issue, but that's not the point.  It's really good that you were all (thus far) able to state your piece without resorting to the vitriol so prevalent across the internet these days.  I really appreciate it.  To that end, feel free to continue to disagree with me, but the minute any discussion devolves into name-calling and the like, you will probably find yourself deleted.... That goes for the people who agree with me - don't be horrid to the people that don't.  It's not on.  There is enough awful in the world without you adding to it (note the "you" here is a hypothetical.  I don't mean you actually; not you you.  Unless you are spewing vile insults all over the place, in which case, then I do mean you).

Right, anyway, discussion.

I really like discussion.  I like understanding different viewpoints, even if I find that my own is not complimentary.  It's interesting and, more importantly, it makes me think.  And it is entirely possible to respect other viewpoints without losing your own.  And, in admittedly very rare cases, discussion can help people see their error and make the world a better place.

This sort of thing is why I watch Mr. Philip DeFranco's YouTube channel.  I find that I don't always agree with what he has to say, but he is very open to discussion, and when he does have something to say, it makes me question.  It makes me think.

In short, it's bloody fantastic.  Even if it is sometimes frustrating and (rarely) disheartening.

No one likes to be wrong.

Mind you, I've been wrong enough that I'm pretty used to it.

The point of this post, however, is actually to thank all the commenters, both for taking the time to comment and for keeping it as wonderfully civilised as it (currently) is.

Good humans!

Speaking of discussion (awful plug coming up, brace yourselves), Silver Stag Entertainment is back from holidays.  We've discussed Terrier by Tamora Pierce and The Dark Crystal (1982).  Check out the channel and join the nerdy discussion!

Alright, time to get writing.  Thanks again!

Ciao.

Good morning, Readers!

Alright, so I'm about to wade into some pretty heavy stuff regarding the complicated author-reader relationship.  And I'm going to do so in a way that will probably irritate readers no end, because I am firmly on the side of authors when it comes to this issue.

I suppose I am, therefore, quite lucky I'm an unknown at this juncture.  If I was better known, I'm sure I would garner a great deal of vitriol from readers who feel entitled; entitled to an author's time, entitled to an author's story, entitled to an author's most polite consideration (no matter how poorly the reader is behaving) ... or god help that author.  Their name and works will be slathered all over the internet in the least flattering light possible with the potential of ruining their careers.

Readers, I love you, but you are not entitled to any of it.

I've already discussed the issue of readers feeling entitled to an author's story in another blog post.  I think I will find it and post it as this month's Throwback Thursday, because it is well worth mentioning again.

Anyway, before I begin, I want you all to know that I am also a reader.  All writers are.  Or at least, they should be.  The difference here, I suppose, is that I've always been grateful to authors.

Reading was how I survived most of my young life.  People were awful.  My family was slowly falling apart.  I felt so alone, and so unloved, and so desperate.  Reading gave me a way to escape the fear, and the anger, and the pain.  It gave me the role models that my world was lacking.  It gave me insight into how to cope with all the hurt.  Reading taught me about the best in humanity at a time when I could only see the worst.

I am alive today because of books.

And I am so, so, so grateful that those books existed.  I am so grateful to the authors of those books for shining their light into my very dark world.

Perhaps it's because I am coming from a place of such deep gratitude that I feel very differently about the author-reader relationship.

Becoming an author has not changed how I feel about this relationship.  It has only served to confirm those feelings.  And those feelings are thus:

Readers, I love you, but you are not entitled to an author's time, an author's story, or an author's polite consideration.  You're not.  You're just not.

Let's examine the case of Chelsea Cain.  I am specifically rebutting this article, as it smacks of the entitlement that the author is trying chastise Ms. Cain for.

The issue is this, Ms. Cain took to social media to inform some readers in no uncertain terms that she was not their personal lackey, that Google is a thing that exists that readers can use, and that pestering her with inane questions where answers can easily be found elsewhere is inconsiderate and a waste of everyone's time.  This is the offending post:

Could this particular post do without the expletive?  Yes, I suppose.  But I swear so damned much that I'm really not affronted by a single appearance of any variant of the word 'fuck.'  And, to be sure, she's right.  Ms. Cain is an author, not your personal customer service representative.  If you are a fan of her work, wouldn't you rather she spend her time writing her next novel for you to enjoy, instead of reading inane questions the answers to which can literally be found by lifting one's own fingers?

Or shall you bombard her with these inane questions and then scream from the top of your lungs when it takes her a really long time to finish her next book?  Even though, you, and others like you, who feel entitled to ask this author all these silly questions, are the reason she is taking so damned long to finish her next book.

And yes, as the author of the article I'm referencing said themselves that she was right, though her delivery of this fact could have been worded better.  The author of the article still chastised Ms. Cain, noting that she did not have to reply to any of the inane questions.

No.  She needn't reply to these questions.  And I'll stake money on the fact that she didn't.  But even reading these questions, having to sift through this rubbish in order to find and respond to readers who do ask the good questions, the readers who deserve an answer takes a lot of time.  It's time consuming.  It's time better spent elsewhere.

An author's work is to write.  That's not all, these days.  Now, it's also to reach out to fans; plan and organise launches, tours and appearances.  It's being on social media, and answering letters, and selling yourself as if your work wasn't enough, when your work really ought to be enough.

What really, really, really ground my gears, though, was this particular gem of a quote from the article:

Fuck. Off.

Fuck right off.  And I'm saying this as a reader.

The privilege here belongs not to the author, but to the reader.  It is they who are privileged to be able to fall into a world of someone else's creation, a world that they love, a world which makes their lives that much richer.  It is they who are able to benefit from the extremely hard work of the author of the book they are currently privileged enough to be reading.

Writing a book, getting it out into the world, building a readership, planning, and making appearances, touring etc, is hard work.  It's exhausting work.  For most authors it is doubly so because they tend to be introverted, and any social engagement for an introvert is sometimes a monumental task.  Being a widely read author is a culmination of many, many years of often fruitless effort and no small amount of tears.  The fact that the author is widely read now is a testament not nearly so much to talent as it is to dedication and work ethic.

That is the very opposite of privilege.

Further, Ms. Cain works really hard for her readership.  She's dedicated time and effort to reach out to those who ask her (good) questions.  Not a lot of authors do that, and her readership is really fucking lucky that she does.  I admire her so much for this as I once had an author whose work I greatly admired write me back after I sent him a letter.  It made me deliriously happy.  For about a week, I was floating around with a dumb-arse grin on my face.  In fact, it made me feel so good that I credit that reply with my desire to be an author that reaches out her readership as much as possible.

I was incredibly fucking privileged to get a letter from my favourite author.  And Ms. Cain's readers are incredibly fucking privileged to follow an author who cares so damned much about them.

In short, it is not the author who is behaving like an entitled brat.

The publisher thought it best that Ms. Cain take down the offending post - which she did.  The author of the article noted that perhaps it was because they found the post rude and misplaced.  That's quite a leap in logic.  She was asked to take down the post after the idiotic backlash that followed, not before.  Further, they did not ask her to submit an apology for it.  From this, it would be far more logical to surmise that, despite them finding nothing wrong with the post, they asked her to remove it to avoid dealing with the idiotic reader backlash.

And it is an idiotic backlash because, readers, you are not entitled to an author's time.  You're just not.

The author of this article, however, is not satisfied with trying to crucify Ms. Cain for something he admits was justified.  No, he must also attack her for expressing her frustration when the high hopes she had for her latest release were not realised.   Despite having the best of everything, and despite her working her arse off, her latest release did not make the New York Times Bestseller List.

I'm not sure why this is even an issue.  Disappointment is a perfectly reasonable thing to feel when you think you have gold and it doesn't reach its potential as expected.  Frustration is absolutely justified when something you've worked so hard for fails to meet expectations.

The author of the article felt that this "entitled", "privileged" author was blaming her readership for the failure.  This is the post that brought him to his bizarre conclusion:

Umm.... alright?

So the blaming is where, precisely?  Because what I see is an exhausted author who put her heart and soul into a release expressing her disappointment that it didn't do as well as other books she has released.  She really thought she had gold with this one.  She's upset.  She's tired.  She just wants to write.

Why is this a point of contention?

Well, the fact of the matter is that it's not.  There is no contention here.  People are looking for demons where there are only shadows.

The author of the article then had the gall to give Ms. Cain this simple piece of advice:

Nice plug there, dude.  Was this whole article sparking outrage about nothing even remotely deserving of it just one giant advertisement for your services?

I kind of want to punch her right now.

Because of course, simply hiring someone to help you with your workload is the simplest, easiest thing to do.  As we all know, authors are simply rolling in money, laughing maniacally from our towers made of illegally obtained ivory and gold that we can all afford such assistants, with money left over to buy our butlers something nice for Christmas.

In case you didn't catch the sarcasm, we're not.  Unless you're an established big name, you're left out in the cold.  Mid-list authors must pay their own way the majority of the time.  Set up and interview with a television station in the next city over?  That's on you.  You pay your own hotel, your own petrol, your own everything.  The idea that publishers take care of all this for you is a giant fucking farce.  Going on a book tour?  Hope you can afford the plane ticket, bee-otch!

Writers are generally quite poor (most of us work another job in addition to writing, just to keep a roof over our heads) and quite stretched for time, which makes Ms. Cain's desire to personally reach out to her fans all the more impressive.

Before I became a writer, I never once assumed that being a writer was easy, that being a writer was a position of privilege, that writers should be so damned grateful that anyone cares about their work that they ought to give up any hope for the basic respects all human beings ought to expect.  Now that I am a writer, I know it's not easy.  I know that it is not a position of privilege, and while I am grateful for the incredibly supportive community I have currently surrounding me, I know that I am still worthy of basic respect, and I intend to enforce that throughout my career.

Don't come crying to me about 'privileged' writers.  All I will do is hold up a mirror so that you will know the true face of entitlement.

Well, that was far longer than I had planned.  I have to go write a story now.

Ciao!

(Editied, as I was informed that Tez Miller was, in fact, of the feminine persuasion.  Oops!  Thanks, Naomi for pointing that out!)