Drum Roll Ready Exasperation

Now I am being asked to review certain genres for kindle, that is when I am not being excoriated by the likes of Lee Doty and then abandoned by the likes of Susanna Daniel for their fear that my perception of their work as being relatively shallow is accurate. Although we might add to this by saying Susanna ceased any response to me because I do not medicate my emotional response, and that violates her suburban Christian fastidiousness, and is not true to the revolutionary intent of Christianity in its early formation; it still hurt my feelings, because I had no original intent, not on twitter, of being unfriendly. As to reviews, I turned one fantasy writer who praised me for knowing my stuff down, but this time I do not know. There is as much collusion in publishing as anything else. I wish Susanna well, and of course, she has the perfect right not to see me as one among equals, but all I wanted was a normal interaction with a female novelist who had what I did not, a happy life. I can never have whatever that is, but not being able to build bridges defeats my goal.

Toying with the idea of constructing a mass email to Amazon writers: "You want a review, I want my blog downloaded for kindle." Then WaPo will unearth a price gouging scandal, and I'll be investigated by the FBI.

The power of monopoly.

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Not that I wish to make overt assumptions, but the aspiring(?) science fiction novelist from the UK has, at least since my Monday transmissions, remained mute. People, look: writing, to me, is not a parlor game, nor is it an Amazon sales ranking. If you are going to approach me hoping for my interest, then don't inconvenience me by vanishing because you suddenly feel intimidated. I have published over 300 poems, I became a semi-established journalist been 99 and 04, and have a small press issue of the now defunct Crawlspace 17 devoted to my work. Small presses are a marginalized joke whether they are training grounds for MFA students or the winsome nostalgia of the radical left for men like Steinbeck and Dreiser. If I had understood this when Jerry and Michael tried to talk me down when I was your age, I would have listened to my father and gone into accounting. I will write until I am dead, but being a publishing whore, that is another issue. Public arguments between established pundits, or even the head bashing between Lee Doty and myself, or Poets & Writers and myself, or my umbrage at Daniel Schneider for making me feel like a fucking asshole, is not what it is cracked up to be. My body is a half century old and might as well be three times that. I have nothing except a small library and an indulgence for cats. If you write shit I'll crucify you, and if you sweat blood and tears and do something from the heart, then I'll recognize that, but if you are going to solicit Joanne because her insights into what she likes or doesn't impresses you, more to the benefit of Bezos bottom line than ours, then Joanne needs help too. Those in the top echelons who get paid for critical review analysis are far and few between, and as a professional, cosmopolitan breed, a dying class. Grow up.