Ignorance in America

I have been sitting in front of my computer for more than an hour trying to put into words how I feel about something I saw on the internet earlier this morning. For the most part, I use this blog for interviews and reviews, but I have been known to drop a rant or two every now and then.

I am sickened. I ran across a video on FB this morning that disgusted me beyond words. After viewing it, I immediately submitted to FB to have it removed. Considering the types of things FB feels the need to remove on a regular basis, I thought certainly this video would come down immediately. Instead, this is what I received:

“Thank you for taking the time to report something that you feel may violate our Community Standards. Reports like yours are an important part of making Facebook a safe and welcoming environment. We reviewed the video you reported for containing hate speech or symbols and found it doesn’t violate our Community Standards.”

Welcoming environment????

If you can tolerate being sickened by the blantant hate displayed by a child, here is the appalling hate Video by a 12-year-old. I don’t know if they will remove it if they continue to receive complaints. In that case, the provided link won’t work.

I was in shock. They allow this type of racial/hate post to remain on their site even knowing the heated and growing racial debates and tensions going on in our country. We have witnessed/read of how many deaths where the victim was black and the assailant was white (and often times, in the position of authority). We have had cities destroyed by riots due to these deaths. We woke to the news of a crazed (white) man having killed nine members of a black prayer group. We have seen (white) police shoot unarmed black men in the back. Choke holds, prison hangings, etc. How can we expect change when an outlet with the reach that FB has continues to support these hate groups. And by allowing them to post explicitly hateful videos targeting any one race is supporting it. Rather than to use their vast reach to help teach and spread the message of peace/tolerance/equality, FB is fostering an outlet for the racial tension that has touched every corner of our country.

If the post hasn’t been removed by the time you read this, I suggest you go to it and read over the comments left by others. Not a single person left a favorable comment. But, would you expect them to? Some might say that the comments left are hateful in their own right, but instead of being hateful toward any particular race, they are hateful toward the parents who taught their 12-year-old son to be an ignorant racist. And what does that tell us? Ignorance begets ignorance. Hate begets hate. Intolerance begets intolerance. It’s a vicious cycle.

Children aren’t born with these ignorant views. What kind of parents believe they are acting in a child’s best interest by teaching them to hate, to condemn, to be judgmental, racist and ignorant? And FB… I’m sickened by your dismissal of my concern over an issue that has always divided our country, but even more in recent months. As far as I’m concerned, by dismissing it and allowing it to remain on your site you are promoting it.

It wouldn’t matter if I were black, white or as blue as a smurf, I would not feel any differently. Scientists continue to warn us about global warming, but from where I sit, the world has never been so cold.

k.e. garvey 

Whether or not you agree with my views, thank you for letting me vent.

Will Your Town Be Next?

Like most people, I have opinions on subjects ranging from the way teenagers dress to the (lack of) ability in some of our elderly drivers and most everything in between. But, I try to remain dispassionate and keep those opinions to myself when they regard issues that don’t involve me directly.

Burning Storage Facility in Ferguson

Last night, after three months of following the ongoing violence, protests, and frustrations in Ferguson MO, I watched as Prosecuting Attorney Bob McCulloch addressed the grand jury’s decision on whether to indict Darren Wilson in the death of Michael Brown and realized what the root of the problem really is.

First and foremost, my heart, prayers, and condolences go out to the family of Michael Brown. Not for the grand jury’s decision, but for their personal loss. I cannot imagine the emotional impact that losing a beloved son has on a family, but the ongoing frustrations, media, and wait had to have made that loss even more insufferable.

As for almost every person who will read this, I was not in Ferguson on August 9^th, 2014. I did not hear all of the testimony presented to the grand jury. I knew neither Michael Brown nor Darren Wilson. All I have to go on is what the media presented to us and the media is flawed at best.

I am not writing an open letter to voice my opinion on whether I believe the grand jury made the right decision. I am not writing to appeal to either side or to win fans or make enemies. I am not looking to incite a cyber riot. I expect that there will be some who will write me to voice their opinion. You’re entitled. Although I believe my post will be read by many, it will go largely ignored. It seems to take more effort to face universal truths than to protest individual beliefs.

The first thing I want to point out is what I have seen on signs from the beginning of what has become a national tragedy.

Missouri State Troopers in Riot Gear

“Violence should not be handled with more violence.”

I couldn’t agree more. But it seems to me that those who are pressing that point the hardest are the same ones who last night stood in the streets of Ferguson dousing police cars with lighter fluid. Doing their best to tip police vehicles. Setting buildings on fire. Firing guns. Wearing masks and screaming profanities. Throwing things at police shields. Looting. So, let me ask those people… If you feel as though your rights have been violated when violence begets violence, how do you justify your own actions following a (non-violent) decision based solely on the fact that you don’t agree with it? Bullets equate to violence regardless of the direction they’re traveling.

Another statement I saw on many signs over the past three months regarded race. Let me ask those people this… If Michael Brown were a white teen, would you have been so vigilant in your demands for justice? Would you have protested in the streets and risked arrest for that teen? Naturally, I don’t expect you to answer me, but possibly ask these things of yourself.

Up until this point, I’m sure it appears that I am defending Darren Wilson and the prosecutor. But that would be wrong. I am defending neither side and for the record, there was no ‘winning side’.

Again, I was not there. I don’t know if Officer Wilson used excessive force. I don’t know if Michael Brown turned back toward Officer Wilson in an act of aggression. And apparently, even many of the witnesses who were there don’t know the answers to those questions or every witness would have delivered the same account in front of the grand jury.

Prosecutor McCulloch addressed the nation with a speech that sounded more like the groundwork for a trial that will never take place. But whether you agreed with what he said or approved of the delivery, his speech had nothing to do with race. But for many, believing that it did is the easy way to explain away a tragedy and a community that feels it has been wronged.

I don’t know how others were raised. I don’t know if there was religion in any form in other’s homes. I don’t know to what extent others were taught right from wrong. But I can tell you what I was taught.

I was taught that if I sleep with a man, I run the RISK of getting pregnant.

I was taught that if a married man or woman has an affair, they run the RISK of getting caught, divorced, an STD (or worse, depending on their partner (Bobbit)).

I was taught that if you let your dog run loose and it bites someone, you run the RISK of being sued.

And I was taught that if someone makes a willful decision to commit a crime, they run the RISK of punishment if/when they’re caught.

In a perfect world, a person who committed a crime would be caught, arrested, tried, and if found guilty – sentenced. But, we do not live in a perfect world. When crime is involved there are so many variables, so many things that can and do go wrong. When choosing to engage in crime, THERE IS RISK involved and unfortunately, no one can determine the degree of risk ahead of time. How many people do you suppose would engage in theft, rape, intent to deliver, fraud, trespass, murder, or any other crime if they knew ahead of time that such an act would result in death? Very few I would imagine. But, there are those who, for whatever reason, choose to gamble. Choose to knowingly take that RISK. And it’s no secret that when gambling, the odds are never stacked in your favor.

Credit – pamelagellar.com

Generally speaking, I don’t believe violence should be handled with violence. I certainly don’t condone the use of excessive force, but also realize that sometimes it most definitely is necessary. I believe that if an officer’s life is in imminent danger, or if the welfare of innocent people is compromised during a criminal act, their lives should be protected, at all cost. They should not have to pay for someone else’s poor decision or crime gone wrong. What I don’t know is whether excessive force or gunfire  was necessary in Ferguson MO on August 9^th. That was not my decision to make. I was not standing in Officer Wilson’s shoes, nor would I ever want to be.

I am sympathetic toward Officer Wilson because unlike the vast majority, I realize that his life has been forever altered by the events of that day. I am sympathetic toward the Brown family not only for their loss, but because they were stripped of the right to mourn their loss in private. I am sympathetic toward Michael Brown because he either wasn’t taught the consequences for such actions, or didn’t take the risks associated with those actions seriously, which cost him the ultimate price.

It is so easy to cry ‘race’ or ‘police brutality’, but the responsibility for Michael Brown and every other teen, regardless of race, that meets such a tragic end falls upon us as a whole. It seems to me that we are so busy blaming, protesting, accusing, deprecating, and threatening that we leave precious little time for teaching. How many lives will be lost before we learn the error of our ways? How many people will we blame before we begin to take responsibility for our part in our declining society? We are a nation on a path to self-destruction. Today is a day of unrest. In part, for the senseless loss of life. In part, for the divide caused by that loss, reaction, and outcome. But mostly, because of all of the words that will go unsaid. Because deep down, we know what this means to us as a society. We each see what is ahead and don’t know what to do to stop it. We each see AND feel how it affects us, but don’t know how to put it into words. Some of us protest, some of us hate, some of us take matters into our own hands. But the vast majority of us will sit quietly in our homes and contemplate the senselessness, question the outcome, and wonder how long it will be before such an atrocity happens in our own town. Will the next teenager be our own child? A next door neighbor? Maybe someone we once taught in Sunday school? It would be naive of us to believe that this was an isolated incident or a freak occurrence. And it would be neglect to believe that it can’t or won’t happen again.

America, I hope you were watching last night and for the three months that preceded it. Ferguson was a glimpse into our future.

 

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Is Honesty Always the Best Policy?

I wear many hats, but first and foremost, I am a mother. And as every mother does, I love to tell stories and drag out the family albums every chance I get. I’m proud. Even when they aren’t behaving like the people I’ve raised them to be, I’m still proud. While they were growing up, I did my best to instill values, integrity, and ethics. I taught them to be true to themselves, to be the kind of friend they’d like to have in their own lives, to be tolerant, non-judgmental, and above all else, I taught them to be honest. Now, I have five granddaughters and a grandson and I am seriously re-thinking the whole honesty thing.

Here’s why.

The year was 1996. We lived on a farm and were regularly adding to our array of animals. Rabbits, the lop-eared variety, were a favorite with my kids. My youngest, Bear (yeah, I’m one of those crazy kind of nickname parents) was especially fond of them.

Bear

Anyone who has ever had a rabbit as a pet knows that if you keep them in their cage outdoors for a few weeks, you can then begin to open the door (of their cage) and let them come and go as they please. They will wander within a radius of about twenty feet of their cage and instinctively return to their cage shortly before dusk (for fear of becoming a predator’s dinner).

Every morning Bear would let them out, play with them on and off throughout the day (they really are very friendly) and lock them in their cages before dark.

Cute, right?

One evening, when it was time to tuck them in (as she called it), we couldn’t find Roscoe (Yes, Roscoe, as in Roscoe P. Coletrain. All of our rabbits were named after Dukes of Hazzard characters). Now that we’ve established that my kids aren’t the most creative people I know… back to Roscoe. We searched for him until dark and then searched for him with flashlights while Bear alternated between calling his name and crying. We were forced to give up our search and assured her that he probably found a friend and would be back by the time she got up in the morning, although we were quite certain he’d long since been eaten up!

She woke up the next morning and before she ate breakfast or gathered eggs (her favorite chore), she went out to see if Roscoe was waiting at his cage. Naturally, he wasn’t. While she looked in all directions, I thanked God for not letting there be any tufts of fur lying around the cage.

Anyway, (I edited out the fluff and will get right to the point), We began losing a rabbit every few days.  We suggested leaving them in their cages, but Bear replied, ‘How would you like to be locked inside a tiny cage’? No arguing with 5-year-old logic.

It was a Friday and Roscoe, Luke and Boss Hogg were gone without a trace.  I was washing dishes or some other chore of a housewife and noticed my next door neighbor carrying a box to his shed in the far corner of his backyard. He wasn’t walking or running. He was ‘waddling’. Yes, waddling, stepping through the yard as if he were trying to avoid land mines and carrying a box in his outstretched arms. The red flag raised when I saw him glancing back at our house with every couple steps he took.

Hmm.

About an hour later, I watched him and his wife get into their car and pull away. Knowing that they lived alone, I did the unspeakable. I broke into their shed (let’s hope there is a statute of limitations on that). I assume readers are smart or they wouldn’t be here, so I don’t have to tell you what was in the box. That’s right – Daisy Duke! Bear’s favorite! We quickly moved her cage into the barn to hide her.

This is where the story gets good.

The previous week, we had joined ‘said neighbors’ for service at their church. Our little town did this every year. One week, everyone would bring a neighbor to church A, the following week, we joined at church B and so on. Well, the upcoming week was to be held at our church and said neighbors had already agreed to join us.

Fast forward to our church, the following Sunday, said neighbors sitting next to us in our pew. (Yes, our pew. Regular church goers are very territorial)

During the service, our pastor calls the children up, as he does each week. This is his attempt to engage the next generation and no one enjoys being engaged more than Bear. She was still at an age where she refused to wear pants of any kind and insisted on wearing hats that matched her frilly dresses. Seriously, she was over the top even for a girly girl.

It was typical and expected that when the pastor asked a question, Bear would raise her hand, whether she had the correct answer or not. The congregation had come to expect it. And, more often than not, the pastor would call on her. Her replies may not have always been accurate, but they were always entertaining.

This particular week, once the kids were all settled into their places on the altar step (yes, even church-going children are territorial), he asks, ‘This week we’re going to be talking about broken hearts. Do any of you know what it feels like to have a broken heart?’

You guessed it. Up went that little hand as she bounced her entire body up and down as if she needed the little girls room. The pastor must have thought the congregation was a little on the sleepy side and in need of a laugh to break the bore-barrier. ‘Yes, Bear. Have you ever had a broken heart?’

At this point, I wasn’t worried.

Bear stood up and placed her hands on her hips. She took a deep breath and in the most exasperated voice I’ve ever heard from a child, she pointed to our pew and said, ‘My next door neighbors have been stealing my rabbits and it’s just breaking my heart’.

Gasps………..and then silence.

Now, at that very moment I found myself questioning whether God really exists because if he did, he would have answered my prayer and let me melt into a puddle underneath the pew. I didn’t have the nerve to look at said neighbors, but I could feel their eyes burning holes in the side of my head like Satan’s fork. The first sound I recall hearing after Bear’s announcement was the sound of Bear’s voice, telling the pastor and the other children the entire story, exactly as she overheard her father and I telling it to our friends the night before. Needless to say, we were not invited back to their church the following year.

I now question whether honesty is the best policy (at least where small children are concerned). Bear’s mind was like a conveyor belt when she was young. Whatever went in was most definitely coming out, with no off switch or reverse button. She is single-handedly responsible for 90% of my laugh lines.

In my next blog, Bear and the arm-pit farts story. Priceless.

*Disclaimer: I can only guess why said neighbors were disposing of the rabbits. My best guess would be that the rabbits were wandering a little too far and digging in said neighbors flower beds (which were quite lovely). And although I’m sure they didn’t appreciate that, I don’t agree with the way they handled it. I would have been more than happy to keep the rabbits in their cages or move them to the other end of our 8 acres if it would have rectified any issues said neighbors were having, but it was never brought to my attention.

Kathy Reinhart is author of 3 novels, her latest work, ‘The Red Strokes,‘ The award-winning ‘Lily White Lies‘, and ‘Missouri in a Suitcase‘, written under the pen name Nova Scott, all available through Amazon, B & N and anywhere else you can buy good GREAT books! Look for her new novel, ‘Fight Like A Girl’, book one in the ‘Like A Girl’ series, coming this fall.

Social Adventures, Part 1 – Internet Dating

I would normally post an interview today, (big apologies to those of you who were looking for one) but I thought I’d deviate from the usual and tell you all about something that is such a common part of our culture now. I am going to share one of my recent social adventures — dating, more specifically, dating sites. The following may seem far-fetched, but keep in mind, fact is usually stranger than fiction. As for the following… Every. Word. Is. True.

Having been in a lengthy relationship (which I stayed with long past its expiration date), I found myself at a loss when I made the decision to end it. After all, now I’m almost 7 years older and long out of the game, where does a fifty something woman meet men? Church? Not likely. Most of the men that attend only do so because they have a WIFE that guilts them into it. Club? I’m not a drinker, a smoker, or a cougar – so…. no. Someone suggested the obits. Seriously? I thought that only worked in nursing homes and on The Golden Girls. Anyway, I’m well past the age of using my kids to snag introductions to their friends’ single fathers and I’m not inclined to run up and down a soccer field while coaching a bunch of twelve-year-olds in the hopes of impressing some singleton in the stands. So, what’s a girl to do?

Internet dating. So avant-garde, right?

I decided to make a pros and cons list (really just a stall tactic). I began with the pros.

1. Can be done from a plane on the way to a meeting or from the comfort of my recliner, while wearing PJ’s. (That in itself made it worth doing.)
2. For the $39.95 ‘start-up’ fee, I am able to browse thousands of men without having to fix my hair or wear makeup.
3. There’s no pressure and no obligation to browse.
4. If (and when – because most often, there is a when) they cross that line, I can rid myself of them with the click of my mouse. Much easier than pretending to be sick or sneaking out the back door of a comedy club (True story).
5. And I can do all of this while wearing PJ’s!!! I know I said that before, but it bears repeating.

So, even with so few pros and a legal pad full of cons, I signed up. I’d like to say I went with Match.com because I compared many internet-dating sites and they offer the most value for your money or because they have the highest success rate, but the truth is, I chose them simply because the photographs of the men (actors) they use in their ads kicked the competition’s butt! Have you seen them? And possibly because the guy from the eHarmony commercials creeps me out a little….

Once I input my profile information and uploaded my photos, I clicked off and went to bed, anxious to see whom they matched me with.

Day 1 – WOW. Would you look at all of the emails, winks, likes, pokes, prods, and favorites I got since last night? This is going to be easier than I thought.

Day 1, evening – Read through every last email, ignored the pokes and prods, clicked yay or nay on my twenty-four daily matches. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. Not one mutual like. But, it’s only day one.

Day 2 – Considerably fewer emails, but all I need is one, right? I did get a second email from a man who had sent one yesterday, telling me that he posted new pictures. (Stressing the pictures, not a good sign) The photos were of the house he someone rents in OBX, his a Lexus, his a Harley, and a ten-point buck. Yeah, won me over with that one.

Day 3 – I had no idea that middle-aged men took so many selfies!

Day 4 – In continuing with the Harley theme, I receive an email from a guy who is a self-proclaimed man’s man. He hunts (okay), he fishes (I can live with that), he plays cards with the guys on Friday nights (nothing too unusual there), and he wants to be buried ON HIS HARLEY! Upright, gripping the bars, hair blown back…..

N-E-X-T PLEASE!

Day 5 – I am down to a manageable number of emails first thing in the morning now. The first one I open is from a man in Provo Utah. What? Did Utah run out of single women and he’s decided to import them? Next is from a man whose wife is terminally ill. She made him join so that he could find someone now, before she’s gone, so that he’ll never have to be alone. How sweet (…..in a morbid kind of way).

Day 6 – Email from a guy who says, “I see you have kids, like me. I have two boys and a girl, how about you? And if any of them are girls, do you have pictures?” Oh god…  (If I were thinking clearly, I would have sent him pictures of my cousin (the police officer’s) daughters and his direct number) HA!

Day 7 – The site must be running out of matches for me, because today they send me my usual twenty-four, but twenty of them are smokers and I clearly checked off ‘NO SMOKERS’ when I filled out my profile. Do you suppose they figure that if I haven’t run across anyone who appeals to me by now, I might change my mind??

Day 8 – I receive an email from a man who says he’s fifty-three. He includes a photo of himself and claims (claims being the operative word here) that it was taken within the last few months. I would take him for 55-60, but hey, Father Time doesn’t treat some as well as he treats others, and looks have never topped my priority list anyway. Upon closer inspection, I notice a banner in the background that reads ‘HAPPY NEW YEAR 2005’. I then notice people in party hats with the year 2005 on them. My internal calculator begins adding ‘em up. Hmm, you say you’re 53…. You look 58…. Your 2014 photograph is actually 9 ½ years old…. Liar! The only thing worse than a liar is a really, really old liar. And the only thing worse than a really, really old liar, is a really, really old, dumb liar!

N-E-X-T

Day 9 – No emails. Relief. Seriously. My visions of meeting a man with a modicum of intelligence and enough humor to make him endearing are fading faster than Cameron Diaz’s looks.

Day 12 – (I’m now disenchanted with the whole process and only check my email every few days) I receive another letter from Day 4’s Harley dude. “Hey baby, I haven’t heard from you. Did the Harley thing flake you out? Sorry. I guess I should have been more clear. If we hook up, I’d want you buried next to me on your bike when the time comes.”

Oy vey…

Needless to say, I haven’t been on a date and won’t be recommending internet dating to anyone I like. But, the experience has taught me that it’s not so bad being happily single after all.

And if the above interactions aren’t enough to make you think twice about joining one of the happily-ever sites that take monetary advantage of lonely romantics, allow me to leave you with a few honorary mentions, again, all true…

“I like women who still wear garters and stockings, the kind with the line that runs all the way up her leg, and heels. And I like it when she leaves them on during”… “My ex-wife this, my ex-wife that, you would like my ex-wife”… “Well, I was living outta my car up until bout a month ago when my brother told me I could use his trailer til he got outta prison, well it ain’t really a trailer it’s more like a camper like the kind you pull with your car when it’s running”… “My mother said if we make it to a fifth date, I can bring you home to meet her”… (from a guy 5’8” and 325 lbs.) “I’m looking for a woman who is athletic and toned because if a woman doesn’t care about her own health, she isn’t going to care about mine”… (from a guy who smokes) “No smokers please. If you’ve ever kissed a smoker you’d understand why I feel that way”… And then there’s the guy who says he doesn’t smoke, yet in every one of his (current) pictures, he’s holding a lit cigarette!

Although I’ve tried to implement humor in my adventures, that is not always the case among those who participate in online dating. We’ve all heard horror stories and I’ve included a link to one that recently appeared all over the news. I strongly suggest that anyone interested in online dating be very, very careful who they give their personal information to, including but not limited to their home address.

Woman Who Wouldn’t Accept “It’s Over”.

Anyone have a similar story? Come on, dish 😉

To all of the singles out there, HAPPY DATING!

 

……And Another Thing or Two About Publishing

I have writer friends who rave about their publishers. They glorify them on their Facebook pages, tweet their credits and give mention to them in their books. They are so pleased with what their publisher brings to their project that if they were to win a Pulitzer, they would surely dedicate it to them.

I’m so jealous!

I’m not sure about forking over my Pulitzer, but I’d love to be able to spiel my publisher’s virtues to anyone with ears. Those publishers are best-seller gold. Cherished and coveted. But not as plentiful as we would like.

The big publishing houses aren’t going anywhere. At least not anytime soon. It’s the small ones I want to talk about. Some of them are their authors’ greatest assets, going above and beyond while seeing little in the way of profit. They are truly dedicated to fulfilling the promises they make to their authors within the pages of the contracts they mutually sign. And other small houses are Hell’s gatekeepers.

Myself, I have given up on traditional publishing and gone digital.  My latest novel, ‘Fight Like A Girl’ is coming out later this year and will I ever consider going with a traditional publisher for the opportunity to see my books in paper and ink again? Possibly. But now, the difference is, instead of having to sell myself to them, they would have to sell themselves to me.

That’s right. For me and many others, the days of query letters and elevator pitches are over. Slush piles all over New York are melting as I write this, making room for the mini-bars industry execs are going to need in this digital age. Why? The biggest reason is also the most obvious. Because Amazon has different ideas. They have shown readers a different way and readers are buying into it. With the onslaught of eReaders and low cost books, readers are being pulled in a new (money saving) direction. Who can blame them? A dollar saved is a dollar saved, right? That may be the biggest reason, but it certainly isn’t the only one.

We’ve all heard that ‘only amateur writers publish eBooks’ and ‘they’re peddling their book on Amazon because they couldn’t find a REAL publisher’. Those reasons may have had some validity in the past, but not so much now. Authors are beginning to realize that they CAN float their own boat. Granted, it takes a lot of work and motivation (not to mention sleepless nights and first-born offerings), but as authors in the digital age, we are in charge.

Assuming you’ve written a good story,—that is still critical in achieving success—you treat it just as you would if you were shipping it off to a traditional publisher, you write, revise, edit, revise, revise, edit and then cross your fingers and say a little prayer. It’s at this very point where many are choosing to forego the game of query-and-wait and taking directly to Kindle format. I am one of them.

My reasons had nothing to do with being unable to find traditional publishing. My last book, ‘Lily White Lies’ was published traditionally. Hell, it even won a national fiction award. I spent eighteen months waiting to see it in print and once it came out… TOTAL DEFLATION. And now I will tell you why so many good writers are taking the path of Kindle and slowly putting the small houses out of business.

I have a standard publishing contract with my publisher. Nothing out of the ordinary. I was promised an advance against royalties to be paid by a given date. I was promised a certain number of author copies. I was promised certain promotional courtesies. I was promised many things within the contract. And do you know what I’ve received?

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Seriously. I have not received a dime from the sales of my book nor have I ever seen a red cent of my advance. I have never been sent an account reconciliation showing how many books have sold. I never received a single author copy. My novel came out (in print) in June of 2011 and to date, it still hasn’t been added to the publisher’s online store. I signed my contract in May of 2010 and after a year and a half of waiting for the advance I was promised, I sent a very courteous letter to my publisher, after many unsuccessful attempts to reach her by phone. I received a call from her with no fewer than four excuses as to why she hadn’t been able to fulfill her obligations, but not one viable reason. After another six months, I sent a 10-day letter, to which I have not received a response in any form. Until an author has been in this position, it is impossible to know just how involved and aggravating it can be.

I may never see anything that is owed to me by my publisher, but all is not lost. I retained my digital rights, published on Amazon using KDP and quickly learned that I make more on each eBook sold than I would have on each print copy (had I seen any of it). Amazon pays their authors on the exact date they say they will. And through their author pages, featured listings and promotional days, they have actually done more to promote my work than my publisher has. No outlet will ever be perfect, but at least now my bank account is being fed regularly.

I know there are some authors out there who are planted in tradition and believe that if they aren’t published by a ‘real’ publisher, it doesn’t really count or they’ll never be considered successful in the eyes of their peers (Ssh, don’t tell that to Amanda Hocking or Hugh Howey!) That simply isn’t true.

I know I’m not the first one to write about the differences between traditional and digital publishing, but I wanted to give my take on it, as I’m sure I’m not alone in my feelings. As writers, in the end we have to do what is right for us individually and what works for one won’t necessarily work for the next one to come along. But when I hear a representative from any publishing house, big or small, complain about Amazon, eBooks or even self-publishing and what it’s doing to their bottom line, I have a hard time feeling any sympathy. After all, we ALL float our own boats and we’ll end up in the direction we’ve paddled.

Kathy Reinhart is the author of the award-winning ‘LILY WHITE LIES’ , ‘The Red Stokes’ and the upcoming ‘FIGHT LIKE A GIRL’,  book one in the ‘Like A Girl’ series.

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All Kinds Of Beautiful…

To my beautiful daughter…

When I refer to you as ‘my beautiful daughter’, most people assume that I am talking about your looks. I suppose I can’t blame them as you are very pretty. But when I call you beautiful, I am talking about beauty on so many levels that have nothing to do with appearance.

I’m talking about the beauty of the innocent toddler that I never had to prod for an ‘I love you’ and the small child that couldn’t fall asleep if I wasn’t there to give her a goodnight kiss.

When I say beautiful, I am reminded of the little girl whose heart was so tender that she would sit and cry alongside a friend who got hurt falling off their bike.

To me, beautiful also means attitude and personality. Sugar with a touch of spice. Well-behaved with just enough mischief to make you hard to resist.

Beauty is found in the kind words you say because you mean them, not because they are expected. I recall a time not so long ago when I was forced to deal

with emotions I couldn’t carry alone, so you helped me carry them. Your beauty comes from deep inside.

Nothing is more beautiful than unconditional love and forgiveness, both of which you possess in abundance. I know that there have been people in your life that have hurt you, without provocation, and it never ceases to amaze me how you can always find something good in them afterward. Beauty is your endless supply of second chances and I can only hope that those people recognize that beauty and the gift it’s been to them.

Beauty is enjoying where you are in life, taking nothing for granted and being happy with what you have instead of dwelling on what you don’t. You have always been able to do those things with ease.

I swell with pride each time I hear you say how much you love your daughters, when you could just as easily complain about how hard you work or regret what you’ve missed.

I am proud to be your mother. I am proud of your accomplishments at such a young age and the woman you’ve become. From holding you in my arms for the very first time, to watching you grow, to beaming with pride as I watch you with your own daughters, I’ve enjoyed every second.

On December 23rd, 1991, you came into my life as my child, my youngest daughter. And today, December 23rd 2012, you have grown into not only a beautiful young woman with a family of her own, a husband, and two adorable little girls who I hope will grow to be as ‘beautiful’ as their mother, but you’ve also grown into  my best friend.

So today, in front of God and the entire world, I thank you… For being my beautiful daughter.

 

 

 

 

With all the love in my heart, Happy 21st Birthday, Bear.

Author Interviews

Once a week or so I will shine a humble spotlight on an indie author. This is their chance to toot their own horn, plug, sell, promote or just brag til the cows come home. Seriously, writing is a very subjective market, as we all know. Some of the best writers out there have a hard time getting their work into the right hands. It used to be enough to sit, coffee mug on coaster, cat in lap and knock-out that next best seller. But, as times – and the economy – would have it, now it takes not only hard work, but pounding the proverbial pavement to promote your work and yourself. The number of indie authors is growing faster than Twitter can keep up. I fall into that growing number, somewhere around 1,256,713 I think!

I write, but I also read and review. I love to create the stories, but I also love to hear the stories. How someone got their start… where their first big break came from… What inspires them… Who they admire as a writer. You get the idea. I’d like to provide that service to authors like myself, who without the internet and painstaking self-promotion, would never sell past friends and family.

The process is pretty simple. If this is an avenue you’d like to pursue, just visit my website for contact details and I will send you the Q&A sheet and we’ll go from there.

What do I get in return? That’s easy. The same thing you’re getting. Exposure. I’m published, but I’m not a household name. BUT, if I cross a couple hundred computer screens a day, I’m in your house and I’m getting closer! Think about it. What do you have to lose, Indie Author?

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