So, I got up early this morning, intent on having some alone time with my new laptop (on sale at Best Buy and bought out of necessity. Long story. Don't ask) to learn how to use the little black square instead of a mouse. Not easy for an old lady with stiff fingers, let me tell you! Anyway, what do I behold in my email but another dreaded Google Alert. I forgot today was Sunday, when Google informs me where my pseudonym appears on the net. Normally, I know where they are already, but lately at least one or two are pirating alerts. (sigh) As usual, I check them out and pass them on to Andrea, our cybercop for her to deal with. (Blessing Andrea's name, heart, and worshipping at her feet are optional, but recommended.)
I realize some pirates feel they have the right to steal my work and steal what little money I get. I damn sure ain't Nora Roberts, honey! If I had to live on my income, I'd be typing from a cardboard box under a bridge. They're positive I won't miss a few copies. The math is simple, even for morons with defective moral standards. If you assume I make one dollar from every book sold, which is close to accurate, then 1000 copies downloaded for free is $1000 I don't get and could make a sizeable dent in my mortgage payment.
Today, however, takes the cake. On a new site I've never heard of, someone is already asking for a copy of my upcoming Collection, Night Critters!! My god, the darn book hasn't even released yet. Can't I earn a little before you steal me blind?
Kate Douglas recently announced that, thanks to piracy, she's closing out her incredibly successful Wolf Tales series. She even hinted that she, wonderfully talented and beloved by her fans, is disheartened and hurt by the piracy enough to rethink her career. The pirates are driving even the best in the business out of business.
I know I regularly question my career choice these days. With my family struggling just to pay our mortgage and the economy in the toilet, I've seriously considered offering myself up to (gulp) a temp agency in hopes of making enough money to keep my struggling family afloat. Early in my career, we lost our home to foreclosure and bankruptcy, and I can tell you the humiliation sticks with you for a very long time, not to mention the IRS bill. We're still paying Uncle Sam almost a decade after that foreclosure.
Anyway, so here I sit, wondering why I sit for hours at my keyboard, sweat deadlines, and ruin my hands with carpal tunnel when I could make three times as much with a "real" job. It would be nice to only work forty hours, come home, prop my feet up, and watch TV with the DH. Gee, what's it like to have weekends off? What's it like to be a safely anonymous figure in the crowd instead of promoting everywhere I go? I'm really beginning to consider freshening up that resume, because it's bad when a romance writer ain't feeling the love.
http://www.lenaaustin.com/
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