1 comment on "Television of Tomorrow = Shows of Yesterday"

Instead of making anything new, television of the future will simply rehash the shows of the past. It’s sad that creativity has been put to the wayside to accommodate laziness and a lack of anything good.

Netflix is making “Fuller House,” a “Full House” spinoff featuring DJ and Kimmy. I don’t know, maybe it will be awesome to someone, but in my opinion it’ll probably be terrible–definitely not something I’d care to watch. I mean, DJ was not the main attraction of the original show. And Kimmy was just there so Danny could verbally abuse a child that wasn’t his own.

Take “Boy Meets World” for example. Why did I love it as a kid? Because of the epic friendship between Shawn and Cory. The whole Topanga thing just kind of happened, their relationship and marriage took over, and I wasn’t too sad to see the show end. (Though I feel awful that Shawn went camping with those people and ended up getting that disgusting flesh eating bacteria. He should have known to boil his water–didn’t Mr. Matthews work at a sporting goods store?)

And now they’re going to be rebooting “Coach,” “Twin Peaks,” and there’s an “X-Files” mini-series in the works. It just makes me go “Ugh.”

Interesting and fun shows like “Almost Human,” “Terminator: the Sarah Connor Chronicles,” and “Bad Judge” get cancelled. And shows we only watched because there was nothing better on in the nineties get rebooted.

Gee thanks TV. Thanks for failing us once again.

Uramichi Oniisan 01 at Amazon
0 comments on "“Independent Publishing and DMCA Abuse” This is very scary. #indies"

Wow, this is very scary => Independent Publishing and DMCA Abuse, or “How a Scammer Got My Book Blocked with Very Little Effort” <= and it’s a currently ongoing case.

Basically, some a-hole sent a fake DMCA notice to Smashwords and Amazon and got Becca Mills’ book “Nolander” taken down. Then he turned around and contacted her, offering sympathy that her book was taken down. From the emails, he’s about a step away from offering to help her get it back up… probably with a request for money.

How did he do it? Well, it looks like he posted snippets from her book on a WordPress site, then pointed Amazon and Smashwords to it and claimed that her book — which was published in 2013 — was published earlier in 2011.

A few backdated posts, and all of a sudden an author is looking at trouble. How dumb is that?

“Nolander” is back up on Smashwords, but remains unavailable from Amazon at this time.

I believe that DMCA Notices can be a powerful tool for authors fighting to keep their works from being distributed without their permission. But I kind of figured a bit of research would be done by companies like Smashwords and Amazon.

Google requires several bits of proof that you’re the copyright holder and that your work is being infringed upon. What’s up with Amazon/Smashwords not even bothering to listen?

Let's Make Dumplings at Amazon

Title: Desecrated Places, Lonely Faces, and You
Author: Harper Kingsley
Original Fiction
Genre: urban fantasy, dark fantasy
Rating: mature(?)
Summary: “There was blood on the sheets.” I don’t know. What is this even? Just enjoy and discover the ride.

*

There was blood on the sheets.

It painted faces against the age-thinned cotton. The impressions of arms and legs, of broken bones and shattered dreams.

She feels like she’s just been let free. It’s looking to be a brand new day.

“Where will we go?” her voice comes out little girl soft, hushed in the temple-like silence of the room.

His hand is warm where it comes to rest against her naked shoulder. “Anywhere you’d like, cupcake. The world is yours to command, and I will be your arm, your sword, your everything.”

“My valiant hero?” She smiled, a shallow curve of her lips. “Will you be my knight in bloodstained armor?”

“Anything that your heart desires.”

Yes, she thought. This would work.

“Let’s take a shower. There’s no reason to bring this… mess… with us.” She led the way into the master bathroom. She’d never been allowed in there before. It was just as beautiful and princess-like as she’d always imagined.

She stepped into the shower, crooking her finger until he followed, as docile as a favorite pet. Only this pet had fangs, claws, and a willingness to bite.

Turning on the water — hot, hot, steamy hot water, which had always been “too good” for her — she felt happy. For the first time in a long time she was free. Her life was hers to do with as she pleased, the iron collar abandoned back in the room with her master’s dead body.

She reached for the soap. “Bend down. I’ll wash your back.”

He looked at her, eyes dark with love, and sat on the shower floor, turning so his back faced her. There were the ghosts of lash marks pressed into his skin, beautiful lines of faded gray against the smooth muscle. She had to touch them, tracing her fingers up and down the ridges before following the straights from one side of his spine to the other. He’d been hurt before, by unkind masters, just as she’d been.

“I will treat you so well,” she whispered into his ear, pressing her chest against his back. She liked the image they presented, flesh against flesh, blood red turning to pink as it washed away down the drain. “I will take care of you.”

“And I will give you the world,” he promised.

“Yes.”

It seemed so easy. They had all of forever to make their way. With the cold iron gone from her neck, she could feel the spirit of the world flowing back into her veins, the old power reigniting itself deep within.

She would keep him, this man-mountain, and she would tumble death to tie him to her. For gratitude, for grace, and for what might be the beginnings of love, she would rescue her rescuer and keep him safe.

Queen Titania scrubbed her knight’s skin with a pale green loofah and let the fire begin burning in her heart. She was ready to set the mortal world ablaze. Ready to be free.

=THE END=

All Systems Red at Amazon
1 comment on "Letters: Trust myself in you."

I love to write. There’s something beautiful and wonderful about words, a magic that goes much deeper than pen, ink, or a digital image on a screen.

It is unfortunate, but words don’t really pay a whole lot and the human body needs food to live. The brain is a story producing engine that requires fuel — food, sleep, a surcease from stress. And lately I have felt very run down and afraid.

I am fairly open about my mental health issues. It’s not something I feel a need to hide — I might not wear the tee shirt, but I’m not ashamed either.

There is a part of me that is desperately afraid of attention and success. I want to do well in life, but at my core I feel as though I need to be punished. I do not deserve love or comfort; I should live in squalor and do without food or sleep.

I cannot explain the part that hates myself. That’s why it’s called a mental illness. There’s something living in my brain and it is mostly outside of my control.

It makes me afraid of people. Even with all of the love in my heart, I cringe away from those I care about. One day vivacious and alive, the next a dull and empty shell.

I wash my hands compulsively. I cringe away from the sound of people eating. My skin breaks out in sweat when I notice the eyes of strangers LOOKING at me.

I cover myself in heavy layers and I hate, hate, HATE the things other people think of me. With a single look my whole day can be ruined, and I don’t know why my fears affect me so.

My mood shifts and change, taking my personality with it. Open and alive, joyous in every moment. Frenetic energy, destructive need to please. Cold fear and quiet despair, sucked down into the darkest depths of melancholy: Why am I still here?

Each day is an adventure in finding out who I am and who I’m going to be. Happy-go-lucky party girl. Wailing banshee with a mouthful of profanity and rage. Shy introvert struggling to hold on. Or blank automaton sleepwalking through the hours, unable to even care.

I try not to let my mental illness control me, but that’s part of its sick trick. It holds me captive in my own skin, unable and unwilling to ask for the help I need. “I can handle things alone. I don’t need anyone. Today is going to be a good day. I can’t let anyone see what a mess I am. I don’t deserve help anyway.”

* * *

It’s sad, but I can’t trust myself. My own brain fights against me. My moods are a liar.

That said, I love to write. I am filled with stories of other places and people. And as my mood shifts and bends, wonderful characters are created and born.

Would medication take them all away?

I do not trust myself to take care of me. How strange is that? How frightening, to wonder if I will come back to myself and find my life in ruins — it’s happened before, it will happen again. I am an explosion caught in time, already ignited and waiting to burn.

The only thing I have of worth is my words. They’re the only constancy about me, my only means of displaying my love — for life, for me, for you.

And so I write my stories and I send them out into the world. It’s the way I say “I love you. I cherish you. I want you to love me too, just don’t say the words or I will run away.”

Kimichee, AO3, LJ — it makes me happy to post my stories and see them read. Even knowing that I should not give all of myself away for free, I cannot help myself. I love so much with my words. I just want people to see the real me, even if it’s only on occasion, even if it’s only parts of me.

So I write and write, and I share and share. And I’ve accepted that that’s who I’m destined to be.

And I trust myself to all of you. That those who love my words will buy my books even if they can get the words for free.

Because at the end of the day I am only human. And humans need food, water, clean air and sunshine, a place to lay a weary head, clothes and shoes to wear, and the peace of knowing that when I leave with my mind someone will make sure my body does not die.

I cannot trust myself. So I will trust you.

Thank you.

Love,
~ HarperWCK