I am shocked. Absolutely shocked.
While I’ve been decompressing after a severe bout of IABOS (coined by indie author, C. A. Hocking) after the publication of Man and Brother, wretched things have been afoot for independent author Adam Dreece.
For those who don’t know, Adam is one of my indie author heroes. (Okay, yes. He’s superheroic to me, and I am humbled by his creativity and dedication.) His Yellow Hoods series is extraordinary techno-fantasy fiction; his Wizard Killer series, a thrill ride. Adam is a powerhouse of independent fiction, one of the hardest-working indie authors I know.
So when I found out about what happened to Adam, I was . . . well, I am still shocked. I am angry that a corporation can flick away a stellar indie author and his works with barely a huffy puff of wolfy breath. The publishing fortress walls, slick with slime, are already hard enough to scale for the independent author. While I accept that scammers are out there to fleece customers, 21st century literature gems are getting tossed out with the steaming drek.
We lose, fellow readers, when our independent authors are crushed between confidence artists and corporate apathy.
It’s not like the disappearing Amazon comments scandal of a few years back, either. This is far worse. It is hard enough to build a career as an indie author (marketer, publisher, editor, creator, spokesperson . . . the list of indie author duties goes on and on) without having an F-5 tornadic moment strike one’s indie writing career.
Yes. Fine. One can rebuild. That’s not the point, though.
Content creators make money for content providers.
In the internet age, the independent content creator is like an asteroid which mines itself then delivers the product straight to the corporation’s door to convert into pure profit. One would think that low-investment, high-yield might motivate a content provider to protect their moneymakers.
I suppose that’s the difference between novels and real life–novels have to make sense.