#authorshare

As the title says, really. AuthorShare is used on World of books (a popular secondhand book store online). It has been championed by The Society of Authors and the Authors’ Licensing and Collecting Society (ALCS).

Also not exactly new news, but it's something many may not be aware of.

More and more are buying preloved books for various reasons like cheaper books, environmental friendliness, some books being out of print etc. But now, those authors can still be paid royalties. Great for many beloved authors!

But this can also be bad, as secondhand can be used to enjoy books without supporting authors with bad morals (ie. Jk Rowling's transphobia and antisemitism or Neil Gaiman's sex assualt allegations).

I did this for awareness. Especially since Neil Gaiman's allegations, many will want to buy his books without supporting them. Now you can't do so accidentally.

So remember:

Want to support authors, but buying second hand: maybe see if the seller uses Authorshare or go to World of books.

DONT want to support the author and therefore buying second hand: AVOID World of books and sellers using Authorshare.

Want to read more, here's some links:

Halloween has always been a weird holiday for me. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I love dressing up, I love candy (way too much), and I love all the spooky decorations. But there’s something about Halloween that hits a little differently the older I get. Like, it’s no longer just about the costumes or parties; it’s a weird blend of nostalgia and low-key self-reflection.

        Remember when Halloween was all about the excitement of knocking on strangers’ doors and getting a sugar high that lasted until Thanksgiving? (Not even joking.) Now, it’s about questioning why I’m still tempted to eat a whole bag of fun-sized Snickers when I *know* better. Also, is it just me, or does Halloween make you think about all the versions of yourself you’ve “dressed up” as in real life? The person you were, the person you’re trying to be—heavy stuff for a holiday that involves fake blood and zombie makeup.

        But I digress.

        These days, I’m all about low-key Halloween celebrations. Throw on a witch hat (because duh), binge-watch something spooky, maybe get a little deep with my thoughts (hello, existential crisis). It’s simple, it’s cozy, and honestly, it feels just right.

Back when I first started writing (almost an entire decade now!), I started writing diary entries every day because I read online that it would be a great way to connect with readers. You know, give them constant access to your life, thoughts, and updates to your writing endeavors.

I managed to pull it off for a while, but then I slowly began to realize something: I wasn’t as interesting as all that, and I definitely wasn’t famous enough to warrant that sort of attention. Most people didn’t even read my entries, and I can’t blame them: even with my favorite authors, I rarely read things of that nature either.

So why was I writing diary entries then? Why was I taking so much time from my actual love (writing) just to throw out nonsensical data to readers who likely wouldn’t even be interested to begin with?

I stopped. Surprisingly, several readers reached out and asked why the frequency of my entries was tapering off, but it did free so much of my creative time (and energy!) that I couldn’t even think of going back to doing them daily.

Still, sometimes I go back and read some of my previous entries, and I can’t help but smile. So much energy! So many crazy times! Those were the days of a younger, more carefree me, the me before the pandemic, the me that didn’t give a fuck about much of anything except my readers and my big brother (and, of course, my Baby Squirrel).

The simpler me.

I miss her sometimes.

But only for a minute.

As much as I like her, I love myself now.

I’m an overly creative person, and that often gets me in trouble. 😄 Whether it be with my writing or relationships, my imagination often gets the better of me, causing all sorts of issues that ordinary people simply don’t have.

No one is safe. Not my big brother, my Baby Squirrel, my Subscribestar Adult members, or even my friends.

Because of this, I’ve learned it’s best to occasionally withdraw from everyone for a while and funnel my energy into my current writing project.

Sometimes, isolating myself like this doesn’t work, however. Especially with the people closest to me won’t let me. Even when I yell and cry at them to leave me alone because my emotions are bouncing everywhere, sometimes they just refuse to listen and assure me that they know what’s best. Like mansplaining, but with friends. Friendsplaining? Is that even a thing? Fuck it; it is now. I mean, I understand that they have the best intentions at heart, but my reaction to their attempt to pacify me is a bit startling: I want to get physically violent with them. Like, hit them. Slap them. No, bitch-slap them. Most of the time, I repress my hostility and just smile, but sometimes I slip a bit. I don’t hit them or anything (well, my big brother doesn’t count), but I do yell.

And it doesn’t matter where I am. Believe me, I’m not bragging about it. I’m actively working on it.

If you’ve ever argued with me, you know I can cut deep when I’m upset. I hurt you. Again, it’s not something I’m proud of, and I’m trying hard to change this about myself, but it’s a long, hard battle to fight. I think one of these days I need to go to one of those rage rooms I occasionally see on TV, where you can just walk in and destroy shit. Every time I see someone in one of those rooms, I start salivating because they look like so much fun! My inner loli bloodlust kicks in, and I find myself reacting to each yell or breaking of something.

If I could just figure out some sort of middle ground or substitute…

I have no idea why I’m the way I am, but at this stage of my life, it wouldn’t matter if I knew why. It’s just who I am. It’s hardwired into me. So, since changing it seems to be out of the question, I need to find a way to cope with it in a non-destructive manner. Holding it in doesn’t work, and lashing out at the people I love (whether they understand or not) isn’t optimal either.

If there was one question I get asked more than any other (perverted questions from incels don’t count), it’s how I write a book, and why it seems to take so much longer for me to release a new story compared to other authors. To be completely honest, I have dyslexia to blame for that. Most people don’t know I have it because I utilize an army of grammar-checking tools. Not only that, but I trudge through several re-reads of my finished product just to ensure that everything sounds the way I intended. Here’s what my writing process looks like in a nutshell:

Brainstorming.

Outline.

Rough Draft.

Red Revision.

Yellow Revision.

Green Revision.

Final Version. This is where I properly format it, put it through all my grammar checkers, and do one last read-through before I release it to the wild.

Sounds exhausting, doesn’t it? Not to me, it doesn’t. In fact, it’s a lot of fun. So much fun that almost everything else in my life tends to fade away in the background, forcing me to constantly ground myself and make sure that none of my loved ones feel… unloved. You know? And then comes my love for retro games (which I’ll start featuring in my newsletters starting next month) and my Patreon/Subscribestar members. I love interacting with them, oftentimes just randomly messaging and opening dialog because they are truly interesting and inspiring people to me.

And then there are the Koreans, who have recently stolen what little free time I have. 😭

See, it started with Squid Game. We started watching it a while back when it was first released and promptly fell off to watch other shows after the first episode. Then, the Squid Game: The Challenge came on not long ago, and it caught our attention. So, we started watching it. I became insanely addicted, binge-watching it until the show’s completion, which made us want to watch the show it was based on, Squid Game. So, we did. All the way through. And that made us curious about other shows or movies that Netflix ported over that we missed, like Strength 100 and myriad others (just go to Google and type in ‘Netflix Korean shows’ and see for yourself).

So now I’m basically Korean.

이 글을 읽을 수 있다면 당신도 마찬가지입니다.

I learned a long time ago that the thing you love most can kill you if you let it. Back when I first started writing, I didn’t take it very seriously: I just sat down and repeatedly slapped the keyboard, letting my kinky imagination have free reign with little regard to plot, character development, or plot twists. You can tell this from books like No, Daddy! I’m Not Mommy!, Cramming Sis!, and Please Don’t Get Me Pregnant!. They were the first books I wrote, and you can tell by reading them how few fucks I had to give. I wasn’t taking my writing career seriously, which showed in my work. Sure, they were fun to write, but they had about as much substance as a handful of lettuce.

They sold. Well. This prompted me to try and elevate my craft, to try and write kinkier, more elaborate stories. I became obsessed with being the best writer I could, so I scoured the internet eagerly looking for any and all advice I could find. I attempted to follow everything I found, even going so far as to snag a copy of Stephen King’s On Writing, which is a fantastic book, and devouring everything I found with a hunger usually reserved for cheese fries at Snuffer’s.

Somewhere along the way, however, I quit having fun. Writing became more of a job than a fun little distraction, and I was taking things so seriously that I repeatedly started burning out. So, I decided the best thing to do was step away from writing for a bit. After a while I would return reinvigorated, only to feel the urge to break quickly returning. I began immersing myself in other hobbies, such as watching anime, reading manga, and playing video games. When I decided to write, it felt forced, like working out sometimes feels when you’re just not feeling it.

Maybe I wasn’t meant to be a writer. I wondered to myself. I mean, my command of the English language isn’t exactly on par with other famous authors. I have a conversational writing style, and I actively try to avoid writing over someone’s head… whereas some authors I read have me pulling out a dictionary every few pages. It almost seems like they’re trying to impress readers with their vocabulary knowledge. Should that really be your goal when you write, however? Shouldn’t the story matter most? You know, trying to coax the reader to immerse themselves in your carefully crafted world?

Back on track.

Even though I took a bit of a sabbatical from writing, I continuously found myself jotting down story ideas. Instead of deep, immersive plots and plot twists, they were more fun and quick little ditties that made me remember the tales I wove when I first started writing. When I found myself actually writing them and tearing myself away because I started feeling guilty that I wasn’t working on my more serious works, I knew something was wrong with the writing habits I had adopted.

I took a long, hard look at my authoring and then decided to just relax. I set goals, yes, but tackle the actual creative writing only when I feel inspired to. Don’t treat it as a job, but instead as a passion.

Damn, did that paradigm shift ultimately change who I am as an author!

I now proudly consider myself a writing beast. I’ve filled all my releases until 2027 and still have extra stories coming out exclusively for Subscribestar members. Life is good. However, I know there are many lessons I need to learn and many ways I still need to improve as an author.

My Patreon is dead.

To make a long story short, they took some of the titles of a few of my books literally and assumed they contained incest and underage sexual content. Without consulting me, they deleted my account and refunded my Patreon subscribers. They then emailed me, informing me of their actions and stating that their actions could not be reversed.

All that content.

Years of posts and interactions.

Gone.

Not gonna lie, I came so close to relapsing with alcohol that week. Every day was a struggle, and I fell into such a deep depression that my appetite and sleep were severely affected. I would just lay in bed (usually my Baby Squirrel’s bed) and stare at the ceiling, wondering how I would make up that missing chunk of cash. In this day and age, every cent counts, and with everything as expensive as it is… I had come to rely on that little income.

If I’m honest, however, it was about more than just the money. Patreon gave me (and my subscribers) a place to congregate on the internet, safe from the insanity of typical social media, and I loved conversing with them at all hours of the night – and for so many different reasons.

And now it’s gone.

Or is it?

A while back – during my last Patreon scare, actually – I created a Subscribestar Adult account and started populating it with everything I posted on Patreon. Though only a few people signed up for it, I loved how open and free the site was. They seemed to give zero fucks about what I posted, and it was, you know, refreshing for a change.

So. I moved my online creative home to Subscribestar Adult and ditched Patreon entirely.

Because fuck Patreon.