One day, out of the blue, I was contacted by some guy who said he would love to publish some of my stories, adding that he'd seen them on Literotica, a well-used though rather impersonal and clunky sex-story site. He flattered me, suckered me, and completely took me in. He promised me 50% of all income and I was more than happy with that, having heard tales of much worse deals.
For my part, I collected together an anthology of paranormal erotica - I had been actively exploring the oft-interwoven themes of sex and death in short stories since my writing muse was first awakened - carefully, assiduously, edited it and sent him the manuscript. Between us, we decided to call it Sensual Ghosts. He said he loved it, designed a cover for it (for which I chose and paid for the photograph: perhaps that should have alerted me) formatted it, and published it on Amazon. Wow! My own book! After gazing at it for hours and reading it on my Kindle from front to back, I sat back and waited for the cheques to pour through my door.
The guy had an aristocratic-sounding French double-barrelled name, a French forename (if you're reading this, Henri, there really are no hard feelings at all) wrote quite beautiful error-free emails and I had no reason to doubt his honesty. And, to be honest, I think he tried to be honest. He'd had an idea to collect a stable of raw writing talent and give them a platform, an outlet, and imagined it could earn him a few quid too. Needless to say, it failed.
After several months, the book - despite his best though rather limited efforts at publicity - had sold around a hundred and fifty copies. Not great, he admitted, though he said more books would promote more interest and eventually my readership would mushroom. I'd compiled a further three anthologies which I was about to send him when he suddenly stopped answering my emails. Then the emails were returned undelivered and I knew the game was up. Our last exchange had me insisting he delete my book from Amazon, which, quite remarkably, he did, though the £150 or so he owed me was never forthcoming.
They say a good lesson is never a free lesson and so it turned out. I took another look at Sensual Ghosts, designed a new cover, edited the contents carefully once again, and published the book myself. Having mastered the intricacies of Amazon's KDP submission system - headings, spacings, active contents page, et al - I went on to release a further six books (four erotic anthologies, a naughty novella, plus a collection of erotic poetry for which I also supplied illustrations) in quick succession. And there they sit, on my Amazon bookshelf, ready for all-comers to lift them down, look inside, and hopefully like what they see enough to part with their hard-earned $2.99. The links to all my internet presences are over there, top right. No, not there. Down a bit. Where it says, rather teasingly, 'See more of me here'. Yes. There. And no, there are no naked pics. Not yet, anyway...
As I submerged myself in the publishing process, so my appetites waned. I became less and less needy, less and less sexually-active, till I returned to something like normality. Whatever that is. So here I sit, fully clad, toying with my hem though not really having the urge to lift it and toy with whatever I find beneath it. Whatever I find beneath it. Now, therein lies the rub. There indeed lies the rub...
Take care and (in the words of the late, great Dave Allen) may your god go with you,
Alexandra x
No comments:
Post a Comment