There’s something … cathartic, about shredding books.
Not the kind of books fascist/religious extremists get all hot and bothered over, but the kind that’s been gathering dust under my desk since I realized there was no way I was ever going to inflict them on anyone else.
For those of you who don’t know the saga of Mortal Instinct, here it is in 23 words … signed a contract, publisher sucked, finished product sucked, publisher sold company, new publisher sucked, contract ran out, didn’t renew, all rights are mine.
I did however buy a bunch of hard copies in the misguided belief that my original publisher would stick to our mutually agreed timetable and I’d be able to go forward with my plan to launch at Vancouver Pride. Lesbians save the universe,+ Pride festival = perfect partners! … Oopsie.
This winter, secure in the knowledge my ‘author preferred edition’ (and self-published) of Mortal Instinct would bear only a passing resemblance to the original, I hauled out our trusty shredder and reduced the remaining copies to this …
Also in December I came across this little gem of a post at Writer Beware (the only blog devoted specifically to writer focused evildoers now that Preditors and Editors appears to have had the biscuit)
I may not have dodged a bullet with my first publisher but I certainly did with the second.
P.S. I did keep one copy for historical purposes.