It’s Deep Cuts weekend at Evil Jester Press’s Halloween Madness Event—your chance to grab Deep Cuts: Mayhem, Menace, & Misery for 99¢! Warning: cuts may be deeper than they appear. 19 short horror stories to give you shivers plus 60 recommendations for powerhouse tales written by women—those bloody stylings and chainsaw rhythms that have lain hidden like deadly gems among…
I’ve been reading a lot about the Permuted Press situation, all written by people with more knowledge of the situation than me, so I won’t comment on it, but—
As a type designer, I have done work on a royalty or advance plus royalties basis similar to traditional book publishing, and I have done work for hire in which I gave up all rights to the final work. Each time I did work for hire, I knew that was what I was doing and was well compensated for it.
Writers, if you are signing away all rights to your work for the life of the copyright (until 70 years after your death), you are effectively doing work for hire whether or not the contract uses that phrase. Please, before signing a contract, understand what you are signing, and if you don’t, seek advice from someone who does. (This is in no way meant as a justification of Permuted Press’s actions or an attempt to blame the victims. It’s meant as a cautionary plea. It’s a rough world out there. We need to protect ourselves and each other.)
John Dixon attended the grad school program in which I’m currently enrolled. He was gone before I started, and other than on social media—where we once had a conversation about the joys of tomato sandwiches (fresh, homegrown tomatoes on toast with mayo and pepper, of course)—we’d never met. When Phoenix Island was released (January, 2014) it went on my To-Be-Read…
A friend shared this:
I don’t know the people in the video. Lila’s a very good listener. The children in my family are nowhere near that well-behaved. Actually, they’re evil, but they are excellent crowers.
I wonder what else is buried on YouTube.
Let it go. Her daily mantra. Sometimes hourly.
Her brother doesn’t return her call? Let it go. She leaves yet another message, the fourth or fifth—she can’t remember which—in three days.
Wet towels on the bathroom floor? Let it go. She gathers up the mess and dumps it in the hamper.
A car rear-ends her at the stoplight? Let it go. She smiles, exchanges insurance info, calls the tow truck.
In the end, a small thing breaks her. Insignificant. Anyone else would ignore it. She can’t. She lets go and wonders who will clean up the mess.
My response to a prompt from the fabulous Lana Hechtman Ayers. Drafted in Pemaquid, Maine in June, 2013 and edited into a drabble.
Drabble (plural drabbles): A short story (fiction) exactly 100 words long.
Find more at Drablr.com.