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More Twitter shenanigans avec @MetalOllie and @Jenny_Trout

Looks like I’m back on Twitter. Ha – my boycott didn’t last long, did it? I mean, I’m still using it less, but I’d hoped to cold turkey it and get this book finished by now.

Speaking of Eat Me, it’s chugging along nicely. Not quite up to my blasting-through-a-thousand-words-in-half-an-hour speed of yesteryear, but, you know…every page is progress. My spreadsheet estimates its final word count will be around the 25k words mark.

So. Twitter. I got an email from @MetalOllie this afternoon, he of ‘Cheeto-faced, ferret wearing shitgibbon’ fame, telling me that he too had suffered under the mighty thud of Mjoltweet, the Great Banhammer, for a period of twelve hours. Attached to his emails were two screenshots:

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Apparently some festering twatscab can send @Jenny_Trout endless tweets threatening to shoot her, but God forbid @MetalOllie call a pal a daft twat in jest; we can’t have that!

So this is what we’ve come to. A secret underground network of Twitterers swapping email addresses and sending screenshots over WhatsApp, exchanging tales of what it was like in the Great Bannination of 2017. I’m not expecting the Twitter management to do anything about it, to be honest. They’re more than happy to harbour Nazis on their site and have men make rape threats to women who dare to express an opinion about books of films or their write to birth control.

But who knows? It might make someone feel better to know it’s not just them. Twitter is treating everyone unfairly. So yay, liberte, egalite, fraternitweet, or something?

I’m going to push myself over the next thousand-word mark in this book and go to bed. I had planned to go into town tomorrow to get some fresh air, do some shopping, but to be honest, I need to stick with the manuscript and treat it with a bit more respect or it’ll never get finished. Besides which, I’ve decided to reward myself with a renewal of my Netflix subscription when the book’s done, and Mindhunter starts next Friday…

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Posted by on 07/10/2017 in Eat Me, Twitter

 

Wordy McWordface

Oh, man. This isn’t looking good. The word count for Eat Me, I mean. Well, it is and it isn’t. As per usual, Yours Truly has decided “This will be X number of words long,” and the universe has come along, whipped out its wang and pissed all over my mad, crazy idea of brevity and getting the book done on whatever date I choose. Because of course the universe is an incontinent dudebro with no social skills. Don’t @ me.

I just (yes, at one in the morning) checked my supersekrit files for current and projected word counts and uh-maaaaazingly, contrary to my guesstimate, EM isn’t going to be 20k words long at all. Excel reckons 5 more than that. Yay, I can charge more when I publish it but boo, it’ll take a wee bit longer than expected.

Why do I do this to myself? Why do I consistently underestimate my own word counts? It’s only happened with every single book I’ve ever written. Well, except for those written to contract and even then I had to shave off a few pages here and there to fit the publisher’s requirements.

Allowing for Book #2 in the sequence being the same recalcitrant length (*burp*, ooh sorry; that thesaurus I swallowed didn’t go down easy), I could even get that finished in October, too. BUT LET’S NOT TRY TO RUN BEFORE WE CAN WALK.

Also, the more observant (obsessive) amongst you may have noticed I have reactivated my Twitter account. This isn’t because Jack and Biz et al have stopped being dogbeasting chucklefucks, but so I can avoid URL squatters. I still plan to stay away from the place while I simmer about their Nazi-gobbling tendencies…except for that recent tweet about Boris Johnson being as foul as the crusted-over cockcheese under the infected and suppurating flap of Satan’s foreskin.

God, I fucking love words.

Including “tea”, “tired”, “Kindle” and “fuckity night”.

 
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Posted by on 04/10/2017 in Eat Me, Twitter, word count

 

Fuck you, Twitter!

So. You know how I was gonna take a break from Twitter just for October to see how I got on, going cold turkey?

I kinda…deleted my account.

But anyway, leading up to that. Have I been writing each day in October? No. And I haven’t blogged each day either, having obviously missed the first of this month. But there’s a good reason for that – I was ill for a good few days, which prevented me writing, or doing anything creative. Towards the end of Sunday and this morning, I was only able to tweet and be amusing in small doses, hence no blogging or fictioning.

I ended up getting another twelve hour ban. How? Well, I saw that Biz Stone (?) one of the co-founders of Twitter, was whining that people were loading all their issues with the site onto him, which is weird, right? Because who’d think the person to go to with your problems on Twitter was…the co-founder of Twitter?

People were “piling on” (his words) and I was one who asked why rape threats and Nazism were okay, but responding to racists was worthy of a ban. I also asked why, during my recent week long ban, I wasn’t good enough to use the site, but my timeline was good enough for them to advertise on. There was no response to, “How is a guy calling me cunt 40 times in a row not a violation of your Terms of Service?” either. Or to my question regarding the “Safety” team; if they are real people, why were all responses to my emails automated? Did any humans actually work there?

Unless you count a 12-hour ban, during which only my followers would see my tweets, a response.

I got ‘sick fed up of it’, to use a Scottishism, deleted all my tweets and identifying details, and borked my account. I am absolutely hacked off that Twitter is okay with verifying self-confessed Nazis, but if you answer back, or tell someone to fuck off after they say someone deserves to die in an oven, whoa now, we can’t have that, can we?

A couple of friends have emailed to say no, don’t, come back…which is all very nice for my ego, but really does nothing to improve the situation at hand. I’m not prepared to go back to a website that condones such disgusting behaviour from men as threatening to track me down and rape me to death, but if I tell someone to ‘fuck off’ or ask the co-founder ‘why did you let that guy call me a cunt’, suddenly I’ve committed a grave sin.

Anyway. So. But. And other extraneous bobbins. What now? When it comes to promo, I’m not sure how this will affect my book sales…but I guess I’m about to find out. I’ll also have a lot more time to write, now I’m not spunking away hours on social media. Instead, the spunking will be confined to my books.

That said, I’m trying to build an email list, so feel free to join here.

Members of my mailing list will get an advance heads-up on things like cover art, upcoming releases and so on. In the future I’ll be working on freebie stories to give away, too.

Feel free to share a link to this blog post on social media, seeing as I won’t be there myself and…see you in my next blog post!

 
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Posted by on 02/10/2017 in mailing list, Twitter

 

Twitter mix tape

Have you ever heard a song and thought of a particular person, for whatever reason? That’s what this is about, complete with Twitter tags linking to their home pages, so you can check out everyone’s timelines and try to make the connection between them, and the song next to their names (if there is one, that is. Sometimes there is no good reason. 😀 )

1. @septemberstitch

2. @merlinslaugh

3. @jessikart

4. @Priene

5. @NyoEi

And finally, last but by no means least…*ahem*…@BrianCBaer:

I may do future posts like this if more songs occur to me but this kind of thing has to happen naturally. ‘Tis nothing to be sneezed at, you know, songification of Twitter friendships. Honest. Is srs bznz. 😀

 
 

The bitterness of knowing ‘rapemance’ is a thing

Today I heard about a rapey incest book that was so rapey and incestuous that Amazon pulled it from sale. It’s still available on CreateSpace, and its Goodreads page has had a lot of traffic lately. In fact, the last time I checked, the book had 400+ reviews and it was only published a few days ago.

This prompted some…feelings, on my part. Bitter, bilious feelings. Imagine that scene from The Exorcist, but instead of Regan, Scarlett. Instead of demonic puke, we have…well, okay, demonic puke is good. Lots of demonic puke.

I tweeted about ten times and said ‘end thread’…then felt the second wave rise up within me and ended up tweeting a bajillion-tweet thread about how angry and upset and jealous and annoyed and bitter I felt.

What follows is the blog version of what I said regarding the aforementioned rapey incest book, and in general, the state of erotic romance publishing and my place in it:

* * * * *

I honestly don’t know what I’m supposed to do to get reviews and make sales on my books when a novel featuring rape and incest as romance sells like gangbusters. If I sound bitter, it’s because I am. I know authors aren’t supposed to be. We’re supposed to be all sweetness and light.

Well I’m not. I’m bitter.

I’ve spent an age on some of my books – an age by my standards, that is. I remember By the Book took me four months to write and at the time, that felt so damn slow. But anyway, I want to make my books as good as possible, and on the rare occasions I do get reviews, I get ripped for the stupidest of things.

One review for Burn accused ‘the author’ (O HAI, IT ME!) of trying too hard to sound Scottish.

That’s weird, because…I am Scottish.

Someone who reviewed Plus One didn’t like it because of something Spencer did. Well, what was strange about that review was…I have no idea what book she was talking about but it wasn’t one I wrote. She accused my main male character of doing something I absolutely did not write.

And yet authors are supposed to just sit back in the face of such reviews and do nothing, because if you respond the terrorists win, or something. I dunno.

So when I see a book featuring father/daughter incest do so well that it takes off despite Amazon deeming it too offensive to sell on its website, yeah, you’re damn right I get bitter. Write what you want, read what you want, but don’t fucking call incest/rape romance, then praise the author’s talent. Maybe they are talented, but they’re shit at marketing, to call this romance.

But even so, it sells…and that’s the depressing thing. It sells to the romance-reading crowd.

Now, I know there are other authors who feel the same way as I do, but they’re too scared of a backlash to say anything. I, however, am beyond caring. This can’t ruin my career because I have no fucking career to begin with. Even after being published for seven years, I’m still struggling to become ‘known’ in the erotic romance world.

So either I’m the world’s unluckiest writer, or the world’s shittiest one, right? I just believe that romance should be aspirational, that is, you as a reader should either want to be part of the main couple, or should want to see them succeed.

I can’t read a pseudo-romance (fauxmance? rapemance?) about a man fucking his own daughter and think, “Yeah, that’s what I want!” and get all hearteyes about it.

I can’t say this loud enough – I’ve read books about Fred West, Josef Fritzl – and they’re true fucking crime, not romance. They raped their daughters and books about them are categorised as true crime. Their ‘happy endings’ involved suicide in jail for West, and a prison sentence of life without the possibility of parole for Fritzl.

So yeah, I’m resentful of the fact books I worked hard to write sink without a trace while Fritzlmance sells like hot cakes.

Now, I’ve mentioned before that I’ve had my work published without credit earlier in my career. There are books out there to which I contributed, but the author refused to credit me. Full story in my blog post here. That was a bad experience but you get over it, move on and try to do better. But publishing throws up drama after drama.

We’re told to work hard and we’ll eventually make it.

What. A. Crock.

It makes me think, I can’t be a bad writer can I? I must be able to string a few words together if my pages are out there being read…but my name isn’t on the covers as a contributor so it doesn’t mean a thing. And the books that do have my name on? Nah. Not so grand.

It’s like sending your children to school in someone else’s clothes. They’re mistaken for royalty and praised, but once their real identity is revealed, no-one wants to play with them any more.

Honestly, these days, I feel like I’m banging my head against a brick wall. I try to write romantic books, but incest sells more, apparently. You can’t predict when or why a book will ‘take off’, but I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do any more. Is it even worth trying to write? Something in me wants to hope I can make a go of this, but let’s face it – I’m in my forties and have been published since 2010. If I were going to be able to support myself through writing, wouldn’t it have happened by now?

To be melodramatic about it, I’m beginning to think my name and my books are cursed, like I’m destined never to have any success. No, I’m not owed success. I just don’t get why authors who use others’ work for their books are credited with genius and lauded like the second coming of Hemingway and the same goes for authors of incestuous rapemance.

And me? I’m just kicking my heels. I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong.

You may suggest just writing for the love of it, for myself. Not for money. To be blunt? I call bullshit. I’ve got bills to pay, just like you. I grew up certain I’d make it, absolutely sure I’d be able to support myself (eventually) through writing but if what I write doesn’t sell? It’s hard not to be bitter.

So, as I also said over on Twitter, I’m going to sit over here, being bitter in my bitterness. Eating cake. And fed the fuck up with erotic romance right now.

 
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Posted by on 09/08/2017 in erotic romance, rant, Twitter

 

I’m not dead

Grargh, so, I’ve lost two or three days to illness and Eat Me was supposed to be done by now but guess what, it ain’t, so…yeah. That fudged up my whole writing schedule and delayed the release by about a million years.

At a very, very loose guesstimate, its first draft should be done around Monday-ish. I’d planned to be balls deep in my next book by then but oh well, time, tide and migraines wait for no man. Or woman. Or pervert.

So that’s where my writing is right now. With regard to Twitter, I’m back on it, but with still no reply from a human being. I’m going to try again with another Twitter-related email address someone has given me, and see if that kicks them up the arse. Their reasoning may be “You’re back on the site now; what’s the problem?” but I’d like an apology and an acknowledgement that my suspension should never have happened.

I won’t hold my breath though. Seems like the place is run by goatfelching ratbastards.

 
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Posted by on 21/07/2017 in Eat Me, Twitter

 

When Good Twitter Goes Bad

First of all, let me just say that yes, I have had yet another clear-out of previous blog posts. Again. Why? Partly a desire to clear up old posts, partly because of a near-doxing (or is it doxxing?) incident that happened on Twitter a few weeks back involving a Trump supporter whose dick fell off when I dared to have an opinion on the internet. I kept the post entitled The Story though, because I know it pisses off the “Erika” in question and she can’t publicly speak out against it or she’ll effectively out herself.

That said, let’s proceed. Following is a copy-and-paste job of an email I sent Jenny Trout (her website can be found here) yesterday:

Hi Jen,

Sending this email to explain what happened on Twitter, as of course I’m unable to post there myself. The other night I tried to sign in and was met with the block screen, telling me my account was limited. I expected it to be another 24-hour “only followers can see your tweets” thing, so clicked ‘continue’ and was met with a message saying my account had been shut down for seven days due to violation of their terms of service. They wanted me to delete a tweet before being able to proceed to my DMs and I’d be unable to tweet, retweet or like for another seven days. All I can do is send and receive DMs. I can’t even adjust my profile for matters of privacy, remove my location and birthdate, that kind of thing.

The tweet they wanted me to delete was in response to an anti-Semite with 34 followers, whose timeline is full of bile against Jews. (They’re taking over Hollywood, they want all our money, the usual racism.) The ‘offensive’ tweet, word for word, was “No wonder your previous account was suspended, you goatfelching ratbastard.”

This, apparently, is worth a week-long full ban. I asked Twitter why they did nothing about the guy who tweeted me 40 times in a row to call me a cunt, to say my books were written by a cunt, everyone knows I’m a cunt…and nothing. Why did they do nothing about the guy who threatened to rape me? Nothing. Why did they do nothing about the guy who tried to track down my address and dox me? Nothing.

At the time when I reported those guys, all Twitter said was “The reported accounts do not violate our terms of service,” and said if I was so offended, “We advise you block these accounts.”

I’ve sent messages through their appeals system three times to ask why the above gets a pass but me calling an anti-Semite a “goatfelching ratbastard” gets me banned for a week. EVERY SINGLE REPLY I’ve received has been a boilerplate email, stating, and I quote:

Your account features will remain locked or limited for the allotted time due to violations of the Twitter Rules (https://twitter.com/rules), specifically our rules around abuse.
Thank you,
Twitter

I keep asking them why they do nothing about abuse, and this is all they say.​ Apparently doxing, abuse and rape threats are okay, but responding to a Nazi who rages against Jews on Twitter? Why, that’s what’s offensive. His wasn’t even a verified account; he was a known abuser who’d been suspended before and come back with a sockpuppet account.

I don’t get it. I just don’t get it.

Anyway. Feel free to screenshot and share this if you want; the more people publicise it, who knows, it might make Twitter think again. And at the very least it would let people know the disparity in how Nazis and feminists are treated online.

Thanks.
Love, Scarlett

The above pretty much explains what’s gone on. But as I wrote the email in anger, perhaps I should clarify a few things. The guy I called a ‘goatfelching ratbastard’ is not the 40 cunts guy, the ‘you deserve to be raped’ charmer, or the attempted-doxing Trump supporter. They are four different people. (Although, of course, as Mr. Ratbastard bragged in his Twitter profile that he’d been previously banned, he may have been someone with whom I’d previously crossed paths, under a new guise.

A few hours after receiving the email, Jen had written it up on her blog, link here.

In my email to Jen, I mentioned the fact I’d contacted Twitter three times and got the same boilerplate response, an automated email, nothing from an actual real, live human being.

Late last night I decided to give it one last shot; I emailed support@twitter.com with the full story from start to finish, every little detail. I got a bounceback message saying they rarely check that email account and if it was important, I should use the online help forms.

*sigh*

I posted the exact text from my long, detailed email on the Twitter website help form, went to bed, returned to my desk this morning and just as I was typing up this blog post, got a response.

The exact. Same. Message I’d already received three times previously:

Hello,
Your account features will remain locked or limited for the allotted time due to violations of the Twitter Rules (https://twitter.com/rules), specifically our rules around abuse.
Thank you,
Twitter

With a reminder that my account is locked. Quite what that means when it was already suspended, I don’t know. Neither do I know what the hell is up with Twitter, but I just cannot get a response from a sentient human being. Is the place run by robot Nazis?

And you’ll never believe this, but at the same time this does-not-compute response from Twitter came through for the fourth time, I received an email from a journalist who was interested in looking into this whole matter. I’m not entirely sure the story’s got legs, as for safety reasons I feel concerned about publicising any identifying details from my personal life. As for photos, I reckon they’d just be asking for trouble given the way I’ve been treated online by Nazis, dafties, Trump supporters and sundry other goatfelching ratbastards.

So, while I wasn’t confident of Twitter doing anything to rectify the situation, it’s reassuring to know my online buddies have my back, and people are sitting up and taking notice of the way certain social media sites are distinctly unbalanced in how they deal with complaints and reports of abuse.

My suspension is due to end on Wednesday evening Scotlander time, but I’m not entirely sure I’ll be back to use the site as before. While it’s touching to know I entertain so many people who’d love to see me back on Twitter, there’s something hinky about being a member of a site that suspends me for swearing once at a Nazi, but is okay to let insults, abuse, rape threats and doxing fly.

I’ll give it some thought, and keep you guys posted with any news, should there be any. In the meantime, buy all my books, links above in the ‘Books by Scarlett Parrish’ menu; my latest piece of utter filth being Family Jewels.

And because we’re British here and we do things Britishly…I’m going to make a cup of tea.

 
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Posted by on 14/07/2017 in Twitter