Hark, the mover van comethe
I’m sorry, I meant to continue indie for dummies, but we’ve been in a madness of packing, because two weeks (which is what we had after TVIW and other commitments already made, is not enough to pack a four bedroom house, not even with packers.
For more insight into what’s going on, see here: The State of The Writer
And after being selectively quoted by Jim Hines who pretended I was calling anyone not with the puppies worse than those who abetted the holocaust and the holodomor, by cutting out the part where I addressed those who destroy lives and reputations for a plastic rocket, we have at least established what Jim Hines is. He’s not duped by those destroying reputations and lives. He’s one of the principals. I have only one question for him: But for Wales, Jim?
It’s good at least to start identifying the poisonous vipers. It means we don’t unwittingly step into their nests.
I’m starting to feel like Heinlein’s description of the Crazy Years: a man (or woman) with all his/her gaskets tight is at least at risk of being jailed. Or possibly sent to coventry by the howler monkeys. I wonder if they realize the more they shriek the more the circle tightens around… them.
And now I go. I have more important things to do. I’ll resume the indie posts next week, hopefully. Sorry for the delay.