Posted on by Amanda Brooks

amazon is a monopoly (apparently)

One of the funniest happenings in self-publishing land has been brewing over the last two weeks. None of my self-pub groups can concentrate on anything else. Their flailings make most escort discussion board threads look rational.

Amazon (one poster called it “the self-publisher’s best friend” – I have never subscribed to that notion) has decided to force the POD issue and only carry books by its own POD manufacturer BookSurge. I realize this means diddly for most of my blog readers. My amusement comes from something other than technical details.

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Posted on by Amanda Brooks

un-retirement

This isn’t really the post I’d been re-writing in my head over the past few months. And it has nothing to do with the recent scandals.

Things haven’t been going well in the relationship for a while. Some of you know that, some don’t. There really is no good way to write this, so I’m just writing and posting, no editing for weeks (which I usually do).

My retirement will come to an end soon. It’s harder to say in public than I thought. It really is. I still am not ready to articulate everything I want to publicly share for anyone else who might be going through the same thing. I have anxieties and fears I did not have the first time around. I have a plan, as always. That’s not the problem. But I can’t plan against my own concerns.

I doubt the tone of this blog will change much. I’m not going to turn this into a typical escort blog where I dissect my clients in public. That’s not me. It’s not going to happen. If I do discuss work, it will be in my usual oblique way.

This has been brewing since October. And it became clear in early February that the relationship was irreparable. It’s sad and painful. More than I had thought it would be. I’m feeling bitter and that’s a first — possibly in my entire life.

A few months ago, when discussing this with a sex worker friend, she told me that everyone who retires for a relationship eventually comes back. I don’t see this as a statement on the people involved so much as a statement of murky waters of relationships and expectations in this society.

I tried to be something I am not. And what I am is not what he wants.

She told me I would have to deal with the pain on my own, and she is right. She also told me that she (and others) would catch me when I stepped through the door. There’s a mythic-journey aspect to changing one’s life (again) and a doorway is the right metaphor. It’s now open and all I have to do is step through.

See you on the other side.

please note

This post was removed with days of posting. I’ve re-posted it as of 7/2/08 because I would rather have my blog uncensored, even if it means I misstep every now and then. Plus, I’d like to think I’m the captain of my own ship again.

Posted on by Amanda Brooks

more media lessons

In the “big deal for me” category, I was on Fox Business News live last Friday with David Asman (obviously this is an up-to-the-minute blog). And if anyone saw it, they saw my virgin TV appearance. See? I have NOT done everything before!

It wasn’t a bad experience at all. I was slated for five minutes starting at 4:40pm Eastern. I knew what they wanted to discuss and I rehearsed answers to possible questions. Well, Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger was on right before me. I could hear him when I got miked up. He was somewhere on the California coast holding forth on the environment (no to oil drilling off the coast of California, yes to drilling in Alaska – what an environmentalist). He talked and talked. He wouldn’t shut up. He ate into my minutes. Like he doesn’t get enough press time or something.

My segment turned out to be shared with a guy who had run a New York agency before. He was very chatty. Guys are an extremely talkative species. But maybe it was his first time too. I don’t know.

We got about 3-4 minutes. Thanks Arnie.

But I did learn some lessons.

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Posted on by Amanda Brooks

learning lessons

Well, I had a brush with media yesterday — in an uncontrolled fashion.

A writer for one of the Dallas Observer’s blogs today called and spoke to me briefly. He wanted to interview me. Sure.

Instead, he just used info from my book’s site, a Dallas Morning News article that quoted me (yes, they did briefly interview me) and mashed it together with some humor.

It’s irritating because I don’t get the chance to say what I want, how I want. Not that I put anything online I am not certain about, but there’s so much more that can be said in conversation’s give-and-take that can’t be done with a passive online posting.

And the need to score guy-humor points is irritating. Why do guys always think girls are simply set-ups for their jokes? Especially if it involves sex?

The comments following the posts really take the cake. I don’t think anyone posting there knows me (pretty safe assumption). I’m ready to re-word the old adage “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all” to “If you can’t say anything remotely intelligent, don’t say anything at all.” But then, I think the Internet would cease to be.

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Posted on by Amanda Brooks

good job

The whole Spizter mess has thrown the division between civilian women and sex workers into high relief, moreso than the DC Madam thing. (Maybe I’m more aware of it.)

Growing up, I participated in school sports. At the end of every game, the teams would line up and pass each other, hands out at waist level, meeting palm-to-palm and say “Good game” or “Good job” (imagine a really gentle high-five at waist level). Prayer started every game; this little ritual ended it. Most of the time the coaches would join the end of the line. Sitting out of the line was unthinkable – I don’t remember anyone doing it (though some girls didn’t touch everyone’s hands). It would’ve been heresy. Both boys and girls teams did this starting in Little Dribblers or T-Ball and all through high school.

I have to wonder, if I did the line today and the other players knew my history, would they still touch my hand and say “Good game”? Would they refuse? Would they say other things under their breath? Would some of them turn away because they had secrets? Would they see me as an equal player, though not equal in life?

Of all the girls’ hands that I touched, how many of them would be willing to extend it again in the spirit of sportsmanship and acknowledgement of an equal?