Special Guest Tucker McCallahan

Lead singer Ash Redvers needs a drummer. When Dustin Davis shows up, ready, willing, and able to play – not to mention gorgeous – Ash thinks it’s going to be the best season yet. But Ash has never had a boyfriend, and Dust isn’t willing to be a quick hook-up. As the summer heats up, they’ll have to decide whether all they can make together is music, or if there’s something more for them after the Boys of Summer are gone. 

 

Hi! My name is Tucker McCallahan, and I’m the author of The Boys of Summer, the first book in the Dust & Ash Saga. I’m so grateful to Raisa for hosting me today!

Long ago in a galaxy far, far away, two writers (Tucker & Raisa) found each other on a site called Literotica. She took pity on me and served as my editor for several years. I’m happy to report I was able to return the favor down the road. Raisa and I have always worked well together. It’s a true joy to find somebody who’s able to offer honest and constructive criticism, and Raisa has never pulled any punches with me. She made me a better writer, and I hope I’ve done the same for her. It’s pretty rare to find such synergy between two creative people.

She was one of the first people to read the Dust & Ash Saga when it was still in its rough draft. I’m so thankful for that, and for the time she put into helping me craft better stories. The Dust & Ash Saga has been under construction for nearly ten years now, and I’m so proud to be able to share an exclusive excerpt from the first novel here. Enjoy!

From The Boys of Summer:

Grounds Zero was pretty busy for a Sunday morning, a fairly heavy crowd of both students and churchgoers enjoying the assorted beverages and pastries, as well as the limited breakfast menu. The gender split was very nearly fifty-fifty. When all conversation ground to a halt, the barista turned off the bean grinder, and the lone bus boy dropped his dish bin with a clatter, Jason sighed. His singer had finally arrived.

Ash Redvers stood just inside the doorway to Grounds Zero. He wore faded, torn jeans slung so low on his hips, it was obvious he was commando under them. A dark designer T-shirt in some kind of gauzy, clingy material hugged his chest and abs, and a toe ring glinted from his flip-flops. Ash spotted Jason, smiled brightly enough to light up the entire café, and raised his hand in an enthusiastic wave. That stupid shirt climbed up and revealed a swath of bronzed flesh pulled taut over Ash’s perfect six-pack. Jason couldn’t do anything but curse silently and wave back, which of course drew every eye in the place from Ash to him. Jason’s face burned.

Jason had spent years becoming accustomed to everything about Ash. As the bass player in the Boys of Summer, Jason stood behind the guy all summer long. It was kind of like standing behind the sun. Ash’s glory shone down upon the world and when he was around, nobody else existed. As if the hot body, expensive clothes, and amazing voice weren’t enough, Ash had the face of a fallen angel: wicked, innocent, and sexy all at the same time. Jason wasn’t into guys, but Ash was so much more than just a guy.

Everybody worshipped the sun—at least a little.

Three minutes and a nonfat vanilla-and-caramel latte with whipped cream later, Ash settled down across from Jason, who was doing a wonderful impression of a thunderhead. Ash sipped his coffee, the tip of his tongue licking whipped cream from his upper lip.

“Damn, Jase, I’m not that late.”

“Steve got arrested again last night.”

Fuck. Is he in jail?”

“No, he’s in the hospital.”

“Hospital? Why?”

“Because this time, he didn’t just get sloppy drunk, drive home, and get picked up. This time he got totally fucking polluted, tried to drive home, and flipped his truck three times down the embankment at the top of Brewster Road.”

The blood drained from Ash’s face as he slowly set his coffee down on the little table next to his chair.

“Oh my God.” The look on Ash’s face asked the question he couldn’t seem to put into words.

“He’s really messed up.”

“How bad?”

“They had to cut him out of the truck. His left arm was almost severed. The doctors don’t know if they can save it.”

Ash’s heart lurched up into his throat. He couldn’t imagine what was going on inside Jason. As fucked up as Steve was—and Steve was really fucked up—he and Jason were still brothers, Irish twins, born in the same year and as close as Ash was with his brother. Ash got up and walked around the table. Using one foot, he kicked a chair and sent it sliding several feet out of the way. He sank to his knees and yanked Jason into a hard embrace right there in front of God and everybody.

“Goddamn, man,” Ash murmured. “Goddamn.”

Jason stiffened and Ash let go. He sat back on his heels and studied Jason’s face, oblivious to the people watching them. Jason had turned to stone. No tears, no emotion. That worried Ash. He’d rather see Jason break down and cry, or listen to him shout about his brother being a drunken asshole. Ash caught Jason’s blue eyes flicking around the dining room and realized Grounds Zero wasn’t the place to prod Jase. Judging by the hot-red flush burning under the collar of Jason’s trademark Superman T-shirt, Ash had managed to embarrass the poor guy just by hugging him.

Ash got up and returned to his chair. “What can I do?”

“Well, Steve can’t drum.”

“Yeeaaahhh….”

“We have to find another drummer, Ash.”

“You called me down here to tell me that?”

“We only have a few weeks to find a new drummer for the band. We have to practice with whoever we hire. That’s kind of a big fucking deal.”

“But you don’t want to talk about your brother?”

“I sure don’t.”

Ash drained his coffee in several large gulps and motioned for the server. Pulling a twenty-dollar bill from a clip thick with them, he waved it at the kid. “If you can make two egg sandwiches magically appear, you can keep the change.”

The guy grinned at Ash and took the money, along with his empty mug.

Ash turned back to Jason. “I’m starving.”

“How many?”

“Just two, but they were frisky.”

“Someday, my friend, you will find the one girl who will be enough for you.”

Not unless she has a dick, Ash thought, but he just smiled at Jason and shrugged.

“So, a drummer,” Jason said. “I was hoping maybe you knew somebody up at CMU.”

“Yeah, dude, nobody I know would play in a wedding band for the summer.”

“Even with the kind of bread we pull down?” Jason looked skeptical.

“Most of ’em think I’m nuts for even singing with the Boys. Write it off to the band being a family business.” Ash turned pouty. “Shit, you know how many Adam Sandler jokes I put up with?”

They sat at the table, brooding together in silence. Thoughts of broken contracts, returned deposits, and hysterically upset brides filled Ash’s head. Jason was right: they had to find a drummer, and they had to find one fast.

“Oh, thanks, man.”

Ash took the two steaming sandwiches from the server. Jason somehow wasn’t surprised when he saw the guy also brought Ash another cup of specialty coffee and a big, sticky pastry covered with icing.

“You looked really hungry.” The server stood there fidgeting with his tray and staring at Ash the way everybody stared at Ash. Jason rolled his eyes, his mouth thinning.

“I am.” Ash eyed the server, who was, no doubt, as sweet as the pastry looked. “And I love cinnamon rolls. You must be psychic.” Ash raised the pastry to his mouth and took an enormous bite, covering his pouty lips in gooey, creamy white icing that he slowly licked away.

The server blushed and scurried off. Jason kicked Ash under the table, hard.

“What?” Ash asked, his mouth full of food.

“Asshole.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s sweet too.”

But what Jason heard was “Yah, abba swee thoo,” as Ash attempted to chew, swallow, and speak simultaneously.

“We’re fucked if we don’t find a drummer who can replace my asshole alcoholic brother and you’re sitting here spitting at me while you dick around with the faggot waiter.” Jason glared. “That’s not cool, man.”

“All I said was ‘Yeah, I have a sweet tooth!’ And stop insulting the server. Gay-bashing is so beneath you.”

Ignoring his roiling stomach, Ash finished the cinnamon roll and picked up an egg sandwich. Jason’s rude comments were the biggest reason Ash wasn’t out to the guys in the band or back home. Not that Ash considered himself gay. As much as he liked girls, he figured he fell nicely into the bisexual category. He didn’t expect to ever meet anybody, fall in love, and get married. He simply liked sex with guys way too much to swear off it for any girl, and vice versa.

Ash wiped his mouth with a napkin. His sexuality, and its semicloseted status, was an old personal hell. He had a new fresh hell to deal with, one that involved Jason and Steve Teague, known affectionately in the band as the Disaster Duo. Ash briefly closed his eyes in a silent bid for patience. The summer hadn’t even officially started and they were definitely living up to their nickname.

“What about down at Pitt?” Ash asked. “There have to be all kinds of drummers down there.”

“I’ve already posted notices on all the b-boards, put flyers up, and made a Craigslist ad. I asked the two guys who I knew I could stand to play with, and they both laughed at me.”

“Didn’t want to play in a wedding band, huh?”

“You got it.”

“You tell ’em they’d be making five a week, plus tips?”

“Oh yeah, and then they laughed harder.” Jason checked his phone. “Look, I have to go. My parents are at the hospital. My grandparents are watching my sisters. I promised I’d be back as soon as I could.”

“It’s cool, man. Is there anything I can do to help out?”

“If I get any bites on drummers, you may have to interview them. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back into the city.”

“I don’t know dick about rhythm sections. I’m a singer. I belt songs and shake my ass.”

“And you fuck catering crew girls.”

Ash winced and sipped his coffee. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Dude, it was my amp you slimed up.”

“That’s… crude, Jason. Really crude.”

“You didn’t have to clean it up.” Glancing up and seeing the server returning, Jason made a face and stood. “I’m ghost, yo. I’ll call you.”

“Tell Steve I’ll be down to see him.”

Jason loped out of the coffeehouse without looking back. After all, he could feel the warmth and radiance of Ash’s sun shining on his back all the way to his car. As much as he loathed admitting it, the sensation was comforting with so much unfamiliar happening.

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt. The Boys of Summer is the first book in the Dust & Ash Saga and is available now on Amazon and Smashwords. The second book is scheduled to come out in the spring; there are six books in all.

To celebrate the first release in the saga, I’m sponsoring a giveaway! There are three ways to enter: like my author page on Facebook, follow me on Twitter, or – if you’re already following me on FB and Twitter – leave me a comment about your favorite music to listen to at a wedding reception. I’ll be giving away three gift cards, and the winners will get to choose what they’d like to receive! Winners will be announced on my blog on September 30th.

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway
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Thanks once more to Raisa: for directing a critical eye to my work for so long, for supporting me from day one, and most of all, for a terrific dinner with dragons. You rock, lady! Thanks for hosting me and the Boys, and enjoy what’s left of the summer!

 

About Tucker McCallahan:

Tucker McCallahan has been lots of places, seen lots of things, and is still learning new stuff on the regular. Multi-published, bisexual, polyamorous, and slave to a big black cat named Emperor Inka, Tucker is also married, a parent, a long-time member of the LGBT community and a proud educator/activist.

World’s worst blogger

Whew! I’m really horrible at updating my blog. I’ve forgotten TWO freaking new releases – I’ll get to those in a minute.

Most of my interaction with my readers has been on Facebook because of its incredibly prolific reach. Unfortunately, Facebook is becoming much less friendly toward artists, writers, and anyone who doesn’t toe the party line.

Has anyone been wondering why you no longer see posts and feeds from groups, individuals, and pages you follow? That’s because Facebook is muting them unless the owner pays for ads. I don’t mind paying for ads. I’ve done it in the past, though I doubt I will again.

This is on top of their Draconian stance against posting anything that might be construed as sexual in nature. Meaning, there will be no more ads for books with a shirtless man on the cover. The author could still do an ad, but he or she wouldn’t be able to use the cover art.

I don’t like being censored. I don’t like being told what I can and cannot look at or share. I’m a grown-ass woman. Facebook does not get to tell me what is appropriate. I’ll still hang out on Facebook. I’m not leaving any time soon. BUT… I’m going to move most of my book release information, teasers, and buy links to MeWe.

It’s an open environment. I’m not going to be censored or have to worry about posting a picture that their algorithm might deem unsuitable. And quite frankly, I’m kind of done with Facebook’s bullshit. So… I’ve baked some cookies. Come join me on the dark side at https://mewe.com/i/raisa.greywood

Now, on to the fun stuff! I have TWO more releases this month! Check out my books page for more info. The Tiger King is available for preorder at all your fave locations, AND available now at Changeling Press. You can find the buy links under the books tab on this website.

And coming August 31, is Ladder 54. Maren Smith, Felicity Brandon, Adaline Raine, Isabelle Laase, and I have grouped up to give you FIVE filthy hot firefighter romances in one incredible boxed set. I will update links when they go live.

I think that’s about all I have for now. To my readers and fans, I love you. You make my world go round, dears.

Masters of the Castle: Witness Protection

Master’s of the Castle: Witness Protection Program

Where will you be when the bomb goes off?

Ten of your favorite BDSM authors. Eight brand new stories. One really, really bad man.

When Master Marshall gets an emergency phone call, he can’t believe his ears. His cousin, Grace, has become the only surviving witness to a terrible murder and she is refusing witness protection. Fortunately for her, as far as Marshall is concerned there is no place in the world safer than a medieval castle full of protective Doms.

Unfortunately for them all, the assassin hunting her from the shadows disagrees.

Coming – August 7

 

Controlling Carlie

BJ Wane

Nothing could’ve surprised Luke more than seeing the girl he’d sworn to protect at the Castle, perched on another Dom’s lap. Anger and jealousy urged him to intervene when Carlie’s stubbornness forced him to take her on as his sub for the weekend to honor his promise to her brother to keep her safe. It takes a possible threat followed by a misunderstanding to get Luke to see what’s been right before his eyes all along.

Harboring Holly

Raisa Greywood

Two years ago, Agent Flint Turner met his dream girl. The only good he’d ever done during his undercover assignment was to help her escape one of the most vicious criminals in FBI history.

After witnessing the murder of her best friend, Holly Dansen finds safety in The Castle. When she sees the killer and his henchman, she thinks her life is over, but is determined to protect her newfound family.

But Mario isn’t what he seems, and she doesn’t know what to believe. The chemistry is bubbling between them, but can she trust him to keep her safe?

BJ Wane

I live in the Midwest with my husband and our two dogs. I love dogs, enjoy spending time with my daughter, babysitting dogs and kids, reading and working puzzles. We have traveled extensively throughout the states, Canada and just once overseas, but I now much prefer being homebody. I worked for a while writing articles for a local magazine but soon found my interest in writing for myself peaking. My first book was strictly spanking erotica, but I slowly evolved to writing erotic spanking romance with a touch of suspense. My favorite genre to read is suspense.

Raisa Greywood

Raisa is an up and coming author of romance with a dark and naughty twist. Her heroes are sometimes flawed but always the alpha in the room, while her heroines are atypical and can take anything those bossy alphas dish out.

The one thing that Raisa most loves is tipping tropes on their ears and making fun of them. She also adores alliteration.

She’s lived all over the world but currently resides in the Midwestern United States with her husband, two irascible cats, and a big bay rescue horse.

BJ Wane

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3420232.B_J_Wane?from_search=true

Website: bjwane@cox.net

Blog: http://bjwane.blogspot.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/bj_wane

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/bj.wane

Raisa Greywood
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100015211865639
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Amazon https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B076FRRHT4
Books+Main Bites https://bookandmainbites.com/RaisaGreywood
Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/RaisaGreywood
Website www.raisagreywood.com

 

Bride to Keep

You are cordially invited to enjoy a brand-new release from the amazingly debauched brains of Alta Hensley and Maggie Ryan.

Coming MONDAY, June 25, but available for preorder right NOW, may I present Brides to Keep:  A dark reverse harem

 

Do you take these men?
To honor and obey from this day forth…

Stolen away by dangerous men on a mission.
Dark intentions I don’t understand yet cannot refuse.
Commanded to comply, obey, and serve in every way.

I am captured in a twisted world of not one man…
— but four.
With a pull stronger than anything I have ever known, I march down the aisle compelled to surrender to the darkness.

With these rings… I become their bride to keep.

*This is a standalone full-length dark reverse harem. Dirty taboo with not just one, but four. You may be afraid to walk down the aisle on this one.

https://amzn.to/2IaabMC

Character Interview

To make your Thursday a little brighter, here’s a character interview with Markon, the hero from Jaguar Knight, the final novella in the Shifter’s Mates series coming soon from Changeling Press.


“Welcome, everyone! Today, I have a special treat for my viewers. We’re coming to you live from the battle cruiser commanded by Warlord  Markon, who has graciously agreed to sit down with me and answer a few questions.”

I turn to face the imposing man across from me and watch the monitor as the audience grows exponentially. Everyone is interested in the Commander’s new mate.
“Thank you for joining us today, Commander. To start off, what kind of job do you have? This might help our human viewers understand you better.”
Markon leans back in his chair and smirks around a mouthful of popcorn. He finishes chewing and swallows, then sucks the salt from his fingers before speaking. “A job, you say? Do humans have such things? I suppose they must – and your job is to ask questions of others.”
He takes another few pieces of popcorn, but doesn’t eat them. He doesn’t smile, and his hard blue eyes under elongated eyebrows make me shiver. “Do you enjoy your job, Kate?”
“We’re not talking about me. Our viewers are interested in you.”
He picks up a brown bottle and takes a drink before tilting it in my direction. “Touché. I suppose one might call me a fixer.”
“I don’t understand what that means,” I say. “Can you elaborate?”
The smile falls from his face. “I take care of the messy things and make them neat. You humans have created a great deal of mess, but I must say I enjoy the challenge.”
Okay, then. “Let’s move on to the next question. Describe yourself in three words.”
He laughs and toasts me with his bottle. “Fucking nuts, around the bend, and batshit crazy. I believe those were terms used before humanity’s fall from grace.”
“Is that how you describe yourself, or how others describe you?” I ask.
“Does it matter?”
His expression is haunted, and he touches a finger to the tablet in front of him. I crane my neck to see the image, but he swipes it away before I can.
In a probably misguided hope that he will be more forthcoming, I ask, “Who is your love interest?”
The skin around his eyes crinkles as he smiles. “Soledad Martinez. You might know her better as ‘that fucking pirate’.”
“Tell us about your first kiss with Soledad.”
“Is it not customary to say please? We were taught all sorts of odd human customs, though. Perhaps I’m mistaken.”
“I—”
“Say ‘please, Commander’ and I might answer your question.”
I cross my legs. Markon makes me feel hunted, and I feel sorry for Soledad. “Please, Commander, tell me about your first kiss with Soledad.”
He grins, though his eyes remain cold. “That sounds so much better, little Kate.” Reaching across the table separating us, he takes my hand and drops a kiss into the center of my palm. “Our first kiss was against the side of my battle cruiser after we’d landed on Ximera.”
Laughing, he drops my hand. “I couldn’t decide whether to kiss her, fuck her, or spank her ass pink for making me chase her across the universe.” He leans back and takes a drink. “I did all three, of course, but that first kiss…”
He breaks off and I shuffle my notes to the next question. He speaks before I can ask it. “She tasted sweet and spicy, and her claws dug into my shoulders as I explored her with my tongue.” His voice softens and he glances down at the tablet. “It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”
Whoa. I shift in my seat, trying to hide my arousal. “List three things about Soledad that turn you on.”
“Soledad is…” He chuckles and looks away. “She’s in a league all her own, but three things, let’s see.” Taking another drink, he says, “She’s so damned beautiful, it hurts to look at her. When she threatened to eat me with hot sauce, it made me as hard as a fucking metal pipe. She’s deadly, mean as a snake, and I’ve never met a more fascinating female.”
I wonder if I should be interviewing Soledad. She sounds very interesting. Instead, I ask, “Do you like using sex toys?”
“Who doesn’t?”
Whuh. I’m speechless for a moment. When I find my words again, I ask, “Whipped cream or Marshmallow?”
“Are they like popcorn?”
“Not really, but they’re sweet.”
“Which one is better to drizzle over Soledad’s pussy?”
I am totally out of my league here. Ximerans are charming to a fault, and I always forget they aren’t human. “I’ll leave that for you to figure out. What’s one thing about Soledad that pisses you off?”
Markon scowls and slams his bottle down on the table. “She runs, and she’s a pain in my ass to catch.” He lifts his head to stare into the camera, letting pointed fangs protrude from beneath his upper lip. “But I will catch you, Soledad. And when I do, I’m going to blister your pretty ass for escaping.”

Open Letter to Jeff Bezos

Dear Mr. Bezos:
Mine is not the first letter you’ve received, nor will it be the last. Several authors, more knowledgeable and prolific than I am, have already sent you emails. I’m sure you’re tired of us.
I would certainly be tired of the constant caterwauling going on. But perhaps you’re so removed from the daily operations of the behemoth you’ve built that it doesn’t reach the hallowed halls of your office. And in this letter, I am addressing you, personally. This is your company, and ultimately your responsibility.
Authors, legitimate artists – are not the ones who messed up. We are not the ones who have created – and allowed to flourish – a system so utterly flawed that Amazon gives away millions of dollars per year to thieves.
Book stuffers – I’m sure you’ve heard the term. I’m not sure you could bloody well miss it if you’ve spent any time on Twitter recently. And I’m at a loss as to how this has gone on for so long under your very nose.
Think about it, Mr. Bezos. Have you ever read a 2,000-page book? Ever? Neither have I. The longest single title novel I have ever personally read without being forced to for a school assignment is Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged at a bit over one thousand pages. I highly recommend it. Maybe if you get an idea what a 1,000 page novel looks like, you’ll understand how ridiculous it is for a romance title to be that long.
But on Kindle Unlimited, there are books like Business & Pleasure (A Romance Compilation) at 2,132 pages, according to the book information. But this is okay, according to Amazon’s TOS, because the author has called it a compilation. The author is STILL making a fortune in pages read, still taking money away from honest authors who don’t recycle books between different compilations, and still gaming your system.
These scammers use honest authors as ‘beards’, for lack of a better word, to hide their activities. And contrary to every rule of logic in the known universe, your bots pick up on those pages read, instead of where they ought to be looking. Honest authors lose their payments, even in some cases losing accounts, without due process or appeal.
You have literally given the power to take away someone’s livelihood to a bot and an underpaid customer service rep who may not even read the report. And that, Mr. Bezos, IS theft. It is unconscionable, and quite frankly, you’re lucky you haven’t been sued. You demand exclusivity, which is fine – we all know what we sign up for when we put titles in Kindle Unlimited. Yet you offer nothing but a summary judgment if your asinine bot picks up something that might be totally honest. There is no recourse for an author in KU if one of his or her titles is pirated or used as a shield for someone else’s crime.
And trust me, most authors bend over backwards to keep their titles from being pirated. I’m not exactly sure how that fact hasn’t trickled down into Amazon’s corporate consciousness yet, but there it is.
Don’t even get me started on the unfathomable mess the review system has become. You penalize honest reviews, yet leave garbage to molder and call them fair.
Let’s move on. Cockygate, which I’m sure you’re quite aware of. It’s another symptom of your bloated, unwieldy, and frankly baffling corporate model. While I’m on the subject, did you ever read the book Going Postal by Terry Pratchett? Perhaps you should. Amazon is beginning to remind me of a Discworld post office. Clever man, Mr. Pratchett. You might find his work amusing. Or maybe not.
Back to Cockygate. What possessed you to pull titles with the word ‘cocky’ in the title for essentially handwritten C&D letters NOT from an attorney, based on an obviously bogus trademark that you HAD to have known would be challenged? Did it not occur to you that perhaps you should wait and see if someone legitimate protested those titles? Or maybe bide your time until the trademark was deemed to be valid in the courts?
Why not, Mr. Bezos? We’d love to hear those answers.
You’ve done a couple of things right, though. You got Chance Carter out and his books are gone. Kudos! There was a great deal of cheering for that. But there are dozens more where he came from. You put back the ‘cocky’ titles you erroneously removed. That’s wonderful! Did you also reimburse those author’s lost revenues? Well, it’s a good start, anyway. You also put the book stuffers on notice by requiring them to label their compilations.
I have a couple of suggestions, though I doubt it will ever be enough to fix the shambles that Kindle Unlimited has become.
Page limits – put page limits on anything in KU. The scamming will still go on, but give honest authors a fighting chance. We can’t compete in ads or in reaching the unattainable all-star bonuses when we’re up against book stuffers.
Disqualify compilations altogether, unless they’re boxed sets by multiple authors. This will probably cause a rise in the incidence of fake accounts, but it would be a start. Make it unprofitable to stuff books. Once the practice doesn’t pay out, it will stop. For that matter, disqualify the boxed sets, too. Nuking the site from orbit may indeed be the only way to be sure.
There should never be an instance where an account is closed or a book removed from Amazon without due process from humans. Amazon is not the morality police. You do not get to choose what people read. You should never forget that authors are why you exist. Without us, Amazon is nothing but a supermarket on steroids.
I’m sure other, more savvy authors, have more and probably better suggestions, but those are good for a start. As for me, I’m going to keep writing, but I will never put another indie title into Kindle Unlimited. I can’t afford the antacids.
Sincerely,
Raisa Greywood