Kindle Unlimited -- A Disaster.

I've written previously about Kindle Unlimited in a post called Damned if you do; Damned if you don't. It's actually worse than that. Kindle Unlimited has a history of being a great place for scammers to make money ... to the detriment of all legitimate authors.

Some of the scams:
1. in KU 1, where they paid for any book that a borrower read 10% of. Make the book so short that simply opening the book would trigger the payment.

Amazon countered with KU 2 where we get paid per page read.

2. publish a book that has 6000 or more [amazon ku] pages. Hire a 'click farm' to borrow your book and skip to the back, triggering full payment. A 'click farmer' might have many identities, all of which have a Kindle Unlimited account at Amazon. That 'farmer' will borrow the book on each account. If the payment per page is 1/2 a cent, each 'read through' will get the author $30. If the 'farmer' has 10 identities, he'll make the author $300 (less his commission). If the farm has 10 'farmers', the author gets $3000 (less commission). The 'book' will often have several novel-length books in it. The first is on the cover, the others are bonuses or just word salad.

3. (Relates to 2 above). Put several novels in one book, and then rotate them. In other words, Book one is called ABC and the novel ABC starts it, followed by the novel DEF, then GHI, etc. Then change the order and publish a second book with the novel DEF as the cover novel, followed by GHI etc, ending with ABC. Publish a third book with GHI as the cover and beginning novel. Now you have 10-6000 page books out there, and each 'farmer' will borrow all 10. The books themselves can be mostly garbage, unedited, uninteresting. The point is not to get sales, but borrows from the farmers.

Amazon countered by limiting the page count to 3000. Great. So now they limit the amount for a single borrow to $15.

4. Put up 3000 page books which have the same 4 or 5 paragraphs endlessly repeated. Hire the farmers again. I once found 40 of those books up -- and all in the top 100 'Movers and Shakers' list because of the borrows. I reported them to Amazon -- and a more frustrating 'chat' exchange, I've never had. I was shifted through 5 or 6 different persons. The books were taken down -- 'Good job, Doug,' you might think. Others promptly took their place, and I reported those, too -- by email this time, only to get the admonition that I should have gone through 'chat'.

There are more scams, but I'm tired of writing about them. There's a blog by David Gaughran. I recommend you go to it and read it.

These are some of the reasons many writers are disappointed and discouraged. Not only does Amazon allow KU to be scammed, reducing the amount legitimate authors get, but they're teaching their customers that books are worth essentially nothing ($10 per month for an unlimited supply). I find it very discouraging.

David Gaughran's blog:

On Friday, a book jumped to the #1 spot on Amazon, out of nowhere; it quickly became obvious that the author had used a clickfarm to gatecrash the charts.

The Kindle Store is officially broken.

This is not the first time this has happened and Amazon’s continued inaction is increasingly baffling. Last Sunday, a clickfarmed title also hit #1 in the Kindle Store. And Amazon took no action.

Over the last six weeks, one particularly brazen author has put four separate titles in the Top 10, and Amazon did nothing whatsoever. There are many such examples.

I wrote at the start of June about how scammers were taking over Amazon’s free charts. That post led to a phone conversation with KDP’s Executive Customer Relations.

Repeated assurances were given that the entire leadership team at Amazon was taking the scammer problem very seriously indeed. But it was also stressed that the problem wasn’t quite as bad as I was making out, and that this stuff never hits the charts and remains largely invisible to customers.

I explained in detail how none of those contentions were true, that readers are leaving angry reviews under these books, which regularly hit the charts, and further that KDP has singularly failed to act on 18 months-worth of complaints.

Amazon asked me to compile more information for them – and I did that with a report submitted on Wednesday.

Read the rest at:

https://davidgaughran.wordpress.com/2017/07/15/scammers-break-the-kindle-store/#more-4447 

Now, I'm going to try to break through my discouragement and get back to writing -- something I'm finding more and more difficult to do.

 Live the joy, my friends.

PS: Here's my 'chat' with Amazon:

Me: I have discovered a group of books in the Amazon KU catalog which are scam books. They have the same paragraph or group of paragraphs repeated endlessly. There are several 'authors' and all use a selection of the same images for the covers. All are in the 'movers and shakers' list. A few of them use the names of actual authors, but most don't. they seem to have 5 books per account.

You are now connected to Taylor from Amazon.com
9:26 PM Taylor: Hello, my name is Taylor. I'm here to help you today.

9:27 PM Me: Wonderful. I'd prefer to send the message by email but this program doesn't seem to allow it.
9:28 PM Taylor: Let me transfer you to our Kindle specialist. Just a moment. They will be able to assist you further.

9:28 PM Me: Thank you.

A Customer Service Associate will be with you in a moment.

You are now connected to Mohd from Amazon.com

9:32 PM Mohd: Hello, my name is Mohd. Please give me a moment to review the previous correspondence.
9:33 PM A member of our Retail team will be the perfect person to help you with this. Let me connect you to a member of our Retail team. It will only take a moment.

A Customer Service Associate will be with you in a moment.
You are now connected to Shandean from Amazon.com

9:35 PM Shandean: Hello, my name is Shandean. Please give me a moment to review the previous correspondence.
9:36 PM I'm seeing these are Kindle books. Please hold while I have you transferred to our Kindle team.

A Customer Service Associate will be with you in a moment.
You are now connected to ShanmugaDass from Amazon.com

9:36 PM ShanmugaDass: Hello, my name is ShanmugaDass. Please give me a moment to review the previous correspondence.

9:39 PM Thank you for waiting.
I'm sorry to hear about the trouble you had with Kindle content.
9:40 PM We appreciate your bringing that Kindle content issue to our attention.

9:40 PM Me: There are 8 different authors, each with what appear to be 5 scam books. All are in the 'movers and shakers list"

9:41 PM ShanmugaDass: So in this case we will need to file a ticket, so A Kindle Specialist is the best person to help you with this. Please wait while I transfer this chat.

A Customer Service Associate will be with you in a moment.
You are now connected to Kamal from Amazon.com

9:41 PM Kamal: Hello my name is Kamal. I am a part of Amazon Kindle Technical Specialist team. I'll certainly try to help regarding your concern.

9:42 PM Me: I'd just like an email address where I can send the list of what appear to be scam books.

9:43 PM Kamal: Please allow me a minute.
9:49 PM I'm sorry to keep you waiting. It'll just be a moment longer.
9:52 PM Douglas, May I know did you purchased or borrowed the book under your amazon account?

9:53 PM Me: No, I neither purchased nor borrowed any of these books. I came across them (about 40) in the 'movers and shakers' list, and opened a few of each using "Look Inside".
9:54 PM They looked designed to take advantage of the Kindle Unlimited system. 

9:55 PM Kamal: Thanks for your valuable concern Douglas,
In this case a member of our Concerned team will need to help you with this. Please hold while I transfer you. One of our Concerned Specialists will assist you shortly.

A Customer Service Associate will be with you in a moment.
You are now connected to Jesse from Amazon.com

9:56 PM Jesse: Hello, my name is Jesse and I'll be helping you today

9:56 PM Me: Wonderful

9:58 PM Jesse: I hope you are well. I'll do my best to help. So just to confirm, you'd like to report fraudulent Kindle books on our website?

9:58 PM Me: Books that I suspect are fraudulent, yes.

9:59 PM Jesse: I see. May I please have a few minutes to research this issue?

9:59 PM Me: Have at it.

10:04 PM Jesse: Thanks for waiting Douglas. I do appreciate your patience. So on the website, when you open the page of the book, if you scroll down further, you'll see a section "Feedback" , do you see that?

10:05 PM Me: Yes, and I did that for two of the books, but there are 40 of them.
10: 06 PM 5 each from 8 different "authors"

10:07 PM Jesse: I see. I will submit the feedback on your behalf then. This will get sent to the appropriate people within the company and we will investigate this issue

10:08 PM Me: Can I email a list of the suspected books/authors to someone? Note that three of the author names are the same as legitimate authors whom I doubt know anything about this.

10:09 PM Jesse: You can. Send it to cs-reply@amazon.com

10:09 PM Me: Thank you. I'll do that. Appreciate the help. Doug.

10:09 PM Jesse: Is there anything else I may do to help?

10:09 PM Me: Nope. That should do it. Thanks again.

10:10 PM Jesse: Thank you for contacting the Amazon Customer Service Chat Team, enjoy the rest the week ahead! Please don't forget to click on " End Chat "
Jesse from Amazon.com has left the conversation.

Melting Snow ... and a new book

Not With A Whimper: Destroyers has now gone live on Amazon. It's the second of the NWAW series. Can I really call it a series when the books run concurrently? Can you have a concurrent series, or is that an oxymoron?

I had a very difficult time with this book, matching the dates and events to those already established in Not With A Whimper: Producers. I really don't look forward to repeating the process in the remaining book(s) of the series. After I'm finished, remind me to never do this again.

Tough jobs like the above seem to age me. I feel older, more tired than I did in my younger days. Perhaps that's why I have an old man in the book recalling his own younger days, though not with joy. Old Paulo says that in his time of military service he created enough regrets to last him a lifetime, his memory triggered by a conversation.

My own memory recently got triggered, but not by a conversation. I was walking in Central Park in New York (on vacation) and water tumbled over rocks in a stream making its very distinct sound. It took me back to where I grew up, when the winter's snow began melting, and the runoff in the streets, ditches, and alleyways tumbled over ridges of slushy snow and gravel. The sound transported me back to where, as a child I and my friends would make little dams of snow, trapping pools of water, then put our feet through the dams, allowing the built-up 'lakes' to flow once more.

The air felt fresh, clear, and crisp. We wore not the parkas of just a month previous, but sweaters and light jackets. The world seemed to be returning to life after the long winter's slumber. And the sound of the water running and tumbling symbolized that.

There I stood, lost in the memory of so many years ago. I now live on the West Coast, and we don't get that much snow. The seasons down here don't have the sharp delineation that they seemed to have up north, and I miss that.

I suppose that, sooner or later, in some book I shall write of a character listening to the music of the melting snow.

But, for now, I'll rejoice in another book published, and hope that those who pick it up will enjoy it. My period of rejoicing, alas, will be limited. With that book out of the way, the next in line begins to demand attention, and it will be back to the old grindstone.

Live well, my friends, and make memories you'll cherish.

Not With A Whimper: Destroyers

Duty.

One man's "duty" is another man's "mutiny". Major Karl Müller of the European Treaty Organization (ETO) walks a fine line as his squadron of shuttle-fighters prepares to meet any enemy in Earth's Last Battle. His orders are to commit what many would consider a war crime -- an attack on a helpless civilian space station. But if they have to face the powerful United States of North America, chances are most of the squadron will not survive long enough to launch from their Azores base -- in which case the question become moot. But Müller can't count on death giving him the easy way out.

On the other side of the Atlantic, USNA Sergeant Frank Jensen views the near future with equal desperation. He and 39 fellow "volunteers" have failed Colonel Westorn's brainwashing course, and if the Colonel cannot successfully finish their indoctrination, he intends to finish them in another way. Jensen believes his group's only chance is to escape to one of the colony worlds, where Westorn won't be able to find them. That spells desertion, but his duty to himself and his comrades drives him forward.  However, he sees no chance of them getting into space without help, and dying here on Earth appears the only alternative. He knows his people won't go down easily, but wonders what use Colonel Westorn has for soldier-fanatics.

Throw scientist Christine Burnett, aghast at what the perversion of her sleep-learning program has done, and the powerful Yrden Family into the mix, and you know that the world will end not with a whimper, but a bang.

Repository of Memories

Anyone who has undertaken a “spring cleaning” will well know the torn feeling as the old ratty chair, which no one sits on any longer because of the broken coil that pokes the unwary, goes into the pile of  “discards”. Still more – especially men, it seems, though I don’t know why this should be so – will nod in companionable silence as one of their buddies mentions the wrenching loss that trading in the old clunker causes. If it gets sent to the bone yard, that’s even worse. Hell, I even wrote an obituary for my 1991 Chevy S10.

However, when it comes right down to it, the chair, the old Chevy or – in this case – the place where I used to work really don’t warrant the emotions that leaving them behind, or watching them get disposed of, causes.

Most anyone else seeing “Old Rusty” (my S10) wouldn’t even give it a thought, as they watched it getting towed to the junk yard. And, I wouldn’t either, had I not driven it for 9 years. Anyone else seeing the empty building where I worked until yesterday won’t particularly notice that the restaurant is gone – unless they had some sort of tie to it, ordered food from it.

The old ratty chair, the old clunker, the old school, the old town, or whatever, mean nothing much by themselves. However, they don’t just consist of their parts, they become repositories of memories.

Occasionally, when I looked to the back stairs leading to the rear exit of the take-out pizzeria where I worked, I recall seeing Gord there. Gord wasn’t a friend of mine – hell, I don’t even recall once seeing him outside of work – but he was a fellow employee, and we did share some laughs. He had his good points and his bad points, as do we all, and he occasionally got on my nerves. Gord died about 15 years ago. The only thing that brings back his memory is the physical space that we shared – the restaurant. Will I remember him again now that I no longer see the environment where he at one time was a familiar fixture? Will I remember Tom, another driver? He died about 10 years ago. Outside of the pizzeria, we had nothing in common.

See, the landlords of the building where I work – worked – want to tear it down and put up something different. So, my boss got notice – one month – to vacate the premises. Yesterday, I worked my last shift. That’s 25 years of going to the same building, doing the job, and returning home, creating memories. And the building – along with its accoutrements – has become a handy repository of those memories.

Yesterday, I packed up my personal possessions – we all know how they tend to populate any place where we go – and they, too, have have become repositories in their own right. My mother bought me the calculator I used – bought it back in 1981 when I had just graduated from a First Aid/Timekeeping course and landed a job out in the woods using those skills. I had need of the calculator, and she gifted me with it. I brought it home from the restaurant with me, not because it has any intrinsic worth, but because it was a gift from my mother who died in 2002. I look at the calculator, and I recall her and her wishes for her children to succeed at whatever they tried. I recall working at the camp out in the boonies, and I will now recall totalling up orders.

Each of those recollections will bring others along with them to the gathering. Recalling the camp where I worked brings back memories of the people whom I met there, the dangers I faced in our workboat during the storm when our dock broke free, and I had to take the boat to the other side of the inlet in waves high enough that watchers from shore would lose sight of it when it slipped into the troughs.

It brings back memories of the other guy who accompanied me. He hated that boat because the foreman didn’t know how to use the trim-tabs properly. He thought that he would only be on board for the time it took me to take the boat from one side of the dock to the other. Then the dock broke free and we had nowhere to go. When I told him what we were going to do – cross the inlet to a dock on the other side a few miles away – he asked me to go close to shore and he would jump in and swim the rest of the way back to camp. It was October, and the water was forking cold! I didn’t allow that. We made it, but there was one moment – when a minor squall hit – that I thought we might not.

And all this from seeing the calculator, a repository of memories, my memories.

The pizzeria had its good points and its bad points. But, yesterday, I watched it die. We knew that last night would be the end and had tried to have only enough food left for the day. When we ran out of cheese to make pizzas, we closed the doors and stopped taking orders. Then, I began packing up my possessions to take them home, sorting through the things to go into the garbage, to go to recycling, to be packed up and kept by the owner. The other drivers, who didn’t work last night, showed up, and each received goodies that couldn’t be kept, perishables. We emptied and then turned off the pizza cooler. The fans that had worked more or less continuously for the last 29 years went silent.

That silence really brought it home for me. This was the end. Unfortunately, I’ll be back there tomorrow to help with the clean up and dismantling of various things. Thus, I really get to see the place die. Better, by far, to finish the last shift and walk away, never to return. That way, the final memory of the place is of a working concern. Now, my final memories will be of the place empty, bereft of that which made it what it was. Now, I’ll be able to recall empty shelves, silent coolers, cold ovens.

Those are not the good memories, the fun memories. The memories of working beyond what we thought we were capable of, the memories of listening to the oldies station, of watching WWE Wrestling late at night, of laughing and joking and sharing triumphs and sorrows – those are the memories that I wish to keep. Now, I’ll have other, bitter memories to go with them.

And that’s why I never wanted to return to my hometown after my family left it. I was 16 at the time. And until I did go back 20 years later, my hometown continued to live in my memory as it was in 1972. Intellectually, I knew that all had changed, that my friends of the time had grown up and started families or moved away, that my teachers had probably mostly retired. 

But in my thoughts, I could still see them as they were, going to school, playing, riding bicycles. Returning ruined a lot of that. I still have those memories, but the later reality impinges on them. Yes, I ran through those woods playing Cowboys and Indians with my friend as a child; we picked wild strawberries there. I can still recall that, but I now KNOW that the woods are gone, replaced by housing; I know this from experience, not just as data that someone passed on to me. I saw it for myself. And the last house we lived in before moving away has also gone. A Dairy Queen now flaunts its wares where my home used to sit. A repository now destroyed, just as the restaurant will soon disappear forever – even to the building it resided in.

I used to work up in the Arctic on the DEWLine. Intellectually, I know that the stations, where I worked, have been dismantled. But I didn’t see that happen, and I haven’t been back to see the result. I got laid off from a still-functioning station. Thus, for me, they still exist, employees walk the halls, and operators watch the radar screens. They still exist, waiting for me to come off of my leave and take up my position and duties once more. (I still dream of them on a regular basis.)

I have pictures, video, and other repositories of memories to aid me in keeping the DEWLine alive.

However, all is not a loss, for the experience of seeing the pizzeria die will get transformed in my mind, and something similar will come out in my writing. Hopefully, readers will nod their heads – at least figuratively – and note that the author’s words have a certain authenticity to them.

Right now, though, I’m feeling nostalgic for a place that I alternately loved and hated, a place that only yesterday lived, a repository of memories.

Stress of the Unknown

STRESS

My day job is coming to an end this month. I’ve known about this for several months – just not the actual date – and this has added a little stress to my life.

Now, as the final days march by, I’m coming to terms with it – actually looking forward to the end. Ends usually portend new beginnings. Knowing the actual date allows one to plan. I’ve found that lack of knowledge in this matter produces stress all out of proportion to the event itself.

My job on the DEWLINE ended in 1992. A new system (NORTH WARNING SYSTEM) was taking over our operation, and the DEWLINE was shutting down in stages as the NWS came online. I went up at the end of June, knowing that my proposed lay-off date was three weeks later. People leaving the DEWLINE went south on a Wednesday. Those laid-off would receive word a week in advance. If you didn’t get your official lay-off notice when the plane came in on the Wednesday or Thursday, you know that you wouldn’t be going out the following Wednesday, and thus had at least two weeks left.

I didn’t get my notice the date I expected to, so I had at least two more weeks up there instead of the one. The next week, of course, I figured I’d get my notice, prepared for it, etc. But it didn’t come that week, either. And it didn’t come for another 4 or 5 weeks. But every Wednesday, I’d expect it, and be ready for the axe to fall. Let me tell you, a reprieve wasn’t much of a reprieve. The delay was worse than the notice. When I finally got the notice, I felt such a sense of relief.

Somewhat the same thing happened this year. My employer’s landlord wants to tear down our building. We received 30 days notice at the end of January. But my boss said he would fight for a longer notice, so I didn’t know if I’d lose my job at the end of February or not. At the end of February, we got the reprieve – but only one more month.

My boss may or may not reopen. He may retire. But, for now, I KNOW. My job ends at the end of the month. It’s a relief. Now, at last, I can make some solid plans, not tentative ones. Funny how becoming unemployed can actually reduce stress, eh?

For the moment, I figure I’ll have a little more time to write and be in a better mood to write.

At this time, I’ve just finished my preliminary edit of “Not With A Whimper: Destroyers”. I just need to go over it again and then do my usual 5 or 6 rereads, making sure that I’ve left no continuity errors or typos. Then it’s off to my proofer who will find about five dozen mistakes. (I think she puts them in and then ‘finds’ them in order to make herself look good. I just don’t know how she inserts them into MY copy, too. She’s probably a hacker – though it appears that I know more about computers than she does. She’s tricky, so it could all be a ploy.) See NEWS for an update on my writing.

Anyway, I thank you for your patience, and hope you take a look at “Destroyers” when it comes out.