We’re all so familiar, aren’t we? A little family or clan… as incestuous as the historical English monarchy.
Not that the current Prince Harry doesn’t have a great butt, he does. Hey, as far as I’m concerned he can play strip pool all he wants. I blame his bodyguards for not confiscating all the cell phones. Idiots.
As the spare he can afford to take on the role of playboy, just like his namesake – Harry Tudor… Henry VIII, who was not the original heir to the throne. His brother, Arthur, was the heir, but alas, he died young and so the golden boy of Europe, the cutie pie, the fun-loving Harry, got stuck with the job. Look what happened to him. Went from beloved golden boy to royal wife head-chopper-off-er.
Let that be a lesson to you!
But I digress. My point is this – Henry VIII married his cousins. Yes he did indeed-ily do-dily. Every one of his wives was a relative, some more distant than others. Most of the royal families of Europe are/were the products of inbreeding. Which is why they have so many weird-ass diseases (recessive genes).
But I have another point, a more to the point, point. We authors are a small incestuous clan. No, we don’t all know each other nor do we all talk to each other all the time. But just as we are incestuous, so are book bloggers – and there has been some overlap. Not so nice overlap.
Familiarity breeds contempt.
Bloggers want free books. Authors want reviews and promo. Quid pro quo? You scratch my back I’ll scratch yours? Doesn’t always work that way, does it. A statement, not a question.
I respect and appreciate my fans. Period. I write for my fans and for myself. Period. I’ve become close friends with some reviewers and bloggers and while I may send them books as gifts, I don’t expect or demand a review in return.
I’ve come to the conclusion we, authors and reviewers/book bloggers, would be better off if we maintained a reasonable and respectful distance from each other. This incestuous relationship is not healthy – brings out the those nasty recessive traits in both parties.
And I won’t even get into the chicken and the egg argument, as in who started it. That’s a mine field for damn sure.
I’m not telling anyone what to do. Remember, I hate giving advice, although I will remind you to eat your veggies and get plenty of fresh air (be on guard for yellow jackets).
But I think there’s something to be said for ye olde author holed up in a quaint dusty garret, minding her own business, keeping things on the down-low, and simply writing.
I miss the mystique. I miss the romance.
We’re all too… too… ewwww… married or something – and when you’re so enmeshed divorce is messy. Just ask good King Harry. Messy.