Good morning, my book loving friends!
And what a wonderful morning it is! The sun is out, I've got my nice, big cup of iced coffee in hand, the birds are chirping, and....
Oh, hell to the motherf*cking no! Again? For real? You've got to be kidding me!
Yep. Again. The Plagiarism Plague strikes again, folks, sending out another one of it's trolls to f*ck an author. Hard. Really, really f*cking hard. And let me tell you, with this one there was no lube used, babes. None. Nada. Zilch. The Plagiarism Plague just clawed it's way up from the pits of Hell and reared it's ugly head, pushing it's way in dry and unexpected.
Who does that? Like, seriously. Who in the everloving f*ck steals the work of another author to make it their own? I mean, didn't you play as a child? Did you never use your imagination to come up with some pretty kick ass things to do as a little human? I know I did! Hell, I used to make mud pies and tried to sell them. Albeit my mother was the only one who would buy them, bless her heart. I made dirt roads in the ground, making my own towns out of boxes and leaves and zoomed around Dirtville with my little brother's Hot Wheels. Hell, I even went as far as to play Barbies by myself. And let me tell you, Barbie and Ken did things that would make a whore blush! Shhhhh...say nothing about that little detail. I was nine! Give me a break!
So you have no imagiation of your own I'm assuming? Okay. Fine. But where in coming to that realization did you even think that it was okay to steal someone else's work? You NEVER EVER steal from an author! That is just as bad as stealing a woman's vibrator or a man's favorite porno. You could lose fingers over that sh!t! And besides, the book community is a tight band, a force to be reckoned with. At least for me it is. It's kind of like that f*cking pair of jeans in that traveling pants movie. Once something happens to one author, about a sh!t ton more find out. Once one finds out, the next one gets wind of it and so on. THE JEANS ALWAYS COME BACK, PEOPLE! STAY AWAY FROM THE F*CKING JEANS! THEY DO NOT FIT YOU! THEY WERE NEVER MEANT TO BE YOURS!
You are not safe. There are sharks in that water and I am one of them. We might smile and bat a few eyelashes, but we are always there, always watching, and we will always have each others backs no matter what.
And beware, because we bite. Hard. Really f*ucking hard, and we leave marks.
So my suggestion to all those would-be plagiarists out there is to think twice before you snatch up someone's book baby and try as you might to make it your own because you might find yourself and your would-be career, shot to sh!t in a matter of minutes.
S.L. Romines lives in a small town in Central California, and if you blink you just might miss it. She resides on a ranch with her family which she lovingly refers to as the funny farm. Between getting dish pan hands, listening to three bickering teenagers, pretending that she’s a gourmet chef (her family would like to disagree), and trying to tune out the sound of twenty-seven deranged Guinea fowl, somehow she finds the time to write about crazy characters that even make her laugh till she cries.
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