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I’ve had exactly one job that I liked in my entire life. It was back in 2017 when I was a receptionist at a refugee center. Working there had me feeling things I never felt at work: joy being the biggest and most unfamiliar I've ever felt at a place of work. Also I was learning a lot, and most importantly I liked working when I was there. Then Trump won and true to his bigoted campaign promises, one of his first acts as president was implementing a refugee ban which cut the number of allowed refugees and immigrants in half. He was inaugurated in January 2020. By February 2nd I had been laid off along with a handful of other coworkers.

I bring this up because finding out that my publisher would be quitting the industry and that as of July my books would be delisted from all purchasing sites felt exactly like when I lost my job due to the trump administration. I felt like all the hard work I put over the years, the reviews I painstakingly collected, this identity I cultivated, they were all stolen from me. And what did I have to show for it? In my old job’s case, some paystubs. In my writing career’s case, I had a shattered ego.

Intellectually, I couldn’t blame anyone Publishing isn’t a lucrative industry for no-names, especially for indie presses who take chances on less marketable book ideas like , say, a comedic horror about an abusive grandma using the ghost of a war criminal and horse demons to manipulate her granddaughter into going to her funeral.

Publishing is business and a logical business decision was made. Why wouldn't my publisher quit when the payout rates are low and they’re only getting a quarter of the pennies I make? Why wouldn’t they cut their losses? They had a right to make that decision the same way I had a right to make the decision to monetize my writing when I could’ve kept what I was doing and write for myself.

But then the news came. Suddenly my love for art wasn’t good enough.

Suddenly I felt like a fool and not a fool who makes jokes like how I always seen myself but the fool who is the joke.

I spent 2 days crying about this loss. Then today I woke up and the world was orange.

A wildfire out of Canada had turned the skies of New York into a bonfire.

The world’s on fire. And I am crying about my books.

Refugees run into oceans because it’s safer than being on land. And I was crying over a minimum wage job.

This isn’t a long post to say oh humans aren’t allowed to cry over little things because of +insert global catastrophe+ it’s a long post to say that I am excited to start over with the Grimy and the Greedy. I’ve decided I’m going to rewrite The Grimy and The Greedy and self-publish it under my own name in the fall of 2023.

One thing I noticed in my grieving was that even though i'm extremely proud of the Grimy and the Greedy, there was a lot of valid criticisms that I would like to address moving forward. My big goal, and the point of this post, is to announce that I will be starting rewrites for the Grimy and the Greedy. My biggest flaw as a writer is my underwriting tendencies and one thing I would like to do is to add 100 more pages to the story. I want to expand on PJ’s story along with how they were summoned, Affidious’ relationship with the monster, their mother, and his working relationship with Jeanette. I also want to give it a cool 2nd edition cover but I'll announce that further on.

I’m excited to begin revisions mostly because I missed Affidious (yes, he’s a scumbag but he’s my scumbag) and I would love to visit him, Fizzy, and Dr. Dixon again. I’ve been taking the last few years to focus on my own mental health, but you can mental well your way out of climate change or white supremacy so might as well get back to writing while the air is still breathable.

Stay grimy.

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