What does surprise me is the reaction people have when he quite reasonably objects.

“It’s just a picture. Let it go,” is what one person’s comment boils down to. Another basically said, “You should be glad people want to steal your work! Lots of artists can’t get any notice.”

Oh really. So if I just take, oh, $20 out of your wallet because I like the way you add up numbers at your accountant job, that’s okay with you?

I’m not one of the militants. I think DRM sucks, and I believe in the Baen Free Library and loaning books, even e-books, to friends. (Haven’t done it, but I think it’s a good idea.) If, when I find a publisher, they don’t suggest posting at least the first three chapters for free, I plan to suggest it. I think it helps to build a readership.

But you can believe any bit of my work anywhere had better have my name on it. I see that stuff as advertising, and I believe it works, because every book I’ve read on the Baen Free Library (not every book I started, some I didn’t like) I have bought. David Weber has a lot of Honor Harrington books, and I didn’t notice them until he was a bunch of books into the series. Think I would have hunted them down if On Basilisk Station hadn’t kept me glued to my chair for hours on end, reading online till my eyes jiggled?

Advertising. Marketing. Good thing.

Theft. Bad thing. Taking Ryan’s work–and yes, this is his livelihood, the way he pays to put food in the mouths of his family–and posting it here, there, and everywhere because it’s pretty is theft. Not even putting his name on it makes it ten times worse. And then others add insult to injury, telling him to be glad that people are stealing his work?

It goes back to the incredibly stupid idea that artists should not expect to get paid. Well, I’m all for that–as soon as you find me a rich patron who will provide my every want (but they don’t get to tell me what to create.) I will create for free all day long–so long as my every need and at least some of my wants are taken care of.

But then, that sort of looks like getting paid.

The plan was to call tonight and see if they had anything going for Thursday. Not yet the holiday, no pressure, I’ll bring dinner. No worries, just some catching up.

Damn it.

I ranted elsewhere (safely, to friends, who will not post my words where they might be…ahem…found.)

But yes.  Off to drink, now.  And maybe then I’ll read some boy-smut.  Or watch Aliens and imagine certain people in place of those getting ripped apart.

One good thing happened at work, though.  I finally connected my truant student and my police officer.  24 excused absences, added to 17 unexcused, equals 42 days missed of 111 this year.

But we’re f*cking assholes, according to mom.  She’s going to homeschool her little angel.

Please?