Category: Books

Ya Gotsta Get Paid: E-Book Sales in America, For Non-Americans

Stefanie Snider

If you’ve found your way here, you just might be a writer. You might be thinking of joining the glamorous world of e-book publishing.

If you wanna make this easy, make sure you’re from the States. Sell stories. Get paid. File your taxes. Boom! You’re done.

If you wanna make it interesting, be from anywhere else.

Welcome to the wild world of cross-border taxes. Exciting, no?

When I first started publishing, I knew I’d have to pay the Tax Man. No problem, I’ll worry about it later, it’s no big deal. But what I didn’t know, and you may not either, is that unless you file the correct paperwork with American-based publishers (Amazon, Smashwords, and the like), they’ll be withholding taxes from your sales right off the top. How does 30% sound? That’s money going to the IRS before you’ve ever seen it. Then, when you get your cheque, guess what? You’ll be paying MORE tax, this time to your own country.

The good news? If you’re in a country that has a tax treaty with the US, you can reduce or even eliminate withholding.

Now, you might be writing “for yourself”, with nary a thought of filthy lucre tainting your artistic dreams. How lovely. But if you don’t want any of your money, why are you selling in the first place?

Let’s be real.

So, what do you need? You’ll need to send a W-8BEN form to your publishers. And before you can file that, you’ll need an ITIN (takes up to ten weeks to get your number). And before you can file that, you’re gonna need a notarized copy of your identification: a passport works well here. Expect that to take another ten days. And the kicker is that the government doesn’t really walk you through the forms. (Though I remember reading that you can call a long-distance number for help, or contact your embassy…)

Luckily, I found someone who’s written up some great instructions, but before I tell you where to find them you need to know that neither she nor I are legal-types in any way. If you’re filing these forms yourself and you need more help, I’m afraid you’re on your own. Sorry ’bout that.

Good? Good.

Go here for ITIN instructions, and here for help with the W-8BEN. Again, I can’t promise anything definitive, but I can say that I used Angela’s instructions successfully.

E-publishing can be tough; don’t make it any tougher by giving away your hard-earned dollars.

Excerpt: “Annabelle”, a Horror Story

Stefanie Snider

I never really loved that child.

I mean, she was an easy birth. And when she got a little older, and I could start putting little bows and ribbons and things on her, she was cute enough.

But I knew right from the start she was evil.

It wasn’t one of those things you could see easily. Hell, I had a hard enough time seeing it myself.

When we’d go out to the market, she’d be sweet as pie. All the old women would come over and tug on those blonde ringlets. They’d caw like ravens and pinch at her cheeks. She’s got these dimples, see, that make the little grannies just about weep with adoration.

I used to tell those biddies they could take her home with them, if they loved her so much. They always giggled from behind their dentures and shook their smiling heads. I wish, just once, that one of them had realized I wasn’t kidding.

I caught the first hints of the demon in her when she’d cry out in the night. Most children, see, they wail. Their little chests suck in all the air they can hold and force it back out, loud as a foghorn through the darkness. Annabelle was different. She hissed. It sounded like a basketful of snakes let loose in her room.

I started turning down the baby monitor. Then I shut it off. Before long, I was closing her door and sleeping with a pillow over my head.

Of course I took her to the doctor; what kind of mother do you think I am? He checked her front and back and upside down and said there wasn’t a damned thing wrong with her. I wanted her to startle at his touch, to cry out so he could hear what I’d heard. She sat there instead, half a hand shoved in her mouth, and the doctor didn’t suspect a thing.

So I bundled her up against the Fall wind and wheeled her back home in her stroller. The strangers we passed all cooed at her. I think that was part of her witchcraft, being able to fool them all like that. They didn’t feel what I felt…

There’s something different about Annabelle. Something unsettling. Something…demonic.
Mommy’s little monster is here.

Annabelle, short horror from Stefanie N Snider

Available now at Amazon

“Feed”, a Horror Excerpt

Stefanie Snider

He’s got that look in his eyes again, the one that only brings trouble. “Buddy,” I warn him, “cool it.”

I know he can hear me, at least on some level, but the part of him I can see is all glassy eyes and stiff body. He’s just like a hound, when he gets like this, and I get that feeling in my gut again. I know something’s going down, and soon.

My brother bobs his head absently to the music from the juke. It’s some of that C&W bullshit he’s always playing on the truck radio. I can’t stand it, myself, all heartbreak and such. Life has enough problems, believe you me, without adding more.

I know all about that.

Buddy’s leaning forward on his stool a little. His massive gut pushes up against the high table but he don’t seem to notice. The bar’s crowded tonight, men drinking off the week. Some came with their own woman. Some came with another man’s.

I get that feeling, and I know he’s seen her.

Her: he doesn’t know her name yet. Might not ever find it out. Don’t matter. She’ll be pretty and brunette. She’ll be drinkin’ like a fish. She’ll be alone, and that’s the part that matters. Buddy knows enough to know that if he’s gonna do what I think he’s gonna do, he’s got to be selective.

He had a close call that one time; closer than I like to remember. I saved his ass when maybe I shouldn’t have but at least the big dummy learned from it.

Then I see her through the crowd. She’s got long brown ringlets, and she’s dressed all in Cowboy, like this is some kinda costume party. Big ol’ mug of beer in one hand, too-high boots on her feet. She’s wobbling, bumping into people, looking at them like they’re the ones not watching their step.

My stomach turns liquid and I worry I might crap myself, right here on this stool in the middle of Corey’s.

“That’s her,” Buddy says, his voice raspy and low.

“No, man. Don’t.”

“She’s the one,” he says, and he’s gone, the stool rocking on half its legs behind him.

“Shit,” I say. I toss the rest of my beer down my throat. I have time for that, at least.

By the time I get to him, he’s already talking in her ear. He’s careful not to touch her, and to someone watching, that might look strange, but I know he can’t help it. He feels safer like that, even though I told him it don’t make a difference. She’s got her eyes half closed, and she’s nodding these big sloppy nods.

She’s the one alright.

Blood is thicker than water, and it’s my job to protect my little brother.
No matter what monstrous things he does.

Grab a copy of FEED for your Kindle, then turn the lights down and get ready. The pigs are hungry…

The Library Book Sale

Stefanie Snider

This weekend was my city’s annual library book sale (well, there’s one in the spring, too, but that one sucks and no one goes to it). What it means is that thousands of withdrawn library books and books donated by the community get hauled into a giant warehouse-style building at the fairgrounds and put up for sale. Cheap books. Books for a dollar. The sale runs for three days, and on the Sunday anything you can cram into a plastic shopping bag is yours for three dollars.

Let me reiterate: a bag stuffed with books for three dollars.

It’s like the best garage sale ever — you have no idea what you’ll find. Some years are better than others. Having broad interests helps: you’re bound to find something. I picked up books about hypochondria, Afghan women’s rights, and disappearing languages. I got one about the Muslim middle class that may turn out to be propaganda; if it is, I’ll toss it into the recycling. When books average out to something like fifty cents, you can do that.

Every time I go it brings out my primal instincts. There’s only one copy of most titles, and you’d better hope that you’re not reaching for the same book that I am. I’ll throw elbows. I have no shame. I get tunnel vision, eyes skimming quickly over spines, heart soaring as I find that one book I’ve been looking for forever, stomach sinking as I find a pristine copy of a book I only just bought last week. It’s a huge rush if you’re a book-obsessive like me.

The score? 24 books, easily worth a couple hundred bucks, for 11 dollars. I love today.

“Dark Side” Winners!

Stefanie Snider

My first giveaway has officially closed! Thanks to everyone who participated!

The winners are:

Ava, from Journey of Jordanna East
Mark
The Comedian
and Clawberry Shortcake

I hope the four of you enjoy Dark Side!

I’m off to watch Cabin Fever and work on my skull scarf. Have a great night everyone!

“Dark Side” Giveaway!

Stefanie Snider

SniderWriter has now reached 10,000 hits!!

You guys, you don’t even know. You’re fabulous, the whole lot of you. I came home just now, saw this, and instantly my crappy day turned awesome again. Thanks so much!

I want to give you something back, so I thought I’d hold a little draw.

I’m giving away five digital copies of Dark Side: Seven Repulsive Stories, my first collection of horror shorts. There’s a little something for everyone: zombies, a psychopathic child, a naked Boogeyman, and of course blood and guts everywhere, just like we like it.

Comment on this post and tell me your favourite horror movie to enter. That’s it. That’s all. And even that’s only so I know who wants in. You have until 8PM EST Saturday October 20th to enter. I’ll pick winners at random and notify you by 11PM EST Saturday, so you can stay up late and get your scare on. Please make sure I have some way of contacting you: email, twitter, blog address, SOMETHING, because I’ll be sending the winners an exclusive code for the free download.

Good luck! I hope you like it!

Las Trece Rosas

Stefanie Snider

Cover image for Las Trece Rosas. Haunting, isn’t it?

Stefanie Snider

This is an amazing idea! Will you be watching?

Back to the Grind

Stefanie Snider

Ugh, vacation’s over. I’m back to work tomorrow.

Why is it that time spent at work feels so much longer than time spent…well, doing pretty much anything else?

I’ve always promised myself I wouldn’t post much about DayJob, having read the horror stories of people fired for same, but suffice it to say I am not looking forward to going back. That bit’s no secret.

My solution to stay sane: I’m reading 168 Hours: You Have More Time Than You Think and really thinking about ways I can still feel like my creative self while I’m going about my day. I’m not far into the book, but already I’m seeing all kinds of small ways I can get more done.

I bought a new charger for my dead netbook, so step one will be committing to writing at lunch. Tried before, didn’t stick with it, but I’ve reevaluated my priorities and I’m ready to give it another go. Besides, I’ll never get anywhere unless I really push myself.

Step two is nerding it up by self-designing new scheduling inserts for my Filofax. It seems I can’t find any that suit me, and I think I need to visually see where my time is going in order to use it better.

There’s got to be some way to get there.

Excerpt: “Annabelle”, a Horror Story

Stefanie Snider

I never really loved that child.

I mean, she was an easy birth. And when she got a little older, and I could start putting little bows and ribbons and things on her, she was cute enough.

But I knew right from the start she was evil.

It wasn’t one of those things you could see easily. Hell, I had a hard enough time seeing it myself.

When we’d go out to the market, she’d be sweet as pie. All the old women would come over and tug on those blonde ringlets. They’d caw like ravens and pinch at her cheeks. She’s got these dimples, see, that make the little grannies just about weep with adoration.

I used to tell those biddies they could take her home with them, if they loved her so much. They always giggled from behind their dentures and shook their smiling heads. I wish, just once, that one of them had realized I wasn’t kidding.

I caught the first hints of the demon in her when she’d cry out in the night. Most children, see, they wail. Their little chests suck in all the air they can hold and force it back out, loud as a foghorn through the darkness. Annabelle was different. She hissed. It sounded like a basketful of snakes let loose in her room.

I started turning down the baby monitor. Then I shut it off. Before long, I was closing her door and sleeping with a pillow over my head.

Of course I took her to the doctor; what kind of mother do you think I am? He checked her front and back and upside down and said there wasn’t a damned thing wrong with her. I wanted her to startle at his touch, to cry out so he could hear what I’d heard. She sat there instead, half a hand shoved in her mouth, and the doctor didn’t suspect a thing.

So I bundled her up against the Fall wind and wheeled her back home in her stroller. The strangers we passed all cooed at her. I think that was part of her witchcraft, being able to fool them all like that. They didn’t feel what I felt…

There’s something different about Annabelle. Something unsettling. Something…demonic.
Mommy’s little monster is here.

 

Annabelle, the newest short horror from Stefanie N Snider

Available now at Amazon