The Predatory Side of Amazon?

Cory Doctorow analyzes in detail how, in his view, Amazon has developed bait-and-switch strategies to take advantage of both vendors and customers:

Amazon Makes Everything You Buy More Expensive

His abundance of specific details suggests that he knows whereof he speaks, so I don't dispute his facts. With one reservation about the article's title: Amazon doesn't make EVERYTHING more expensive. True, in my experience of buying non-book products on its site, many (but by no means all) cost more than they would in a physical store. But if the local place where we shop doesn't stock the product -- if the choice lies between paying a bit extra and not getting it at all -- I'll pay. Plus, with Prime, there's no shipping charge. Also prompt delivery.

Books, however, still seem to function as a loss leader. New books have consistently lower prices on Amazon than the suggested retail cost. With the Prime account my husband and I share, we get the free shipping, a considerable savings in view of how many books I buy per year. In addition, we get Prime Video, which I could hardly do without since Netflix stopped offering physical disks, in the process dropping untold numbers of vintage movies. Now at least I can usually find those streaming on Amazon.

As for its treatment of vendors, my only experience in that role involves Kindle self-publishing. Because I never sign up for the higher-royalty option that forbids selling the same e-book on other sites, I can offer those books on Draft2Digital as well as the Kindle platform with no restriction on the amount I can charge through the former.

In short, the Amazon Prime account offers discounted new books and, in the used-book category, access to almost anything ever published in English; gives us free, fast delivery of most items, with which we've hardly ever had problems; provides one-stop shopping for the vast majority of products we need, without the frustration of scouring the shelves of local stores in vain -- I have a low tolerance for in-person shopping, so if our supermarket doesn't have the thing, ordering online is the next step -- and I no longer even attempt the hopeless quest for clothes I can live with at physical stores; and, most importantly, has our address and credit card saved, so there's no need to share payment information with a bunch of different sellers' websites, and our Amazon account hasn't suffered a lapse in security in the many years we've bought from it (knock on wood).

So I depend heavily on Amazon, because for me its advantages -- which I benefit from constantly -- outweigh its flaws, which seldom or never directly affect us.

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

National Sovereignty and Free Expression

Cory Doctorow's latest LOCUS column explores the tension between the rights of nations to "establish the rule of law" and individuals' rights to freedom of expression.

Hard Cases, Bad Law

Some nations use the power of their sovereignty to protect individual rights, while some do the opposite. The internet comes into the discussion because it "crosses international borders." Currently the United Nations is working on a Cybercrime Treaty, intended to prevent "ransomware attacks and other serious crimes." The problem is that the treaty will leave it up to each country to define "cybercrime" within its borders. A dictatorship might well define it as any public criticism of the regime. Or, for example, weaponize it against a dating site that permits same-sex matches.

The essay also discusses "data localization" laws, enacted by the EU member nations and some other European countries. Beneficial effects include preventing data about internet users within these countries from being accessed by the NSA's global surveillance. A less benign provision, however, "allows sovereign nations to access and use the data stored within their borders," a power obviously vulnerable to abuse by countries such as Russia.

Encryption presents another dilemma rooted in the clash between sovereignty and individual rights. Governments would like to ban highly effective "working encryption," at least to the extent of mandating a back-door feature for investigation of criminal activity. The trouble is that it's impossible to create such encryption to allow action prosecution of criminals while still protecting the data of legitimate users. Laying out the procedures that would be required to implement the kind of restrictions authorities might like, Doctorow concludes "the collateral damage to human rights from this kind of ban are gigantic."

The essay goes into considerable detail about these and other related issues of interest to anyone devoted to freedom of speech. Conclusion -- in irreconcilable clashes between national sovereignty and human rights, the latter should rule, and "we can recognize the legitimate exercise of sovereignty without using that as a pretense to ignore when sovereign power is used to undermine free expression, especially when that use is likely to kick off a cascade of ever-more-extreme measures that are progressively worse for free expression."

Margaret L. Carter

Pease explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

Publishing Contract Horrors

Happy Halloween!

Cory Doctorow on the worsening and non-negotiable clauses in typical publishers' contracts:

Reasonable Agreement

For instance, some demand all existing, hypothetical, and future-conceivable rights, regardless of the unlikelihood of ever using them. As Doctorow mentions, the confidentiality clause is a bit weird. Recent contracts I've signed all include it, but when would I normally receive confidential information from a publisher, and why or to whom would I think of revealing it? No problem agreeing to that clause, since the possibility of violating it is remote.

I've heard of most of these abuses but not suffered many, happily. As for indemnifying publishers against liability, from my limited experience there's no avoiding some version of that clause. Nowadays standard contracts include it, and an author who refuses to sign simply won't get the contract. One can only hope for an agreement that doesn't include the outrageous versions described by Doctorow.

My one experience in having a novel bought by a major publisher was with Harlequin. For a first-time, unagented author, their contract is a non-negotiable boilerplate document. Fortunately, I've had no problems with them or the agreement. By the time I sold them my stand-alone vampire novel EMBRACING DARKNESS (part of my Vanishing Breed universe but not dependent on any other work in it), their former restrictive pen name policies I'd heard about no longer existed.

The small presses and e-publishers who've published my books and stories have been almost always fine to work with. I did once have a narrow escape from a noncompete clause. A startup small press that a friend in an online writers' group connected me with offered to accept the novel I sent them. The offer included a contract with a clause that made me gasp in horrified disbelief. A broad interpretation would have forbidden me in perpetuity to "compete" with the book, which included vampires, by publishing anything else on the same subject. Vampirism -- my specialty. That's enough gall to divide into three parts! I wrote VOID over each page of the contract they'd preemptively signed, filed it in a drawer, and notified the publisher that I refused the offer.

Doctorow's essay condemns noncompete clauses in the strongest terms. In my opinion, an author of nonfiction might reasonably be asked to refrain from writing anything else that might be considered duplicative for, say, a year at most. As for fiction, how would "compete" even be defined? Maybe in terms of allowing one company exclusive rights to a series? Fortunately, I'd already had lots of stories and novels in the Vanishing Breed universe published in multiple venues long before there was any chance that question would arise.

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

An Authorized Fanfic Re-Visioning of NINETEEN EIGHTY-FOUR

Last week Cory Doctorow posted a review of JULIA, by Sandra Newman, which coincidentally I've just finished reading.

Novel-Writing Machines

Newman's novel is an authorized retelling of Orwell's dystopian classic from the viewpoint of Julia, the protagonist Winston Smith's lover. As Doctorow mentions, Winston thinks of the Party as omniscient and omnipotent -- "Big Brother is watching you." Viewing this society through Julia's experience, we realize it's as corrupt and inefficient as the bureaucracy of any other dictatorship. She knows how to take advantage of cracks in the system, for instance with bribery and tricks such as getting a break from her job by signing out under the category "Sickness: Menstrual." (After all, nobody checks up on that excuse.) As a mechanic who maintains novel-writing machines in the Fiction department of the Ministry of Truth, she has the skills to fix other things as well, e.g., the perpetually clogging lavatories in her dormitory. She's valued for her abilities and enjoys her work. She also enjoys frequent sexual flings despite her membership in the Anti-Sex League. I wondered how women who take those risks, aside from the danger of getting arrested for sexcrime, avoid pregnancy given that contraception is illegal. Well, there's a dodge for that, too. Many single women who suspect they're in the early stages of pregnancy seek artsem (artificial insemination). If they've actually conceived already, they're covered; if not, the procedure didn't "take." And it seems to be common knowledge that some women volunteering to bear children for the Party are already pregnant. Newman's perspective flip opens up Orwell's fictional world from these and many other angles. Everybody knows the proper behavior, language, and facial expressions necessary to stay out of trouble, and for most of them it seems to be mainly an act. In one of the few relaxed scenes, workers joke about the intricacies of Newspeak. Julia excuses her linguistic mistakes with the claim that she isn't a bit intellectual, which is true. Winston's fascination with forbidden political, philosophical, and literary topics bores her, although she maintains a facade of enthralled interest.

JULIA answers questions many readers of NINETEEN EIGHTY-FOUR may puzzle over. Why does she initiate a love affair with Winston, a rather stuffy man twenty years her senior? Does Big Brother, as an individual, literally exist? (Yes.) Is there really an anti-Party underground, and was its demonized alleged leader, Goldstein, a real person? (Yes.) Is Oceania really at war? Yes, we witness the bombed sections of London, though we never find out if the enemy is Eurasia, Eastasia, or neither. We also learn about the lives of the proles, including the thriving black market with which Julia regularly deals. Newman's work delves into potential features of Orwell's fictional world that he either didn't consider or deliberately left outside the frame of his narrative.

Cory Doctorow reasonably classifies this type of novel as fanfic, or as he defines it, "writing stories about other stories that you hate or love or just can't get out of your head." Whether an amateur or professional publication, fanfic expresses the drive to explore shadowed or underdeveloped areas of canonical works, or speculate on how the world of the original looks from the perspective of a different character. ROSENKRANTZ AND GUILDENSTERN ARE DEAD, which he also mentions, is a prime example of the latter.

Similarly, WIDE SARGASSO SEA, by Jean Rhys, a prequel to JANE EYRE, creates a personality and a backstory for Bertha, Rochester's deranged first wife. In Rhys's re-imagining, Bertha isn't even the name she goes by; Rochester calls her that for the sake of respectability. They arrive in Britain near the end of WIDE SARGASSO SEA. Rhys explores the question of whether she was ever in fact "mad" before being taken from her Caribbean home to England and relegated to nearly solitary confinement in a suite of upstairs rooms (not, contrary to popular impression, the attic).

Doctorow also refers to THE WIND DONE GONE, which a court decreed to be a "parody" of GONE WITH THE WIND. It really isn't, but that classification served as a defense against a charge of plagiarism. When I read THE WIND DONE GONE, I was mildly surprised that Mitchell's estate claimed copyright infringement at all. Alice Randall's book doesn't literally retell the classic novel. It tells the story of the enslaved narrator, Cynara, mixed-race daughter of Mammy and half-sister of Scarlett, with transformative references to the events of GONE WITH THE WIND. None of the white people from the latter are named in THE WIND DONE GONE. Cynara gives Mitchell's characters satirical nicknames, e.g. "Planter" and "Lady" for Scarlett's parents, "Mealy Mouth" for Melanie, "Dreamy Gentleman" for Ashley (I love that one). Scarlett is simply "the Other" or "Her."

Then there's GRENDEL, by John Gardner, wherein the monster reveals his side of the events in BEOWULF. Of course, creating variations on works in the public domain doesn't risk legal problems.

My own all-time favorite professionally published fanfic, the book I'd always wanted to write, is Fred Saberhagen's THE DRACULA TAPE (1975), a retelling of DRACULA in which the Count himself sets the record straight.

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

When the Proper Amount of Something Is Zero

Cory Doctorow on DRM, conflicts of interest, "bricking," the undermining of consumer privacy, collection of surveillance data, identity theft, and other abuses of consumers:

Thinking the Unthinkable

As one example of zero tolerance, he proposes, "We should order every data-broker, every tech giant, every consumer electronics company and app vendor to delete all their surveillance data." Not likely to happen, though, is it?

Concerning DRM, he half-seriously suggests products infested with it should be required to carry a warning that their advertised features are subject to "revocation without notice." When DRM began to become widespread, he observed that it "didn't just restrict how you used a gadget today, it provided a facility for nonconsensually, irreversibly field-updating that gadget to add new restrictions tomorrow." Also, "This device and devices like it are typically used to charge you for things you used to get for free."

I don't have much to say about this article aside from a general reaction of "good grief!" I'm opposed to DRM on e-books and grateful my publishers don't include it. From what I've read, any halfway competent hacker can disable that feature, which therefore just inconveniences legitimate readers. I already knew we don't literally buy software products such as word processing programs but only "license" them. I knew electronic files of music or visual media can be deleted from the purchaser's access at the whim of the seller, which is one reason I always buy such products on CD or DVD if possible. (I "bought" the live-action LADY AND THE TRAMP from Disney as a streaming movie because it wasn't available in tangible form; I'm still waiting for them to release a DVD so I can own the film permanently instead of provisionally.) I knew tech companies could "brick" gadgets such as phones or tablets, i.e., remotely render them inoperable. However, I didn't know powered medical devices such as wheelchairs and exoskeletons were vulnerable to the same abuse.

While I agree with most of Doctorow's rant, I'm not optimistic about solutions. The convenience of these kinds of technology would be too painful to give up, and the companies that produce it have probably grown too powerful to rein in effectively. Doctorow mentions the example of cars in the pre-seatbelt era, when the sensible rule would have been "don't buy a car." But how practical would that have been for most Americans? Must we simply fall back on "Caveat Emptor" (as an anti-regulation acquaintance of mine seriously declared way back in the late 1960s)? No wonder Doctorow's title includes the word "unthinkable."

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

Delayed Gratification

Cory Doctorow's latest LOCUS column deconstructs the "science fictional" idea of "the right’s confidence in the role of individual self-discipline on one’s life chances. . . . Poverty, we’re told, is rooted in an unwillingness to save, which is to say, in the childish inability to defer gratification." Likewise, a career of crime is attributed to poor self-control, resulting in the inability to make a legitimate living, on the assumption that "the causal arrow runs from 'personal defects' to 'poor outcomes'."

Marshmallow Longtermism

The title refers to the famous (or, as Doctorow says, infamous) Stanford marshmallow experiment on delaying gratification. Children were left alone in a room with a marshmallow for fifteen minutes. The experimenter told them if they didn't eat the marshmallow, they would get two instead of just the one. Follow-up studies showed that the vast majority of the kids who ate the marshmallow instead of waiting had poor futures socially and economically, whereas the "patient" kids grew up to prosper. Hence the value of self-control in predicting life outcomes was supposedly validated.

Personally, in my opinion the experiment was intrinsically flawed. How many people, even little kids, consider a boring old marshmallow an irresistible temptation? I would have held out for chocolate. But that's beside the point. Later replications of the study revealed that most of the "impatient" children came from poor backgrounds, while the "patient" ones belonged to secure, well-off families. In short, the "causal arrow" ran in the other direction. The "impatient" test subjects, having experienced numerous disappointments and broken promises from the adults in their lives, decided quite rationally to take no chances and chose the treat in front of them, a bird in the hand being preferable to any number of imagined birds in a future bush. "Which means that the 'patient' kids weren’t demonstrating 'self-control' -– rather, their willingness to wait for a second marshmallow reflected a charmed life in which adults came through with the goodies they promised." That same "charmed life" resulted in their adult success. Doctorow concedes that of course self-control and hard work have positive effects on one's chances in life. On their own, they don't guarantee success, though.

As he summarizes the issue, "Self-control is a virtue, one that we could all stand to cultivate. The difference between the rich and the poor isn’t who has self-control. It comes down to whether your life has such thin margins that single lapse kicks off an avalanche of devastating consequences, or whether you have the kind of cushions that allow you to recover from your slips."

I first encountered the concept of "discounting the future" in Steven Pinker's HOW THE MIND WORKS. People tend to heavily discount the future in their decisions when they lack any certainty of having one. If you see many of your contemporaries dying young, you don't have much incentive to avoid risks or accumulate wealth for a hypothetical old age. You might as well live fast and hard, enjoying the fun while it lasts. What looks from outside like a "childish" habit of pursuing instant gratification might be a logical choice in terms of that person's experience.

In Aldous Huxley's BRAVE NEW WORLD, instant gratification is a way of life. Conditioning its people to think of a carefree, pleasurable existence as the highest good, this society views delayed gratification as purely negative. A character in the opening scene asks a group of young adults whether they've ever had to wait for anything they wanted. The responder who admits having endured that experience describes it as horrible, and everybody else agrees with him.

Growing up, most of us learn to put off some pleasures in anticipation of greater rewards in the future. To persist in that habit requires that we have a sound basis for trusting in the future reward. College students who witness seniors only a few years older graduating and moving on to financial security and fulfilling jobs can believe in their own prospects of similar success. The connection between some kinds of delayed gratification, though, such as dietary changes and weight loss, is less obvious, especially given seemingly random day-to-day fluctuations in the number on the scale. Dropping enough pounds to notice a real difference takes a long time. Abstaining from favorite treats long enough to achieve that goal often feels futile. With our brains fighting us at every step, we fall back on strategies to trick ourselves. Don't keep the treats in the house at all. Or if we're eating them but strictly rationing ourselves, store them in a location where impulsive consumption isn't easy, forcing ourselves to stop and think first. In the financial realm, we trick ourselves into accumulating money for the future by setting up automatic transfers into a savings account or withdrawals directly from our salaries into retirement funds. However, before people can devise or implement such strategies, in whatever area of daily life or long-term planning, they have to make a rational decision that the desired outcome is worth the short-term deprivation.

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

At the Mercy of Internet Services

Here's a very scary LOCUS column by Cory Doctorow about Google users arbitrarily losing their e-mail accounts and access to all their files with no explanation or recourse. He labels this possibility a "nightmare scenario," not an exaggeration in view of the two examples he describes:

Unpersoned

An author lost her works in progress, stored in Google Docs, for alleged "inappropriate" content, never specified or explained. Far worse, the victim in the other example ("Mark"), who'd been getting his e-mail, cell phone service, photo storage, document storage, and several other services through Google, lost access to literally everything in his life that relied on technology more advanced than old-style paper mail. "Google defended its decision to permanently delete all of Mark’s data and cut him off from every account for every service he’d ever signed up for (without his email, SMS, and Authenticator codes, Mark was locked out of virtually every digital service he used)."

Doctorow suggests several potential solutions to the problem of service provider overreach. His concluding summary concedes that those companies have the right to deny service to customers under some conditions:

"But when they say they want to eject some of those users and deny them forwarding service and their own data, they’re saying they should have the right to make the people they don’t like vanish. That’s more power than anyone should have — and far more power than the platforms deserve."

This essay vindicates my own established habits. The idea of depending entirely on a cloud to store my personal documents would have given me the creeps even before reading about these abuses. Of course I save everything on my own hard drive. Of course I have more than one e-mail account. And I would never consider giving up our old reliable landline phone. I regard the cell phone as a useful backup for making and receiving calls away from home, not the primary core of my electronic existence. "Mark" got in trouble because a picture he transmitted to a pediatrician from his cell was synched to his Google photo file. The only cloud storage I have anything synched to is OneDrive, for backing up my documents and pictures. And naturally, again, they're all on my hard drive, too. It's bad enough knowing any book I've bought through Kindle could be obliterated by Amazon at any time (although this has never happened to me). I ignore the suggestions on some websites to sign in with Google or Facebook rather than the password saved on the individual sites.

Yet to give up online banking and other internet services we've come to rely on would be too great an inconvenience. How can we strike a balance between the practical necessity for online access to function in daily life nowadays and the risks of having our virtual lives snatched out of our own control? At least, however, it would seem reckless to keep all one's electronic eggs in one omnipotent basket.

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

Copyright and Fair Use

Here's a new article by Cory Doctorow about copyright takedowns and the intricacies of the "fair use" doctrine:

Copyright Takedown Cautionary Tale

Fair use is a subtle, context-dependent matter, and according to Doctorow, many of what are popularly thought to be firm rules about what constitutes fair use are simply untrue.

This essay focuses mainly on copyright enforcement by social media sites, which often delete content in a draconian manner and make successful appeals by innocent uploaders difficult to impossible. For example: "Google’s copyright enforcement system is a cod-legal regime with all the downsides of the law, and a few wrinkles of its own. . . . And a single mis-step can result in your video being deleted or your account being permanently deleted, along with every video you’ve ever posted. . . . So for the average Youtuber, Content ID is a kind of Kafka-as-a-Service system that is always avoided and never investigated."

Even in this short article, Doctorow goes into great detail, illustrating the complexity of the issue. So much of this material is new to me that I don't have anything substantive to say about it, just that it's a bit scary. Recommended reading.

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt

Leave Them Wanting More?

Here's an essay by Cory Doctorow about fiction, movies, and games giving audiences what they need instead of what they want, or think they want:

Against Lore

Writers hijack the reader's "empathic response. . . . A storyteller who has successfully captured the audience has done so by convincing their hindbrains to care about the tribulations of imaginary people." Part of accomplishing this trick consists of drawing the reader or viewer into collaborating with the creator, so to speak. Our minds ruminate on what might happen next, how the fictional crisis will be resolved, and how the writer will pull it off. The tension builds, to be released when the outcome fulfills, exceeds, or subverts our expectations in a satisfying way.

"Your mind wants the tension to be resolved ASAP, but the pleasure comes from having that desire thwarted. . . . You don't give the audience what it wants, you give it what it needs." What fun would a fantasy roleplaying game be if every monster could be killed in one blow? Who would want to know the killer in a murder mystery in advance (on first reading, at least -- I've read many detective novels with pleasure over and over, because the enjoyment of a well-written mystery lies in more than learning whodunit)? Readers of romance know the hero and heroine will find fulfillment in a happily-ever-after conclusion, since that's inherent in the definition of a romance, but we want to remain in suspense until the end as to how the writer will accomplish the seemingly impossible feat of getting them together.

On one level, according to Doctorow, writers, stage magicians, con artists, and cult leaders are all doing the same thing. "Getting us to care about things that don't matter is how novels and movies work, but it's also how cults and cons work." They "leave blanks" for the audience (or mark) to fill in. They don't tell us everything; rather, they privide gaps for our imaginations to work. Horror mavens often note that the monster in the reader's mind usually exceeds anything the writer or filmmaker can reveal on the page or screen.

According to Doctorow, the skilled creator or performer "delights in denying something to the audience, who, in turn, delights in the denial. Don't give the audience what they want, give them what they need. What your audience needs is their own imagination." As far as that statement goes, I agree with his analysis. He makes lots of cogent points. I emphatically part ways with him, however, when he presents an argument against supplying too much "lore." Why do "series tend to go downhill"? First off, he states this alleged problem like a universal truth. To the contrary, in my view, many series just keep getting better, as the format allows for expansion and exploration of the fictional world. Barbara Hambly's Benjamin January historical mystery novels offer only one example of several I could mention. He applauds the fact that, "The first volume in any series leaves so much to the imagination" and the background elements "are all just detailed enough that your mind automatically ascribes a level of detail to them, without knowing what that detail is." No real argument there. If the author does a good job, we're eager to learn more about the setting and characters, and our minds are "churning with all the different bits of elaborate lore that will fill in those lacunae and make them all fit together." But Doctorow proposes that an author's filling in those "lacunae" is usually a bad thing.

He insists, "A story whose loose ends have been tidily snipped away seems like it would be immensely satisfying, but it's not satisfying –- it's just resolved," and "Lore is always better as something to anticipate than it is to receive. The fans demand lore, but it should be doled out sparingly. Always leave 'em wanting more." Well, a fictional work literally following this principle would leave me feeling cheated. When I start a new Barbara Hambly mystery, the first thing I do is flip to the back looking for the author's afterword and am slightly let down if there isn't one. I've reread the appendices to S. M. Stirling's alternate history PESHAWAR LANCERS more often than I've reread the novel itself. I want the monster to be numinous and enigmatic for much of the story, sure, but by the end I want a clear look at it. I want to know its origin, strengths, and weaknesses. I enjoy the detailed description of Wilbur Whateley after his death in Lovecraft's "The Dunwich Horror." In an SF story, if there are aliens I want to know all about their biology and culture. Politics aside, my major gripe with J. K. Rowling is her failure to deliver that guidebook to the Harry Potter universe she kept promising. Her worldbuilding appears sloppily ad hoc, a problem the snippets on the Pottermore site didn't fix.

Maybe this tendency on my part comes from having begun my professional career in literary analysis rather than fiction? (I started writing, though, as an aspiring horror author. Does any teenager, no matter how bookish, aspire to be a literary critic? But I DID always want more backstory, more delving into the mind of the "monster.") Or it could be just a quirk of my personality. How do you feel about lore? Do you avidly read guidebooks to your favorite authors' series? Or do you prefer some facets of the stories to stay unexplained?

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

Why Is the Internet Getting Worse?

In Cory Doctorow's latest LOCUS column, he analyzes why everything on the internet is in his view "(suddenly, simultaneously) getting (much) worse."

The Villain of Their Own Story

He begins with how online platforms decay -- in the sense of no longer working to the benefit of users -- and proceeds to the questions of why they do so. He summarizes the "progression of the disease" thus: "First, companies are good to their users. Once users are lured in and have been locked down, companies maltreat those users in order to shift value to business customers, the people who pay the platform’s bills. Once those business users are locked in, the platform starts to turn the screws on them, too." The process sounds like the decline from a Golden Age or the fall from a primal Eden. Not that I suppose Doctorow claims the internet was ever perfect.

This essay focuses on his explanation of why it's all "suddenly, simultaneously" getting worse at the present time. According to Doctorow, it's not because the companies changed from beneficent providers of services and content to greedy Scrooges. They've always used algorithms to "twiddle" the figurative digital dials in the direction of the maximum profit to themselves. It's just that there used to be "constraints" on this strategy that no longer exist or at least not to an effective degree. The essay lists the principal constraints and explores how they've been weakened or eliminated in recent years.

As Doctorow puts it, "No one is the villain of their own story." Not even mega-corporations. "The tech bosses who once made good products told themselves they did so because they were virtuous, but much of that virtue stemmed not from their character, but from the consequences of failing to deliver good products at fair prices under ethical conditions." With the eviscerating of the consequences, as he sees it, the "virtue" built on pragmatic foundations has crumbled.

What, if anything, can consumers do to ameliorate this situation? We're left with an apparent scenario of inevitable decline -- a rather depressing prospect.

Doctorow elaborates on this topic in a more technically detailed post here:

Algorithms

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

Technofeudalism

Cory Doctorow advances the position that capitalism isn't evolving into socialism (as classical Marxism predicted) but into a new form of feudalism:

Capitalists Hate Capitalism

His explanation of the difference between "rents" and "profits" is new information to me (being a bear of very little brain where economic theory is concerned, anyhow). "Rent" in the technical sense used by economists means "income derived from owning something that the capitalist needs in order to realize a profit." It's passive income, so to speak. In Doctorow's example, the manager of a coffee shop has to compete actively with other shops to attract labor and customers. The landlord who owns the building, though, receives money from rent no matter who occupies the space.

In these terms, a gigantic storefront such as Amazon, to which all the individual sellers pay rent, exemplifies "the contemporary business wisdom that prefers creating the platform to selling on the platform" -- "technofeudalism." Doctorow offers several examples, e.g., draconian noncompete agreements forced on employees, the expansion of IP rights to absurd degrees such as the author who attempted to own the word "cocky," and patent trolls whose "only product is lawsuits."

One related abuse he doesn't cover in this article but discusses elsewhere is the universal software marketing practice of not selling electronic products outright but "licensing" them. A "buyer" of a Kindle book, for instance, doesn't literally own it like a hard-copy book, for Amazon can remove the text from the customer's device at any point for any random reason. Granted, this probably doesn't happen often (I haven't experienced it), but the only way to avoid that risk would be to refrain from ever connecting that device to the internet again -- hardly practical.

By Doctorow's title, "Capitalists Hate Capitalism," he means, "They don’t want to be exposed to the risks entailed by competition, and feel the goad of that insecurity. They want monopolies, or platforms, or monopoly platforms." Unlike in many of his essays, in this one he doesn't suggest hypothetical remedies but simply describes a problematic situation.

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

Intermediaries on the Internet

Another post by Cory Doctorow about how good platforms go bad and, by extension, how the internet goes bad:

Intermediation

Why didn't the internet, as promised, "disintermediate the world"? Because in many situations we NEED "middlemen." Doctorow cites publishing as an example. While some authors self-publish and accomplish all the steps of the process themselves or directly pay others to do them (such as cover artists and freelance editors), most of us prefer to have someone else handle those tasks. And even the totally independent self-publishers typically need platforms such as Amazon, Draft2Digital, etc. to sell their work; very few earn money solely by hand-selling their books one by one, like the eccentric wordsmith Doctorow describes in his essay.

"The internet did disintermediate a hell of a lot of intermediaries –- that is, 'middlemen' –- but then it created a bunch more of these middlemen, who coalesced into a handful of gatekeepers." The gatekeepers, as he sees it, are the problem. Online sales of almost anything we might want or need on a single, convenient website is a service most customers value. The problem arises when a giant internet retailer locks out its competitors and/or restricts what customers and third-party sellers can do with the products. We don't hate intermediaries as such, according to Doctorow; we hate "powerful intermediaries." His solution -- for governments to enforce competition-supportive laws.

While I can't deny monopolies are generally a bad thing, except in public service spheres such as utilities and roads, I also highly value the convenience of being able to buy almost anything from Amazon, a website that remembers my address, past purchases, and payment methods and that has been reliably trustworthy with that information so far, as well as fast and efficient. Moreover, I like the capacity to sell my self-published e-books on a site that most potential readers probably use regularly. I love knowing I can find almost any book ever published, a cherished fantasy of mine in my pre-internet childhood and youth. I'd have a hard time getting along without Amazon if it vanished. Yet doubtless the abuses of which Doctorow accuses it are real, too.

As for one area in which powerful middlemen exploit their near-monopoly to perpetrate blatant ripoffs: In the Maryland General Assembly's current session, they're considering a law to forbid companies such as Ticketmaster from buying up most of the tickets for a high-demand event and reselling them at extortionate prices, among other protective measures:

Ticket-Scalping Bill

Despite such abuses, I endorse Doctorow's conclusion that, overall, "A world with intermediaries is a better world." In past centuries, people "in trade," who at first glance seem to add no value to products they profit from through their own middleman activities, used to be scorned by the upper class and regarded with suspicion by their customers. (We encounter the stereotype of the cheating miller in Chaucer's CANTERBURY TALES.) But what would we do without them?

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

AI as a Bubble

Cory Doctorow's latest LOCUS column analyzes AI as a "tech bubble." What Kind of Bubble Is AI?

Although I had a vague idea of what economists mean by "bubble," I looked it up to make sure. I thought of the phenomenon as something that expands quickly and looks pretty but will burst sooner or later. The Wikipedia definition comes fairly close to that concept: "An economic bubble (also called a speculative bubble or a financial bubble) is a period when current asset prices greatly exceed their intrinsic valuation, being the valuation that the underlying long-term fundamentals justify." The term originated with the South Seas Bubble of the early eighteenth century, involving vastly inflated stocks. The Dutch "tulip mania" of the seventeenth century offers another prominent example.

Doctorow takes it for granted that AI fits into this category. He begins his essay with, "Of course AI is a bubble. It has all the hallmarks of a classic tech bubble." He focuses on the question of what KIND of bubble it is. He identifies two types, "The ones that leave something behind, and the ones that leave nothing behind." Naturally, the first type is desirable, the second bad. He analyzes the current state of the field with numerous examples, yet always with the apparent underlying assumption that the "bubble" will eventually "pop." Conclusion: "Our policymakers are putting a lot of energy into thinking about what they’ll do if the AI bubble doesn’t pop – wrangling about 'AI ethics' and 'AI safety.' But – as with all the previous tech bubbles – very few people are talking about what we’ll be able to salvage when the bubble is over."

This article delves into lots of material new to me, since I confess I don't know enough about the field to have given it much in-depth thought. I have one reservation about Doctorow's position, however -- he discusses "AI" as if it were a single monolithic entity, despite the variety of examples he refers to. Can all possible levels and applications of artificial intelligence be lumped together as components of one giant bubble, to endure or "pop" together? Maybe those multitudes of different applications are what he's getting at when he contemplates "what we'll be able to salvage"?

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

Celebrating Public Domain Day

January 1 is Public Domain Day for works still under copyright that were first released in 2028:

Public Domain Day 2024

The article includes selected lists of books, plays, films, and musical compositions being liberated, so to speak, in 2024. It also explains some of the intricacies of copyright law and explores the question, "Why Celebrate the Public Domain?"

Most famously, of course, the earliest version of Mickey and Minnie Mouse becomes available for public reproduction and reinterpretation in 2024 (with some qualifications and caveats -- trademark, for instance, has a longer and more tenacious life than copyright):

Mickey Mouse Will Soon Belong to You and Me

As an unintended side effect of what this essay labels "overlong" copyright protection under U.S. law, "many properties with less pedigree than Winnie [the Pooh] or Minnie can disappear or be forgotten with their copyrights murky." As Cory Doctorow is quoted as saying, the remarkable 95-year endurance of some classic works "makes you think about the stuff that we must have lost, that would still have currency," or might have, if that material had been freely available for reproduction and distribution.

As the first article cited above puts it, "Most older works are 'orphan works,' where the copyright owner cannot be found at all. Now that these works are in the public domain, anyone can make them available to the public. This enables access to our cultural heritage -- access to materials that might otherwise be forgotten. 1928 was a long time ago and the vast majority of works from 1928 are not commercially available. You couldn’t buy them, or even find them, if you wanted. When they enter the public domain in 2024, anyone can rescue them from obscurity and make them available, where we can all discover, enjoy, and breathe new life into them."

Having had the experience of editing two paperback fiction anthologies in the early 1970s, I've often mentally grumbled about the problems inherent in the "life of author plus seventy years" rule that reigned for several decades. An editor who wanted to "rescue" an undeservedly neglected story from obscurity would have to find out whether copyright was renewed under the older system, when the author died, and who holds reprint rights -- if they're still in force -- in the present. For a very old, little-known work, the latter information might be almost impossible to discover, as the above quote mentions. Nobody benefits from continuation of the copyright, and readers who might enjoy the story and appreciate the long-dead writer's creation are deprived of that opportunity.

As Cory Doctorow, again, says in an essay on the Medium site, "First in 1976, and then again in 1998, Congress retroactively extended copyright’s duration by 20 years, for all works, including works whose authors were unknown and long dead, whose proper successors could not be located. Many of these authors were permanently erased from history as every known copy of their works disappeared before they could be brought back into our culture through reproduction, adaptation and re-use."

Public Domain Is a Banger

His characterization of this process as "slow-motion arson" might be a bit extreme, but he makes a point well worth considering.

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

Bad People Versus Bad Institutions

In his latest LOCUS essay, Cory Doctorow discusses whether "all the internet services we enjoyed and came to rely upon became suddenly and irreversibly terrible – as the result of moral decay." Setting aside the question of whether "irreversibly terrible" is a bit exaggerated, he reasonably states that "it’s tempting to think that the people who gave us the old, good internet did so because they were good people," and the internet was ruined, if it was, by bad people:

Don't Be Evil

The problem isn't that simple, however, since institutions, not individuals, created the internet. On the other hand, institutions comprise many individuals, some with honorable motives and some driven solely by the quest for profit. In short, "institutional action is the result of its individuals resolving their conflicts." Can corporations as such be evil? Doctorow doesn't seem to be saying that's the case. Every institution, private or public, includes multitudes of people, with conflicting goals, some good and some bad -- both the individuals and their goals. Moreover, as he doesn't explicitly mention, some people's characters and motivations are neither all good nor all bad. Many drift along with the corporate culture from fear of the consequences of resistance or maybe just from failure to think through the full implications of what's going on. He does seem to be suggesting, however, that vast, impersonal forces can shape negative outcomes regardless of the contrary wishes of some people involved in the process. "Tech didn’t get worse because techies [workers in the field] got worse. Tech got worse because the condition of the external world made it easier for the worst techies to win arguments."

What solutions for this quandary could be tried, other than "burn them [the allegedly villainous "giants of the internet" such as Amazon and Google] to the ground," in my opinion a bit too drastic? Doctorow insists, "A new, good internet is possible and worth fighting for," and lists some aspects he believes must change. Potential avenues for improvement can be summarized by the need to empower the people who mean well -- the ones Doctorow describes as "people within those institutions who pine for a new, good internet, an internet that is a force for human liberation" -- over those who disregard the concerns of their customers in single-minded greed for profit.

On the wider topic of individual responsibility for the villainous acts of institutions over which one doesn't have any personal control, one might be reminded of the contemporary issue of reparations to historically oppressed groups. Of course, one can quit a job and seek a more ethical employer, but renouncing one's nationality or ethnic ancestry would be severely problematic. However, since that subject veers into "modpol" (modern politics, as strictly banned on an e-mail list I subscribe to), I'll simply point out C. S. Lewis's essay, in a different context, about repenting of other people's sins:

Dangers of National Repentance

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

AI Compositions and Their Influence on Letters as Signals

In Cory Doctorow's latest column, he brings up a potential unintended byproduct of overusing "large language models," aka chatbots such as ChatGPT:

Plausible Sentence Generators

He recalls a recent incident when he wrote a letter of complaint to an airline, threatening to sue them in small claims court, and fed it to such a program for rewriting. He was surprised at the high quality of the result. The site changed his pretty good "legal threat letter" into a noticeably stronger "vicious lawyer letter."

Letters of that type, as well as another of his examples, letters of recommendation from college professors, are performative. They transmit not only information but "signals," as Doctorow puts it. A stern letter from a lawyer sends the message that somebody cares enough about an issue to spend a considerable amount of money hiring a professional to write the letter. A recommendation from a professor signals that the he or she considers the student worthy of the time required to write the recommendation.

One of Spider Robinson's Callahan's Bar stories mentions a similar performative function that shows up in an oral rather than written format, spousal arguments. The winner of the argument is likely to be the one who dramatizes his or her emotional investment in the issue with more demonstrative passion than the other spouse.

In the case of written performances, Doctorow speculates on what will happen if AI-composed (or augmented) epistles become common. When it becomes generally known that it's easy and inexpensive or free to write a letter of complaint or threat, such messages won't signal the serious commitment they traditionally do. Therefore, they'll become devalued and probably won't have the intended impact. The messages (like form letters, though Doctorow doesn't specifically mention those) will lack "the signal that this letter was costly to produce, and therefore worthy of taking into consideration merely on that basis."

I'm reminded of the sample letters to congresscritters included in issues of the MILITARY OFFICER magazine whenever Congress is considering legislation that will have serious impact on members of the armed services and their families. These form letters are meant to be torn out of the magazine, signed, and mailed by subscribers to the presiding officers of the House and Senate. But, as obvious form letters, they clearly don't take much more effort than e-mails -- some, because envelopes must be addressed and stamps affixed, but not much more. So how much effect on a legislator's decision can they have?

Miss Manners distinctly prefers old-fashioned, handwritten thank-you notes over e-mailed thanks because the former show that the recipient went to a certain amount of effort. I confess I do send thank-you notes by e-mail whenever possible. The acknowledgment reaches the giver immediately instead of at whatever later time I work up the energy to getting around to it. So, mea culpa, I plead guilty! However, the senders of the gifts themselves have almost completely stopped writing snail-mail letters, so in communication with them, e-mail doesn't look lazy (I hope), just routine. Context is key.

Margaret L. Carter

Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.

Predicting versus Contesting

Few, if any, readers and writers of science fiction believe it exists to predict the future. Strikingly on-target foretellings of future events and technology are occasional, serendipitous accidents. Rather, it speculates on the questions "What if...." and "If this goes on...." Cory Doctorow's latest LOCUS essay delivers a slightly different, more radical perspective on what science fiction does:

SF Doesn't Predict

This article consists of the text of a speech he gave in June 2023, when receiving an Honourary Doctor of Laws from York University’s Faculty of Liberal Arts and Professional Studies in Toronto. He begins with an anecdote from his educational career. At the age of seventeen, already professionally selling short science fiction, he inquired at York University's humanities department about getting into the creative writing program. He was turned down because, as he was told, "they only teach literature." I had a similar, although less blunt and final experience, as an undergraduate. After taking the introductory course in creative writing, I enrolled in an advanced, workshop-type fiction writing course. At the end of the first semester, the professor hesitated to let me into the second semester because I'd submitted only fantasy and horror. He reluctantly let me continue, and I dutifully wrote a slice-of-life story about a military wife coping with a toddler and a baby while her husband was deployed. Nobody could have asked for a more spot-on "write what you know" work. As far as I can recall, it was an okay story and certainly didn't lack vividness or realism. But that wasn't the path I wanted to follow; the marketplace abounds in writers of realistic fiction, and I knew I'd never measure up to most of them. While I sometimes enjoy reading about contemporary settings and characters with no trace of the fantastic, I have no interest in trying to write that genre. (Yes, even though it claims the status of "mainstream," it's a genre.)

Doctorow later rejoiced in belonging to a community, the tech realm, whose members didn't view his science-fiction output with disdain. Rather, he "was surrounded by people who thought that SF writing was literally the coolest thing in the world." The rest of this blog explains why he agrees.

He defines optimism and pessimism as "just fatalism in respectable suits. . . .Both deny human agency, that we can intervene to change things." He subsumes both under the category of "inevitabilism, the belief that nothing can change." This attitude, according to Doctorow, is "the opposite of SF," whose purpose is to imagine alternatives. What it contests is the assumption that there's no alternative to the status quo or the predicted future, that "resistance is futile." He lays out several examples, climaxing with his metaphor of a bus speeding toward the brink of a canyon--unless we take the risk of swerving. The essay concludes, "Hope begins with the ability to imagine alternatives. And there is always an alternative."

That affirmation reminds me of something that irritates me about the fantasy and SF shows I watch on the CW network. A continually recurring line of cliched dialogue laments, "We haven't got a choice!" (I've often wondered whether the same writers compose the scripts for all of those series.) I keep wanting to yell at the screen, "Yes, you featherbrain, you always have a choice."

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

When Do Conspiracy Theorists Make Sense?

Cory Doctorow's column in the May issue of LOCUS discusses what we'd probably think of as paranoid conspiracy theorists, vehemently protesting imaginary global plots against our lives and liberties, who in Britain are often informally labeled "swivel-eyed loons."

The Swivel-Eyed Loons Have a Point

Of course, we do have to distinguish the paranoid looniness from valid concerns. As he says, we all want to "save the children." Most of us, however, want to save them from "real threats who never seem to face justice," while the swivel-eyed loons obsess about "imaginary threats," e.g., "adrenochrome-guzzling Satanists."

Some issues about which he suggests they have valid points:

Automated license-plate recorders, presently used in London, really can constitute "a form of pervasive location-tracking surveillance." That kind of power has been used in the past to target "disfavored minorities" and organizations regarded as suspicious.

While “'Climate lockdowns' are a product of a conspiracist’s fevered imagination," it's nevertheless true that COVID restrictions have sometimes served as a pretext "to control everyday people while rich people swanned around having a lovely time." The powerful were happy to promulgate regulations they didn't consider to apply to themselves.

The "post-ownership society" fearfully anticipated by some conspiracists has already begun to infiltrate the economy. Our Kindle books, music files, and other software don't really belong to us; we lease them from companies that can delete them at will.

What about the futuristic promise of a cashless society, when institutions such as credit card companies will be nearly all-powerful gatekeepers? "Access to financial services is a primary means of extralegal control over whole sectors of the economy."

Doctorow's article offers several other alarming examples.

However, he exaggerates about the demise of DVDs. Yes, we can still buy movies and TV programs (and music) in physical media that we permanently own; they aren't likely to disappear anytime soon. (The choice of renting DVDs from Netflix will go away later this year, though. Sigh.)

"We live in a fraught and perilous time," he reminds us, "and powerful people really do want to capitalize on this situation to enrich themselves at our expense." How can we enjoy the benefits of technologies such as those mentioned in his essay while avoiding their threats to our privacy and autonomy?

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

One Bite at a Time

Cory Doctorow's column for the March 2023 issue of LOCUS, for once, asserts a position I can support without reservation:

End-to-End

Concerning the many problems involved in making the internet user-friendly, a quest for perfection may result in no improvement at all. As Doctorow summarizes the situation, "The internet succeeded where other networks failed" because it didn't try to implement a "seemingly monolithic technological project" that would require all parties to agree on an ultimate solution that would deal with all difficulties once and for all. Instead, find one small element that everyone can accept. "Build that, then do it again, finding another step that everyone can get behind." In other words, figuratively speaking, eat the elephant one bite (or byte?) at a time. To quote Doctorow again, "I want a better internet now, not years down the road. I’ll happily take a smaller bite."

The main issue to which his current column applies this approach is the end-to-end principle, an older name for what's now usually called net neutrality. In brief, "when a willing speaker wants to say something to a willing listener, our technology should be designed to make a best effort to deliver the speaker’s message to the person who asked to get it." After decades of development of the internet, why don't we have this transparently obvious, user-friendly system?

When we ask a question with Google, why does it prioritize its own search engine's results over those of others that might be more relevant to the questioner's needs? When we search for a specific book or other product on Amazon, why do several other products pop up at the top of the page ahead of the one we typed in the search box? Why do Facebook posts from people and organizations we actually want to hear from get drowned in a sea of sponsored posts? Well, yeah, money and profit (duh). But why are such practices legally permitted? Why is Facebook allowed to restrict our access to posts from users we've liked or followed by blackmailing them into "boosting" their posts—paying to have their material seen by people who've expressed a wish to see it? Suppose when we tried to telephone a local business, the phone company routed the call to a rival business that had paid for the privilege? Nobody would stand for that, yet the equivalent happens online all the time.

Doctorow suggests examples of a few modest rules that internet companies should be required to follow: E.g. “The first result for a search should be the product that most closely matches the thing I searched for” and “If I subscribe to your feed, then when you publish something, it should show up in my feed.”

For a long time I was puzzled that my posts on my Facebook author page showed such low numbers of "Reach." The page doesn't have a huge throng of followers, but it certainly has a lot more than those being "reached." It was a shock to learn that in order to be read by more than a handful of followers, those posts needed to be boosted. In other words, I would have to bribe Facebook to carry out the function it purports to perform, connecting senders with willing receivers. Likewise, it's a constant, though minor irritant that searching for a book on Amazon often connects to a page where I have to scroll halfway down to find the desired item. According to Doctorow, the volume of ads and sponsored posts is delicately designed to stay "just below the threshold where the service becomes useless to you." I fear he may be right.

Will the limited ideal of his online utopia ever become a reality? Maybe not, but it's worth discussing.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt

The Fates of Social Networks

Cory Doctorow's latest LOCUS column explores the breakdown of social networking sites, which he seems to believe is the inevitable culmination of their life cycles:

Social Quitting

He focuses on Facebook and Twitter. Are they doomed to go the way of their predecessors such as MySpace? They've had a longer run, but he thinks they, too, are in the process of changing from "permanent to ephemeral."

Personally, I don't expect Facebook to fade away anytime soon like previous services that imploded "into ghost towns, then punchlines, then forgotten ruins." I can't speak about Twitter, since I've never joined it and, given the current turmoil surrounding it, I don't plan to, even though lots of authors make productive use of it. Mainly, I can't imagine myself conjuring up cogent, entertaining tweets several times a day, which seems to be the criterion for using Twitter effectively. I had a MySpace account during the height of its popularity. The site struck me as a visually exhausting mess, dominated by flashy ads and hard to comprehend or navigate. Also, if anybody I knew used it, I never managed to connect with them. I joined Facebook because it became the only reliable way to keep track of many of our contemporary and younger relatives. (People who ignore e-mails will often answer Facebook messages.) Later, numerous organizations and businesses I wanted to keep up with established dedicated Facebook pages.

Doctorow analyzes these "network effects," summarized as, "A system has ‘network effects’ if it gets more valuable as more people use it." Facebook's attraction of more and more customers has a snowballing effect; people want to go where other people they know are. When the volume of users reaches critical mass, the "switching cost" becomes prohibitively high for most customers. Leaving the service becomes more trouble than it's worth. As long as the benefits of the service outweigh disadvantages such as becoming the object of targeted advertising, most people who've grown used to the advantages will stick around. But, as Doctorow explains the current situation, social media platforms shift more of their value—the "surplus," in economics terminology—to advertisers rather than users. Later, they tend to get greedy and make things difficult for advertisers, too. Then the "inverse network effects" kick in: The greater number of customers and advertisers that quit the network, the less value exists for those who stay, so even more leave.

Although Doctorow doesn't use the term, his explanation reminds me of the "sunk cost" principle. If we've already poured a lot of time, money, or energy into something, we're reluctant to give up on it. We continue to invest in it because otherwise our previous efforts would seem "wasted."

In my opinion, although based on my own probably limited experiences and interests, Doctorow exaggerates as far as Facebook is concerned. I have no intent of abandoning it in the foreseeable future. Our relatives and real-world friends who use the service haven't begun to disappear. (In fact, one who stopped several years ago has come back.) Local businesses still post updates there. Our church has an active page we rely on. My various writing-related groups continue to thrive. As for the advertising, it doesn't bother me. How hard is it to scroll down to the next post? Besides, some ads alert me to products such as new books that might actually interest me. The occasionally outright spooky knowledge of my habits and interests many websites display (how does the weather page know what I recently searched for on Amazon?) has a definite downside in terms of privacy concerns. However, it also offers advantages by way of customizing and streamlining the user's internet experience. And how can I legitimately complain about Facebook advertising when I use the site to promote my own books?

In short, there must be enough people and organizations among my contacts who are as change-averse as I am, to maintain the site's value for me. And I can't believe I'm alone in that position.

Margaret L. Carter

Carter's Crypt