30% FEDERAL TAX AND AMAZON KINDLE: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.

Are you now or have you ever been an American citizen?
   I ate a burger once. Does that qualify?

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Do you have a U.S. TIN?
   Yes. I picked it up on one of my trips to the distant planet of America. The tin held chocolate, as I recall. Does that qualify?

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For those of you thinking of self-publishing on Amazon Kindle, ask yourself if you are an American citizen. If you aren't, Uncle Sam will ask you to prove that you aren't.
   Otherwise, Uncle Sam will snare 30% of your American-derived royalties in the name of truth, justice, and the American Way. Mom's apple pie on Sundays may feature further down the list.
   Should Uncle Sam grab 30% of your readies, remember that this doesn't entitle you to vote in American elections.

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When I self-published on Kindle, I waded through the murky rivers of foreign taxation. Luckily I proved I wasn't American, and the cash-grab faded.

   At the time, I remember asking Amazon if I'd have to fill the paperwork out all over again, say, five years down the line...

   No, of course not.

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Amazon contacted me today, months ahead of the deadline for renewing the tax information. Would I fill out the handy form? Why, it takes but a moment on the interwebs.

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The tax regime changes shape faster than the blink of a cliché. One constant remains. Tax is levied. How does it work? Uncle Sam instructs companies to withhold 30% of royalties due to bloody foreign devils.
   It says that in the official paperwork.
   Okay, I lied. It says danged furriners.

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I had to prove I wasn't American. Then, as a foreign person, I could gain from the exemption under a prearranged tax treaty. There were plenty of ways to do this, when I handled the paperwork first time around...
   And it was paperwork. First, I obtained an Individual Tax Identification Number from Uncle Sam.
   Of the many options available, I found the cheapest method was to send my passport to the American Embassy. Opting for the cheapest threadbare path, it was easy to prove I was Scottish and not American.

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They may take our lives, but they'll never fake our accents!

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Being un-American, or non-American, I received the go-ahead from a tax bunker in Texas. The ITIN arrived. I filled out a stock letter for Amazon, and threw the reference in.
   Nothing happened. The letter never reached Amazon HQ. I sent a fresh copy and I was done and dusted.

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There's a section on tax information inside each author's Amazon Bookshelf. Here's the relevant slice of the page...

   Being decidedly Scottish, I am puzzled to find the info reached Amazon on the eighth day of the 17th month of the year. What sort of Tolkienised calendar are they using over in the States?
   It's safe to say that Americans know all about second breakfast. That's served on the same hearty plate that barely contains the first breakfast.

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The important thing is that my withheld tax rate is a healthy 0% of my American royalties. My Individual Tax Identification Number grants access to the shield of liberty known as the tax treaty.

   If all this is news to you, go to your Amazon Bookshelf, head into your account, find that Tax Information box and click on the (What's this?) link.

   That leads, eventually, to a piece about filling out all the forms so you have the tax number you'll need.

   I can't give you up-to-date advice on that, not even if you are reading this on the day that I published the blog post.

   Tax rules shimmer and change with the seasons. Research as much as you can, choose the least-painful option for your circumstances, and quadruple-quintuple-check the paperwork before it leaves you.

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This time around, I didn't send any paperwork. Amazon directed me to the electronic tax interview. With the information to hand, I filled the e-form in an instant.

   That is a lie.

   I kept being bounced back. Missed the box that validated my address. Red warning sign. My address was not valid. WTF?! It's my address!

   Oh. I have to tick the box that states my address is valid. And here, I thought they'd use software to check that I hadn't lied about living in that cardboard box.

   Unfurling my Evil Laugh, I recklessly validated my address. Enough of this wild abandon. Just get me to the end of the fucking process, will you?

   And there it went. Zap. Into the ether. Done.

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Summary.

   Not American, but planning to self-publish on Amazon? Pay attention to the tax section inside your Amazon Bookshelf. There are plenty of links there to the relevant Amazon guides on avoiding 30% Federal Withholding Tax.

   You'll need an ITIN to claim the benefits of the tax treaty. Then you are in the clear.

   If I misremember rightly, you'll want to sort this mess out BEFORE you start earning American royalties. Otherwise, you'll need to file an appeal to claw back any money grabbed in the meantime.

NO MORE BOOKSHELVES: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.

Miraculously, I've just added 35 42 feet of shelving. How I did this, I know not. It occurred to me that I might shift one small container...
   And then I'd make room for a bookshelf end-on, at the other side of the room. The shunting of furniture was required.

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It's true. I sit here and type no more books. Then I reach saturation AGAIN, and I find a way to reorganise or rearrange available and unavailable space.
   But I don't go daft buying bookshelves. Last time I went daft buying a bookshelf, I rearranged things so much that I suspected I'd created room for two more massive bookshelves when the time came.
   The time came, but I moved that one small container and made room for an extra monolith.
   So, yes, this year, three jumbo bookshelves waltzed in and pushed saturation away from me. For...

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No, I don't know how long.
   I recreated an alleyway. Placing bookshelves against the wall becomes a luxury. You hold off projecting books and their shelves into the room itself. The library doesn't put up with that nonsense...
   But the old office does. Easily, I walk into one room. Cautiously, I navigate my way through another.
   One place, I could run into. Not very far. The other place, well, if I ran in...
   I'd need to be stretchered back out.

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At least I resolved thorny issues like bookcases in cupboards downstairs, or, gasp, bookshelves in the kitchen.
   A temporary horror, I assure thee.
   If I put bookcases in the loft, the loft will collapse on me in the middle of the night. That much we know as truth.

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Foolishly, I thought I'd published this post. It's a post in need of a follow-up...

   Oh. Unpublished. In that case, I'll score through the figure at the start, and update the number.

   I clambered through awkward spaces after introducing new bookshelves, and reached a conclusion. That's a technical term.

   Wooden bookshelves in the loft? Bad idea. Those awkward plastic shelf units? If I reorganise my reorganisation of my reorganisation of things, I can shift those plastic terrors to the loft.

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And so...

   Once I added organisation to my reorganisation, I had more space to fill. Instantly. And I moved another eight feet of shelving into the office.

   Doesn't sound like a huge amount of shelving. But to me, that's a golden value. It means I can shift another 35 feet of shelving in, spread across two rooms, at a later date.

   No, not next Monday.

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The cry is not about books, and no more of them.

   Now the cry is of bookshelves, and where to cram them in. Nowhere. I am in sight of the final point of saturation.

   Books on shelves. Shelves in rooms. Less room available in rooms for things that are not books or shelves.
   My handy tape is sitting here, and I believe I can squeeze two more giant bookshelves in, if I take the chance on a measurement.
   It's taking that chance that'll kill me. Bookalanche is not a word you want to use on your epitaph.

BEHIND THE SCENES: A REPORT FROM A FUGITIVE.

Writers scribble scenes. What lies behind those scenes? Activity. Why, look at that graceful swan gliding across the lake. How does it work, you wonder...

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Underneath the peaceful mere, inside the clockwork swan's belly, there's a rat-faced goblin shoving a spike-laden stick in circles, connecting the wizard in the gizzard to the machine's cog-heavy dregs way down in the legs.

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No swans were harmed in the writing of this blog.
   One goblin, tragically, died a fictional death.

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Sometimes in life, and in fiction, events draw you away from the main action into curious alleys and quirky waterways.

   Worldwide embargo covering transportation of lithium-ion batteries by air? I'd better read up on that action. For. Y'know. Reasons.

   And so it goes. Activity. Behind the scenes.

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I'm still running this blog monthly.

   When I have something more solid to report, I'll have something more solid to report. In the meantime, it's dinner-time, and I must away - to see to the ritual slaughter of packet soup.

   That polystyrene swan floating by, nodding, as if in sleep, or as though in danger of sinking gracelessly, conceals a fair deal of activity that may yet come to nothing.

   I hope it comes to something. There's a book giveaway and a contest off the back of it, for starters. But I have said too much, for I am, indeed, reading this aloud.

   Take this with you as you go. Writers. Read your work aloud. Also. Work on projects in secret, in case the polystyrene swan sinks atop a dying goblin.

   (Terrible sense of déjà vu as I typed that. I'm always rattling on about goblins and swans.)

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Summary.

   Remember this great writing advice about, er, the polystyrene swan sinking atop the dying goblin. It's right up there with...

   Don't run with scissors.

   Definitely don't dance with wolves.

   Guest-writer, scribbling an intro to a book? Don't give the plot away. No. Seriously. I'm looking at you, FAMOUS WRITER WHOSE NAME HAS BEEN REMOVED FROM THIS BLOG.

   Obviously, I can't name the book in case that spoils things.

   My mention of lithium batteries hasn't destroyed the plot of the story I'm working on. I don't know if a book could be ruined by the release of a lithium battery snippet into the wilds...

   And on that note, adieu.