Which it did last week. And the outrage of writers is boiling on social media sites.
Why didn't I say anything before this? First of all, because no listens to me. I'm not successful by some people's standards, though I'm quite successful by my own standards.
I'm the old lady on the street who quietly gardens while her neighbors get into a kerfluffle over basketball hoops in the driveways and whose dog is shitting on whose lawn.
And I've found that concentrating on my garden keeps me healthier in the long run. Or at the very least keeps my blood pressure in check.
So I looked on with amusement at the torches and pitchforks raised by folks with their audiobooks on Findaway Voices. At the sight of the commoners calling for blood at their gates, Spotify revised their pathetic rights grab.
But frankly, I don't trust Spotify to keep things that way. They'll switch things back when no one's looking.
So here's your warning if you choose to listen: Get your audiobooks off Findaway. Create your own store. It's the only way to protect your rights.
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