Amazon, being a US company will withhold extra tax from you. To mitigate this, just sign up for a US tax ID. Sounds complicated, but it's not.
You can get an EIN (Employer Identification Number also known as a Federal Tax Identification Number) in your business name, or if you do not have a registered business name, in your own name.
If you call the IRS on 267-941-1099 and ask for an EIN they can issue it over the phone. It takes about 10 minutes and you will need your Australian Tax File Number.
Use a service like Skype to make the call so you can do it cheaply.
Once you have that you just fill out a W-8BEN form and send it to CreateSpace, KDP, iTunes, etc.
Instructions about form: http://www.irs.gov/pub/irs-pdf/iw8ben.pdf
The tax treaty between the US and Australia is Article 12.
This allows you to pay only 10% withholding tax on book royalties.
For the reason you are using the W-8BEN form you put "Australian author self publishing via US distributor".
You only need to get an EIN once.
BAM! You're on Amazon, earning commission cheques within a week!
Dear opinionated reporter. Before you feel it is your place to run down James Magnussen, put your big mac down for a second and read this, please.
James Magnussen, an athlete at his peak fitness, his skills honed and honed, the taper is complete, the last meal has been eaten, the tracksuit on. The hours are ticking by slowly with nothing more to do than think.
4 years in the making, it has come down to this. You, oh mighty critic, have deadlines that come and go. An olympic athlete’s deadlines are 4 years apart. They work more hours than you ever have, for less pay than you do, for a goal so far into the future, we mortals can only pretend to understand. For many, there is only this one one chance. 4 years is the maximum life span of many athletes.
James has done all he can, and he’s hoping that it is enough. In his mind, he will retrace the last 4 years. The magnitude of the task ahead of him is so thick, he can feel it. He can taste it. He’ll be scanning his body for any sign of weakness, any twinge, any doubt.
The butterflys in his stomach will not settle, and his baackside is raw from so many nervous trips to the toilet. He is not hungry, feels sick at the thought of food. He drinks water mechanically. He can’t think about anything else other than how slow time is going.
As the seconds tick by, he will internalise. His nervous conversations seem to happen outside of him. they don’t register – like people talking in the hallway. He’s surrounded by thousands of people, but is all alone.
Except for the voice inside his head.
Swimmers know this voice well. They spend hours upon hours with it – they can not escape it. They must embrace it.
Ask anyone about their internal voice and they will agree that under pressure, it is a cold heartless bastard. An athlete’s internal voice doesn’t want him to get hurt, so it will come up with convenient reasons as to why he will fail. It will present them quickly, one after the other in a very, very convincing fashion.
The only combat an athlete has for this, is his confidence. A very strong, convincing internal voice, needs a very strong, convincing external voice.
You may think it has something to do with you, or that the athlete is arrogant? Don’t flatter yourself. His answers to interviews are autonomous. He is hearing you, but only through the translation of the malicious internal voice. The voice that keeps telling him “you’re going to let everyone down”. The voice that keeps looking for reasons, for justification.
No athlete wants to let anyone down, so they fake confidence. It’s worked before. They just have to believe it. The more they fake confidence, the quieter the inside voice. In high pressure situations, the voice is even louder. If you’re the favourite, you have to shout out your confidence, just to keep sane. This is why everybody prefers to be the underdog.
But you wouldn’t know that. You sitting there at your computer, typing your nasty words. Convincing your readers how one of your own countrymen has let them down.
You have no idea how much damage your words can do. You say he will live to regret this for the rest of his life, you’re right? Because when you’ve long gone onto your next victim, he’ll still be living with your cutting words. His internal voice will be reading them to him. Again, and again. You’ve done a great job of wounding his confidence, the only weapon he has against his internal voice.
I say you are letting your countrymen down. You don’t have the right to judge an olympic athlete’s effort. He’s sacrificed more in the last four years for his country than your entire genetic history has.
Why is it that we hate confidence so much? Would you have preferred that he talk himself down before the event? Sacrilege. For a confidence athlete like Magnussen, if you see modesty, be afraid for him. For that man is losing a battle with his inner voice.
It has nothing to do with you, nor should it. Maybe we would have more medals if our critics could help our athletes, rather than find fault. When next you see an athlete showing confidence, help him out. Outward confidence is inward turmoil.
Instead of feeding his internal voice, his doubt; give fire to his confidence.
Here are some words that will go a long way to helping your athlete, and therefore your country:
“I believe in you”
Who knows, maybe your words will be the tipping point.
While we were on SBS a few weeks back, we listened patiently as 3 obese girls told us how they were bullied every single day. When we asked them to simply walk us through the last time it had happened, which must have been that day, their answer was a very aggressive “People never say anything outwardly, it’s implied by the way they look at us. You’ve never been overweight, have you? We're always being stared at, especially from the bus.”
Earlier that day, we went for a walk through Kings Cross, the red light district of Sydney. As we walked through, thinking about all the stories of murder and organised crime, we got this feeling that everyone was watching us, even though they weren’t.
We walked past a bus stop as the passengers were getting on and off. I looked up to the big windows and felt that everyone had been looking at me. I remember thinking to myself “Why are they looking at me? I must look like a tourist…”
Granted, I was pushing a pram, but looking back, I ask myself; What else was there for the bus passengers to look at?
If you catch a bus to work every day, you don’t look at the other passengers, you look out the window. If it’s the same route you go on everyday, the scenery doesn’t change but the people do. So you look out at all the people.
I pressed those girls on SBS to please give me a real example of bullying, but they couldn’t, instead calling me a bully for asking. In my mind, I was asking because I wanted to help them overcome these cowardly bullies, but it seemed that they expected me to bully them, so that is how they heard it.
I really genuinely wanted to know; What do people say or do that would turn the source of the bullying into the perceived solution? What would someone have to do in order for an overweight woman to eat her way to obesity.
You see, I believed that something really, really cruel and nasty would do it. I pictured a bunch of thugs with box cuts wearing overalls poking them with broomsticks in an alleyway, laughing and pushing them around as they force fed them Mars bars.
I really imagined it would be something like that, but their answers were as evasive as the stares of the bus passengers. You see, if they had been horribly bullied, we would have a solution, we would be able to help them to stop destroying their lives with food, simply by confronting the bullies.
These poor girls couldn’t pinpoint even one time that they had been the victim of confronting bullying. All the bullying they had endured had been “the stares and muffled conversation of others”.
So maybe that is the problem that needed to be addressed for these girls, “nobody cares about me.” I know a psychologist who believes that people let themselves go, until they get to a point of body composition that is unremarkable - not quite unhealthy, but not healthy either. Once this tipping point is reached, they can go one of two ways, lose weight or put on a lot of weight. In both situations, the emotional driver is that they want to become noticeable again.
And that’s a complex issue, with a simple solution. But here it is. People on a bus (and anywhere) have to look somewhere. And when they look at you, they are just looking at you. When they don’t look at you, they are not ignoring you. They are not bullying you or judging you. In fact, nobody gives a shit about you. They only care about one thing. Themselves.
But that, my friend, is universal. Nobody cares about anybody they don’t know. In fact, most people don’t care about people they do know, beyond what they get out of the relationship.
This is some real crazy shit I know, but think about your spouse/partner even, what do you love about them? Is what you love about them making you feel good? Hell yes, it does, you love them because they make you feel good. You benefit from the relationship. As soon as people stop benefiting from a relationship, they say the relationship has gone sour.
Now don’t be embarrassed, because it’s the same for your spouse. They love you because you make them feel good. They get a benefit out of you. Great relationships are built on mutual benefit.
It’s not just you and your spouse, it is everybody. Human nature, we are wired for benefit. We care about someone until the benefit stops. It’s like the person who quits her job then never talks to her work “mates” again. The benefit (income) has stopped, so she no longer has to care about the people.
I could go on and on, but that’s not the point. Once you get over the initial earth shaking shock if this realisation, you’re in for a real treat. Like “the matrix”, you get to see the hidden lines that tie people together. You get to know what everyone gets from everyone else.
You didn’t think we would end up here did you? LOL. I promise we’ll cover real bullying in another chapter… but for now...
I often ask why it is that we humans celebrate athletes so much. Pragmatically, they don’t do anything for the ongoing growth of humanity. They serve nobody but themselves. They cost money. They spend a lot of time chasing worthless pieces of tin to hang around their necks. Yet we love them. Why?
Sharny used to think that running in the rain was bad for her, she would get sick, her hair would frizz up. Now, when it rains, she makes sure she goes for a run – it’s invigorating and freeing.
Let me tell you something I’ve been thinking about.
It wakes me up at night and Sharny is patient enough to hear it but I’m sick of telling her because she already believes it. She lives it. She’s living proof of it.
Here it is.
You know how people tell you there is a universe that brings you stuff?
I’ve tried it. I’ve sat there, listened to the tapes, gone to the imaginary person seminars and the confusing book deals. I’ve imagined good things, I’ve prayed, I’ve dreamed, I’ve written them down, I’ve said them aloud and I’ve told my wife, my kids and complete strangers.
Did any of them come true?
Everything I dreamt of was something I didn’t know how to get. Something I wished would happen TO me or FOR me so I could look better or be better. And these things that happen to me or for me, did they work, did they MANIFEST?
If it were true, we would all be sitting under a big old oak tree, ohming for some shit we want. Maybe that’s why so many people love cooking. Dream up some aesthetically pleasing feast, put the ingredients in the oven and about an hour later, my “rockets of desire” will come back to me in a big old delicious steak pie, just like I imagined it from the picture I burned into my mind.
I used to think that was how life worked. You would just put the ingredients together, and burn a picture of what you want into your mind and like an oven, it would magically appear in front of me.
It kind of does work like that, except for one major thing that is left out.
Labour… Toil… Work… Even with baking a pie, there is work. The baker does the least of it. What about the hours of toil that went into farming the ingredients, the years of design that went into the creation of the oven, the rest of the ingredients, the dish I put it in, the cutlery and crockery I eat it off? The dishwasher that cleans it – someone had to design it, someone had to build it, someone had to unload it off the truck and someone had to install it for me. Labour. Work.
Even something as simple as a pie costs thousands of man hours of labour. But not mine. Because the labour has been compensated for by money. Money that gets divided up and spent by everyone else. But that’s an argument for someone else, the point is that there has been a transfer of cash for the labour.
Now here’s the funny thing – nowhere in the realm of universe, or universal generosity, do you get to make a pie on someone else’s dime. The only time that this magical ‘universe will bring me everything’ pipe dream works, is if you build the oven with your bare hands. If you farm the grain and the cattle. Because there is no such thing as currency in the ‘universe’ there is no equitable transfer of labour for goods. It’s like dreaming that a bank can just keep giving you money – if you dream about it hard enough.
When it comes to the universe (or god, buddah, allah, or whomever you pray to) – there is no leverage. Leverage makes people rich but unfulfilled. We train some of the wealthiest people in the world, and they are all brilliant at leveraging other people’s time and labour for financial gain, but they will never find a point where they can rest and relax. They can never rest – they are perpetually unsatisfied.
For years I spent time getting rich – stupid rich. I spent everything I earned every week so that I would be motivated to do it again on the Monday. It was easy. It IS easy to make money. It is even easier to spend it. It is hardest to keep it. But chasing the dollar is like a carrot to the donkey. Once the donkey eats the carrot, he wants another. I was a donkey.
Then one day I went out to a farm and worked with working class men. I was amazed that they had very little money, very few possession; but were so content. I didn’t understand it. Surely they would want a nicer car, a better house or a holiday?
But these men weren’t sad. They weren’t depressed. They were more satisfied and fulfilled than any one of the big company men I kicked around with. They were much happier than I was.
And you know why? Because every single day they woke up, they weren’t motivated by greed. They were motivated to work as hard as they could, so that as the sun set, they would shower off the dust of the day, body sore and exhaused and know that they had worked hard. While the rest of the world grows fat, lazy and completely unfulfilled, we are supported by men and women who’s satisfaction in life is based on their own decision to outwork their ability. Every single day.
Not all of us have the option to sell up everything and work the land for that deep sense of exhausted satisfaction… But we do have fitness. It is through our exercise that we can reach physical exhaustion. Complete fulfilment of the fact that we worked hard. And in the end, money, love, universe, god, religion, politics – none of that matters if you can go to sleep every night knowing you worked hard that day. Knowing that you gave more than you took. Exercise to exhaustive satisfaction, labour elsewhere to mental exhaustive satisfaction.
Now back to the magic of the universe.
You know what I ohn for now? I ohm to be the perfect version of me for the day. I ohm to the tune of hard work, responsibility, accountability and above all else – not asking another person to take time out of their MANIFESTATION to give me the rewards of their hard work.
I don’t work for a ferrari, I don’t work for a set of abs, I don’t eat for performance, I don’t eat for weight loss. I perform to my limits, I work harder than yesterday, I run further than last week, and I eat less than I need.
I’m hungry all the time. Hungry to make a difference. I sometimes hate the hunger, I sometimes hate myself. But I’d rather be hungry, because when I’m hungry, I take action, need action, take chances, work hard, risk lots and perform better and GIVE everything.
One day, when I am old, surrounded by grandchildren, I want to feel sore. I want to feel tired. I used to want to stay fit through old age, but not any more. A life of caution never reaches exhaustion. I want to be stiff and tired and weathered – I want to be satisfied. Whatever happens as a result of my labour is (god/buddah/allah/universe/thor’s) decision. I will just control what I can – myself.
One exhausted sunset at a time.
If this sounds like you, then you’re going to love FITlosophy 2 – order your copy now
In the early 20th century, we were afraid of communism.
In the mid 20th century we were afraid of nuclear holocaust.
In the late 20th century, we were afraid of terrorism.
As those threats have waxed and waned, a threat far greater and far more sinister has infected us. Slowly seeping into the arteries of society, poisoning humanity like a plague, it is now at an all time high. The threat level too great to ignore.
The very fabric of society on the verge of being torn apart by a monster we created ourselves.
Perhaps we have gone too far to turn back?
Communism, nuclear holocaust, terrorism? All threats that come from the outside. This devious, evil old threat has come from within. It’s a sickness, a poisoning of the mind.
Already it has infected more than two thirds of the population. It’s growth is exponential, yet it is so subtle, so omnipotent that apart from this unnerving feeling that something is wrong, almost nobody knows it’s here.
The ones who do know it’s here, know it’s real, are either too afraid to say anything or are infected themselves.
There is not even a word for it yet, so right here, right now, we will create one.
OOC. Obsessive Over-Consumption.
It’s a terrifying affliction, killing people slowly – from the minute it gets it’s claws into them, it begins poisoning, destroying. What starts in the mind, moves to the body. Then spreads to family and friends.
Of the 7 deadly sins, it embodies 5.
gluttony, greed, lust, envy and sloth.
People who are infected with OOC become zombie like. Self awareness and self respect forgone, replaced with cold obsession. A perpetually unsatisfied appetite for consumption. Over consumption. Excessive overconsumption.
For now, the consumption is of substance, possessions and entertainment. These poor souls who once enjoyed a life of experiences, now work all day to pay for their addictions. Like a parasite, their unstoppable appetite is killing the host.
Once, they ate to live. Now, they live to eat. Never far from a shopping mall or a supermarket, they spend the time they are not eating, satisfying their next greatest hunger – possessions.
A few decades ago, people went shopping once a week or once a month. And what were we looking for then? Quality. Something that would last forever, we were prepared to part with more money for better quality.
Quality is irrelevant on the buying decision tree of an OOC. “Is it cheap?” is the first question, then “do I get a lot?” before “does it make me look good?”
Buying a pair of pants for example. People used to pull on the seams to see if the stitching was sound. Nobody does that any more. But why bother? The pants won’t be worn for very long. OOC’s don’t like people to see them in the same clothes more than once. It looks badly on their social status. Another consumptive source. Instead of looking for the beauty in nature or conversing with other people, they bury their faces in the ‘smart’ phones, scrolling the social feeds, mindlessly consuming gossip.
The only saving grace we have for what is left of the human race is that most people infected with OOC are easily recognisable. No mask, no clothing, no make-up can hide their gargantuan bodies.
A typical advanced OOC sufferer looks like an overstuffed maggot. Fat bulging out of every corner of their bodies. Eyes like tiny beads, nearly hidden behind thick layers of fat on their faces.
Breathing laboured, they sit immobile, food in hand staring blankly at their mobile device, fixated by what self affirming victim entertainment they can consume there.
Disgusting and sad, but they are there. They are everywhere. But we can’t blame them. They are like zombies. They have no idea how badly they are affected or infected.
When someone tries to help them, tries to point out to them that they are trapped, they fight like animals. Years of self oppression and sickness boils to the surface in a rage that cannot be contained.
Yelling and screaming condemnation like naughty children, they abuse the very people trying to help them. “I am not trapped,” or “I am happy the way I am” or “mind your own business”. They defend themselves with vigour, by defending their cage.
The cage that they created for themselves, the cage with no lock and no door. The cage of the mind. Their very salvation lies in destroying the only thing they protect, yet they defend it with their lives.
We’ve walked into the cage and shown them the way out. But they are too afraid of leaving. Too obsessed with their junk possessions, junk entertainment and junk food. Their piles of fool’s gold lying around the floor too much to sacrifice.
We’ve walked in and slapped them in the face. We’ve begged them, we’ve cried, we’ve shown them pictures of the world outside, but they won’t budge. They hate the cage, but they can’t leave. They hate being captive, but they swear they are free.
As we move on into a new era of humanity. Driven by more than just the superficial lusts for power of the first world, we are being separated, driven apart. What once was a brother or sister, will soon become unrecognisable, inconsolable. A self destructive animal bent over an instrument of hate.
For the OOC are starting to band together, mobs of them crowding up to defend themselves, and all against the people trying to save them. Instead of breaking the walls of their cages down, they gang tackle, beat and destroy the few people trying to help them.
Battle lines have been drawn. We are at war, the biggest war this world has ever faced. The OOC are moving forward. They are coming and they outnumber us 3 to one.
But they haven’t killed us yet. They have tried, but they haven’t.
Oh but for the grace of whatever god still exists, we are still here. We believe. And as we believe, we will help. We will extend our hands into the mouth of the deranged lion, hoping we can cure its disease.
We are but two people.
And we are infected.
This is an excerpt from the book FITlosophy 2.
In every generation, a special few will be born to the right family with the right upbringing – be it love or abuse, something has led them to the realisation that there is more to life than this. There is more the their lives than this. From those obscure places will come our heroes. Our superheroes. Our leaders.
OOC knows no class boundaries, no age limits, no sexism nor racism. Sweeping across the world like a blanket, it turns day into night. Earth into hell. Hope, into despair.
By the end of the decade, 99% of the population will be infected or partially infected with OOC. We know we are infected by our collection and hoarding of possessions. We eat and drink and spend to excess. We live outside of our means. We obsess all day over this imaginary thing called money.
And we continue to breed. 3rd and 4th generation OOC’s are being born every day. Born into families where the talk is excess, the action is laziness and the excuses are in the form of blame.
These children have little hope. Parents and grandparents too far gone to know they are infected themselves, let alone being able to help their children.
You may feel a slight pull on your heartstrings, or an overwhelming tug on your soul, but if you feel anything from reading these few pages, you may be one of the few. The only hope we have left.
You can help the world. No matter how small you feel right now, or how deeply infected you might be, you can help. Imagine yourself as a harp. If you can feel us plucking your strings, if you can feel the tune we’re playing deep inside you; you’re probably the hero we’ve been waiting for.
The hero the world has been waiting for…
Your time, my friend… has come.
You should be feeling a little scared or a little silly at the thought of your dream. This is great, because it means that you are infinitely more likely to actually achieve it! Let us explain.
On a clear New Zealand winter day, a shy young boy named Ed called down quietly to his parents (Percy and Gertrude) from the elm tree that he was climbing in the backyard of his Tuakau home. He had gone up there to avoid conversation with the other boys who had come to his birthday party, and had been lost in his daydreams when he called out:
“Mum, Dad... One day I’m gonna stand on top of the world.” On 29th May 1953 at the age of 33, Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay became the first climbers to reach the summit of Mt. Everest – the top of the world.
What a silly dream you think, but most of our best dreams were created as children, before society, looking good and consequence silenced them. But you have hopefully brought that to the surface – and that has taken some courage...
Now that you have dreamed your dream, it’s time to make it real. This time, your task is to tell at least 5, but preferably 10 people what you are going to achieve. Don’t worry about whether you think it is possible or not – you will deal with that in Degree Shift 4. The important thing is to tell as many people as you can about what you are going to achieve, and to tell them with conviction – so that they believe you.
To add a little more competition, you have three levels of conviction to your goal, the results of which will affect what happens in Degree Shift 4.
This article comes from the bestselling book Never Diet Again.