Thoughts on Self-publishing

I’ve announced that I’ll be self-publishing my cancer poetry book.  Somedays I feel good about that decision.  Somedays I think it’s a horrible idea.

There are days when I think, that I think too much.  Today is an over thinking day.

Back in the deep dark past of the 1980’s I took some classes on how to get published.  The process at the time involved writing for the Writer’s Market, a thick tome with names, address, types of material sought, and so on.  Then, you’d send a SASE with a note asking for the writer’s guidelines.  Then you’d wait.  Then you’d prepare a cleaver cover letter, another SASE and you’d send in your story.  The rejection normally took two to three months.

In those days, self-publishing existed and was often referred to as, “The Vanity Press.”  Apparently only extremely vain people publish their books without the benefit of a publisher.  There were also veiled threats that if you went to a vanity press you’d catch some kind of leprosy that would prevent you from ever being able to get a real publisher to print your work.

Word on the street was that you needed to receive the blessing of an editor of a “real publisher” to be considered a “real writer.”

I was never a real writer.  I was some imaginary person who sent out SASE as a hobby to prove to the world that I was in fact a second-rate hack in need of a restraining order.  At least that’s how it felt.

Then we in the computer business figured out how to build the internet, wrote web browsers, and thought that a place where you could buy books on-line rather than the local book shop, was a good idea.  Yes, I’ll take my share of the blame.  Just wish I’d received a larger share of the profits.

Today the publishing world is in the throes of radical change as a result in the shift from a paper world to an electronic world.  Submissions are done on-line.  Rejections, while still slow, are sent via email.  Writer’s guidelines are found on websites and the whole process is streamlined.

But there are also millions of blogs, Facebook pages, and twitter accounts that give us mere mortal writers an outlet for our writing without the blessing of high priest editors in New York.  These communications channels give writers something that they’ve lacked in the past, a way to talk directly to their audience without needing the publisher’s marketing machine.

Now it’s very possible for a person to write a book, get it listed on Amazon, and using their personal social network find an audience for the book.  Today there are many examples of authors self-publishing books and getting good sales.  In rare cases, some of these books have even garnered contracts from “real publishers.”

No doubt these successes have some people thinking, “Why do I need a traditional publisher?”

Well, as evil as some people think publishers are, they do bring useful things to the author’s table.  Start with money.  Printing, editing, marketing and other things cost money.  When you get a book contract the publisher picks up those costs.  Then there is their experience with editing, marketing and so on.  Skills and expertise that many authors lack.  They can sell lots of copies of books.

Which brings me to my little book.  I did think about trying to find a publisher to print my book, but I ran into a few issues.  Almost no one publishes poetry. Some small presses and literary presses do, but they are few. Likely it would take one to two full years to get it placed and I’d be forced to rewrite and edit more before that could happen.

Then the realization hit me that my little book isn’t likely to survive that world as at best it has a very limited market.  Likely the world-wide market for a depressing book of cancer poetry is about 250 copies (okay, that’s a wild guess, it might be closer to 25) – mostly among my family, friends and fellow cancer victims.  I know all those people so the marketing effort is mostly going to church and saying, “Hey, Bob, here’s your copy of my book.  Ten bucks.  Thanks Dude.”

Watch out, I could set the world on fire with sales.

So why?  I don’t have a good answer, but it’s not about sales.  It’s not about setting the world on fire with my words.  It’s not about carving out a piece of immortality with my words.  It’s not about anything the publishing world stands for.

It’s about me completing a work of art.  It’s about telling a story.  It’s about a transition in my soul.  It’s about giving voice to an event that has transformed my world and turned me from a wannabe to a real writer.

Till next week,
Andrew

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Saturday Gardening – Man vs. Shrub

It’s been very hot around here.  Over 100 for the last four days so I haven’t been out in the workshop.  Last weekend I did manage to finish digging out that shrub in the front yard.  I am proud that I managed to complete the task without needing a visit to the doctor.

At first I wasn’t sure it was going to work out, but the new pick axe worked very well.  Here are a few pictures.

Tools of the trade.

Tools of the trade.

I received a visit from the inspector:

Spotty kitty making sure I am doing it right.

Spotty kitty making sure I am doing it right.

With great satisfaction I through the stump out on the street (our trash company picks up yard trimmings and composts them):

The carcass

The carcass

Well, no more stumps to dig out.  The next project is building a planter box in the backyard.

If you need me – I’ll be in the shop,

Andrew

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Tap

I’ve been at it again. Here is last month’s open mic reading. Enjoy.

WGPP's avatarThe Willow Glen Poetry Project

— Andrew Reynolds

Tap

Hot.

Too hot.

Energy sapping hot.

I have great thoughts but they can’t get past the headache.
A cool drink helps, but not for long.
The fan blows warm air around my head.
Thoughts do not cool.

Tap.

A diamond cutter studies the raw crystal.
Marks a line.

A tap cleaves it in two.
An irrevocable step.
Choose wrong and the value is lost.
Irretrievable.

Fear.

Fear stays the hammer blow.
Reach for the jeweler’s loupe to study the problem afresh.

Time passes.
Dust settles.
The stone remains uncut, its value unrealized.
It’s beauty hidden by indecision.

The tap.
Steel edge driven by a sharp tap with a hammer.
Only one chance.
Only one choice.
Choose right and the beauty gleams.
Choose wrong and your heart breaks.

Or don’t choose, and let hope stay on a shelf.
Don’t choose and let the beauty remain hidden.
Don’t choose…

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A 9-17-9 Challenge

Annika of Annika Perry’s Writing Blog  nominated my for the 777 Challenge.  The idea is to go to page 7 of your work in progress, the scroll to line 7 and share the next 7 lines on your blog.

Interesting.  I’d be happy to share some my work in progress, but there is a problem.  Well, more than one problem.  Most of what I’ve been writing lately is about two pages long so no page 7s.  My poetry book has 74 pages, but page 7 only has three lines, no line 7 to share.  My novel is a mess and it’s difficult to find anything in that folder of notes that would even pass for work in progress writing.  Seriously, most of it is research, random notes and a few pages of things I have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote them.  There is a written set of notes, but page 7 of that is just a list of character names.  I do have a first chapter and a prolog going that I wrote maybe ten years ago and since I had to read through myself to remember what they said, I don’t consider that work in progress.

So what to do?  First, I’d like to thank Annika for recognizing me with this challenge.  I am honored that my blog writing made her think that I had some secret stash of interesting, yet undiscovered longer work somewhere on my computer.  I’ve been checking and for reasons I can’t explain, I seem to avoid writing a page 7.  I am sure that there is some numerological significance, but what it might be, escapes me at the moment.

Since 777 isn’t working for me, I’ve decided to go with a different challenge.  I do want to share some fragment of a poem so I started checking other page combinations.

I rejected the idea of a 666 challenge as being too symbolically weird, and 222, 333, 444 and 555 of my poetry book were so short that they didn’t make sense, so I’ll skip those.  Page 8 didn’t have any poetry, but page 9 did.  Unfortunately, the poem doesn’t start until line 18 as I mix prose and poetry in the early section of the book.

Well, all is not lost.  18 is a multiple of 9, so that’s kind of okay, but poem is only 8 lines.  Not okay.  Turns out that line 17 kind of introduces the poem so that brings the line count back to 9.  That makes the challenge a page 9, line 17 (9 x 2 -1), length of 9 or a 9-17-9 challenge.  Are you ready for this?  Here are 9 lines starting at page 9, line 17 of my yet to be named book of poetry about cancer:

My world started spinning differently that day; and now three years from that month:

I sing new songs.
I tell stories differently.
I cry for the loss.
I embrace the poetic.

As none but verse lets me tell either my or mother’s tale without
tears for the dead,
tears for the loss,
fear for the unknowable future.

The last part of the challenge is to nominate seven other bloggers for this challenge.  We’d be here until November if I tried to do that.  Who knows what kind of rules my mind would come up with for that selection.  Instead, if you are intrigued by the idea of sharing some lines of your work in progress, please nominate yourself and post your challenge.  Please leave a link in the comments to your work and I’ll ‘officially’ nominate you.  I’ll mention the first 7 or 14 in a future blog post.

I’ve had a few folks asking about the progress of my poetry book project.  For those who don’t know, the poetry collection I’ve written is in response to my prostate cancer and to my mother’s death due to pancreatic cancer in 2007.  Currently I am in the editing phase.  This is likely the most difficult part of the project.  It’s where we writers get hit full force with self-doubt and lack of self-worth.  This is the phase where many manuscripts get burnt, shredded, deleted or otherwise obliterated from the planet.  To date, I’ve managed to avoid that and have been pressing on with the hope that one person might find it enlightening.

I’ve had three people read and edit the book.  Heather has been through it twice for me, along with two trusted friends.  I am thankful to have received detail edits, corrections and comments on the work.  After incorporating much of this feedback into the manuscript, I’ve come to the place in my mind where the book is done.

It’s lost it’s energy for creation and now is telling me that it needs to leave my desk for the bigger world.  Yes, my books talk to me.

Looking at my options for publishing this work, I’ve decided on self-publishing it through Amazon’s Create Space for a physical book and electronically on Kindle.  Since I believe that poetry is often at its best when spoken, I’ve been looking into creating an audio book through Audible.  Turns out there is a way for me to record myself reading the book and self-publishing it.  I find the possibility of all three formats interesting.

I am under no delusions about sales.  Poetry doesn’t sell, but this is a work I feel I need to have out there. The purpose of this work has never been sales, but rather it’s one way I can tell a story that is important to me.

I have no real idea how long all that is going to take.  Likely, longer than I want.

Till next week,
Andrew

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