It is wild – so much of the publishing world that I’m a part of—a very, very small part, to be sure—is the frontier. It’s messy. Really, really messy. And to be honest, I stay out of it almost entirely. My dragon to slay is not the reputation of self-publishing, or to comment on the latest scandal; my dragon is my own writing, my own ability to tell the stories I want to tell. But…every so often, I am reminded of just how wild west bat shit crazy my neck of the woods can be.
It’s also funny—so much of self publishing appeals to me. Truly. Otherwise, I wouldn’t do it. I love that I can write something and publish it. I love that I can handle the marketing of that thing, and reap the benefits of figuring out the hard things to do, like advertising and newsletters and blurbs and covers and editors. I love that shit. But…so often I feel like I majorly differ from so many of my peers in that I don’t despise the other side of being an author: traditional publishers. I see the value in gatekeepers, actually. I believe in quality over quantity, even when the market rewards the opposite in so many ways, and I see how someone telling you that your book isn’t good enough yet, it needs these fixes is valuable. I think that’s the theater and screenwriting experience coming into play, both artistic mediums predicated on insane amounts of observation and feedback. It’s painful, often not helpful…but sometimes invaluable. I’ve personally experienced the plus sides of why traditional publishers do things the way they do them. I plan to traditionally publish. I don’t think they’re dinosaurs, I just think they’re different. I want BOTH. I will have both. Eventually.
I guess I always feel a bit stuck between two worlds. Out of place. And I know that’s actually ME, not anyone else. I know that because I’ve always felt that way, whatever it is I’m doing, whomever it is I’m hanging out with. I feel like I don’t really belong there, not completely.
I wonder when I’ll find my tribe wholly and completely.