Self-Publishing: the Red-Headed Step Child of the Writerly World

I have recently encountered a wall.  This barrier is a mass of bodies, clinging together with decaying limbs.  From their mouths, a constant stream of invectives and nay-saying streams out in a dark unguent.  On their hind-quarters, a great seal is branded.  Some bear unicorns, some a triad of stars, one a penguin, and another has a man sowing seeds.  Society has taught me to honor this wall; to kneel before it and revere its festering beauty.  They block the path to success and tell me I must join them in order to cross into the land on the other side.  It is the Promised Land they guard; its rivers flow with ebon ink and the trees are wrapped in ruffled parchment.  Each rock holds within it a dream and simply waits for a lonely wanderer to pick it up and turn it over in pursuit of discovery.

               On my side of the wall, I sit in an uncomfortable chair, scraping my dry pen against a board of slate.  It is ungainly and awkward and lacks the gleam and glitter I can see shining through the hedge of flesh.  It is, however, completely mine; mine to etch and shape and whittle down into something of my own machinations. 

               Okay… this metaphor is getting tired.  I’ve been running into a lot of people lately who are insistent that the only way to publish is via an established publisher.  I’ve been told time and time again that they can offer me so much more and do so much more for me than I could ever do myself.  However, no one ever seems to be able to tell me exactly what that “more” is.  I fully understand that by self-publishing I will be incapable of anything but a soft-release and that there will be very little buzz surrounding it.  My expectations are realistic, though, and I am looking forward to learning about marketing by doing it.  The other big offer they seem to tout more than any other is that of editing.  Now, I know that I alone cannot edit my own works.  My eyes are sympathetic to my own mistakes and nuances, after all.  But I have a great network of readily available editors… and most of them are willing to ply their trade for free. 

               Still there is a voice inside me that blathers on about how self-publishing isn’t real publishing.  After all, anyone with internet access can self-publish an e-book these days.  There’s nothing to it, really.  No one would even make you use an editor or even spell-check, for that matter.  Does this, then, strip it of its glory?  Maybe a little… but only because we are so conditioned to believe that real authors only publish through big publishing companies.  For me, it’s about complete creative control and ownership of my creations.  To a lesser extent, it’s about getting exactly what I deserve, be it good or bad.  If the book sells well, I’ll make a greater percentage than I would with a firm.  If it doesn’t sell well, I might miss out on a signing bonus (which would likely be minuscule for a no-namer like myself), but the percentage would be the same.  Therefore, I am responsible for my own success and I only have myself to blame.  In truth, it’s quite the motivator.