My editor is a man who puts a flame to my ass, which makes me want to jump, shout and start doing. Since I haven’t had an offer from an agent or publisher, he wants me to self-publish A Class of Leaders and Highway Sailor. “You should publish everything you’ve written,” he told me, “otherwise what’s the point? If agents aren’t willing to represent your two novels and publishers aren’t willing to publish them, then go ahead and publish them yourself. Why keep banging your head against a brick wall? Nothing should deter you from getting your work into print. Nothing. Remember, Joe, this one life is all you’ve got.”
Over the past 30-odd years I’ve tried every angle possible to get my two novels into print. What am I going to do—cry about it? Hell no! What it all boils down to is that I’m going to have to do something about it. Because I don’t believe in throwing away the thousands upon thousands of hours I’ve spent writing and rewriting both novels, I’ve come to the conclusion, with my editor’s encouragement, that self-publishing is the way to go.
I’ve lost patience in dealing with finicky agents and editors. No more sending out one-page queries by snail mail or e-mail and getting back rejection after rejection. No more trying to get their attention with a dazzling introduction and synopsis. No more sending them the first hundred pages or the first five chapters. I’ve had it up to here with people who think they know what quality writing is or think they know the pulse of the reading public. My editor has made me realize that I don’t have to take their crap any longer if I don’t want to.
Sure, I know I have to fork over my own money to self-publish, but that’s OK. I’m a writer, and a writer should get as much of his work into print as he possibly can.