A couple weeks ago, I read a comment by an established publisher, who basically said that anybody who self-publishes or who doesn’t go through an established publisher (one that’s survived through the past five to one-hundred years) is just a very sad, wannabe writer, not worth snoring over. That’s been a rankling, an uncomfortable niggling, at my subconscious; a chapping of my hide.
What arrogance, for a publisher to think that they are the only ones who know good writing! Where were the publishers with the writer of Peter Rabbit? She had to self-publish, and her books were basically gifts to friends and family members…like mine. Think about all the arrogant publishers who turned down the writer of Harry Potter and many other great authors, when they first started their careers.
I write in order to keep from bursting into flaming bubbles with all the thoughts and ideas that swirl and swell inside my mind. I read voraciously on the art of writing, and watch educational instruction on different ways to put sentences together. Since the sixth-grade, I have read all the different genres, and still do, including the Bible! I write to please me, or to make gifts for others, or to contribute to fun and education, and people actually enjoy my self-published snore-drivel. If Abraham Lincoln could study himself into presidency and famous speech-making, so can I; and arrogant, snobbish publishers, who think they are all that, can just go and pour glue up their left nostrils!
There, I feel so much better now. Thank you for your time.