Is it jealousy that makes us emotional at the news of another author being published? Is it so wrong to be envious that it isn't us instead? I don't think it's jealousy if we can admit we're envious. But, what if we go on to point out it was published by a vanity house? Or, that we read the first page and found noticeable problems? Are we jealous if we point to the errors? Probably. That anyone can publish a badly written book is one thing, but to put it up on Amazon asking for money makes me slightly angry, It's like a person cutting to the front of the line; jumping ahead of all the suckers working hard to get it right. It leaves a bad odor on all self-published authors, some of which are very good. One bad apple stinks up the whole barrel and the process keeps its bad reputation a little longer.
I wanted to be able to set some of my short stories together, in between two seven or nine -by -five inch sheets of hard cardboard, disguised by a nice covering of contact paper. I wanted words across the front that hinted of the stories inside. I wanted my name at the lower margin, and I wanted my family to love them; to read them. I wanted them to be proud that the stories contained some of my memories of them. Have I asked for too much? But, I will never write perfect enough for publication I will never be good enough to be chosen and sometimes I feel I know nothing about writing. I'm in a deep, dark valley and wonder if I really want to climb out. It's comfortable here. At this point, crafty cardboard, copy paper, and staples are good enough and they're cheap.
I will most likely give Lulu a visit someday; and order a couple dozen copies. At least I wouldn't have to pretend they chose me.
I wish I were more like some of these self-published writers; blissfully unaware of the errors, inconsistencies and plain 'bad writing' in my own work. I don't expect perfection from anyone but me, but I'd be embarrassed to put a price on anything less.
Yeah, I'm most likely just jealous of one more writer who had enough nerve to grab his dream, without slowing for a moment to ask for a good proofread.
I wanted to be able to set some of my short stories together, in between two seven or nine -by -five inch sheets of hard cardboard, disguised by a nice covering of contact paper. I wanted words across the front that hinted of the stories inside. I wanted my name at the lower margin, and I wanted my family to love them; to read them. I wanted them to be proud that the stories contained some of my memories of them. Have I asked for too much? But, I will never write perfect enough for publication I will never be good enough to be chosen and sometimes I feel I know nothing about writing. I'm in a deep, dark valley and wonder if I really want to climb out. It's comfortable here. At this point, crafty cardboard, copy paper, and staples are good enough and they're cheap.
I will most likely give Lulu a visit someday; and order a couple dozen copies. At least I wouldn't have to pretend they chose me.
I wish I were more like some of these self-published writers; blissfully unaware of the errors, inconsistencies and plain 'bad writing' in my own work. I don't expect perfection from anyone but me, but I'd be embarrassed to put a price on anything less.
Yeah, I'm most likely just jealous of one more writer who had enough nerve to grab his dream, without slowing for a moment to ask for a good proofread.
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