Some thoughts…
Writing is HARD. Writing a book is HARD. Writing to the end of a novel is HARD, HARD, HARD. That’s why I admire anyone who actually does it. The commitment, the energy, the love, the frustration.
And then you try to be published. Well, let’s not go there. Seems to me if you have a ‘name’ and you write a justifiably interesting account of your life, that informs and amuses, it then gives you carte blance to be offered a publishing contract to write anything else you fancy, even if that offering is, well, decidedly poor. Despite the legions of folk toiling on stories who come up with something genuinely absorbing, well-written and smart, that traditional publishing houses care not to even cast a glimpse at. That’s probably a debate for another time…
So, these days, we have self-publishing. Somewhat frowned upon for some time, but gaining popularity. Many companies offering assistance and many avenues open. For some, after all that toil and perspiration, just seeing their words bound and in print is enough; it’s just the thrill of holding your book in your hands. And self-publishing is HARD. Really, really HARD. Learning new skills, navigating technology.
So I couldn’t be happier for one of the loveliest and most supportive members of my local writers’ circle – who did it! He made it to the end of his story and determined to hold that book in his hands, he went ahead and self-published. Here it is, folks:
Set in the 1950s, a whimsical murder mystery, with joyful characters and playful moments.
Take a moment for all those bashing at their keyboards while others play in the sunshine, and occasionally cast a glance at the self-published titles. You might just find a gem.
Lady Valetta Writes 