In case you missed it last week, a large part of the writing internet (I believe it to be its own place, that only intersects briefly with the main internet) was talking about self publishing vs. traditional publishing, and essentially how there’s no need for the ‘versus’.

I agree with this, and for the most part agreed with all the posts I read. I believe that one is not better than the other. That there is no one right way (even within each group there are thousands of branching possibilities), and everything everyone else said. That’s the short version of the sentiment, and I wish I’d saved the links so I could send you to the long versions, and I’m sorry I didn’t 🙁

The entire thing reminded me of where I’ve been, writing-wise, and where I’m going, and hoping to go, and trying to go, etc. It also reminded me of the artist’s ego. It’s a fascinating thing. It’s both as fragile as the finest china, and as resilient as Kevlar-coated, tempered steel. (Which actually, when I think about it, may not be any tougher than regular tempered steel, but with a more interesting texture, and possibly easier to dye or paint).

Anyway…way back when I first dove back into novelling, I knew I needed other people to read my work in order to improve it. I wasn’t under the impression that I could just write something and it would be fantastic and publishable. I don’t know where I learned that, but I don’t remember ever not believing that. Anyway, I wasn’t interested in face-to-face writers’ groups, because I’m anti-social and can use that to make a lot of excuses for not going out and meeting people face-to-face.

One of the first places I wound up was a message board not for writers, but it had a forum where writers could gather and chat. One of the authors (the only other truly active member) was published. He was very proud of the fact, and I didn’t blame him. And he very much liked to use that fact to tell the rest of us (um, me) that we wouldn’t truly understand how to write until we were published. And one day he shared his publishing journey with us. He had paid about thousands of dollars to have hundreds of copies of his two novels printed. This was in the days before print on demand. As far as I know, he’d sold about ten of those.

Another person I met later in a writing group also had a very distinct opinion about publishing. Two specific beliefs he held were that no one under a certain age (which would have included me at the time as I was still in my twenties), was capable of writing a truly great story, because they hadn’t lived long enough. And that everyone, without exception, who self-published was a hack with no talent.

I don’t believe in absolutes. I don’t believe one person’s path is the same as another’s, even if they have things in common. I don’t believe that someone is a talentless hack based on a series of their life choices and experiences. There are bad traditionally published novels. There are bad self-published novels. There are jackasses and loudmouths on both sides of the fence.

But there are amazing and talented individuals on both sides of the fence too. I know I’ve covered this before, but I felt it bore repeating. Everyone has to do what’s right for them, and for the right reasons. Show me a book I enjoy, and I’ll buy it regardless of what the logo is on the spine.

What have you read recently that just knocked your socks off?