There was a time I thought it would pretty cool to see my books on sale on the shelves of Barnes and Noble. It was a small time but I’m coming clean, it’s how I started out thinking as the measure of success.
I still get asked where my books are available. “Um, Amazon.”
“But not in a real store?”
“If you don’t consider Amazon, the biggest book retailer, a real store; I guess so.”
I know there was a time that books were only sold in stores. But then again so were lots of things. I, like millions others, found the Internet and have moved past all that.
As I have learned since, wishing my books in a big box book store is like wishing I had a first class deck chair on the Titanic. Or like sitting in the pilot’s chair on the Zeppelin. Or having a low numbered boarding pass for a Southwest Airlines flight.
I’ve enjoyed not playing within the publishing world. I think I’m just fine without the rejection letters, the humiliating twitter comments from agents reviewing their slush piles, or publishers taking my work and changing it to how they believed to be more marketable.
I made a conscious choice to self-publish.
I do everything else myself. I fix my own vehicles. I tie my own flies. And I write my own books.
Are they perfect?
Of course not.
But every aspect of the job is up to me. I own my books. I choose the story, the cover, the formatting. Everything. I decide what they are worth.
And if B&N ever did want my book AND I agreed to let them; I would make like 2¢ a book. I have respect for my work and the thrill of seeing my book on their shelves, just doesn’t feel worth it. And don’t even get me started with the return policy.
No, I’ll stick with my control, my meager sales, and my own destiny.
By myself and online.