Pearls My Mother Wore

     I was asked to submit a 1000 word essay about my decision to self-publish to the Road Works blog for the Left Coast Writer’s club I belong to.  We meet at Book Passage in Corte Madera/Marin, CA the first Monday of the month to hear a guest speaker and then network the rest of the evening.  Book Passage is an amazing bookstore that provides extraordinary support to authors by way of clubs, classes and workshops, writing conferences, author events, and much more.

Here’s what I wrote:

My 180

     Now that my novel, Pearls My Mother Wore, is on the market, I’m satisfied that self-publishing was the right path for me to take, but four years ago when I started writing, I felt certain that I’d go the traditional route.  I tried not to think too much about a publisher while I was writing because I just wanted to get my story on paper.  It didn’t make much sense to get worked up over a publisher when the novel hadn’t been written yet.  But while I toiled and massaged the words into a satisfying novel, I’d occasionally drift into a fantasy of being taken under the wing of one of the venerated publishing house.  I imagined the acknowledgement page in my beautifully, hardbound book where I would thank a team of folks who had worked tirelessly to shepherd my novel into the world.  Together we would have tackled all of the behind the scenes aspects of literary success: contracts, manufacturing, marketing, placement, touring, reviews, awards, etc.  I would be taken care of.  I would be part of a team.

     With a completed and well polished manuscript in hand, I sent off the first chapter to my number-one pick for a literary agent.  I was elated when that agent replied that I should send the entire manuscript.  A few weeks later I got a call from that agent saying something to the effect of “Congratulations, you’ve written a really good novel.  I’ve got to go to New York, but when I get back we’ll get together to discuss how to present it to publishers.”  I was over the moon, the agent of my choice, first time out, I was golden! 

     Two weeks later, I got an e-mail taking it all back.  I don’t know what happened in New York, but the e-mail basically said that times had never been harder to sell fiction, and my work wasn’t good enough to try.  That was tough, especially after bragging to all of my friends that I’d reached this amazing milestone.

     I took a few weeks to digest and consider my next move.  During that time, I was soothed by a number of agents/publishing tales of woe that made mine pale by comparison.  The establishment wasn’t looking so great.  Writers seemed to experience dozens of rejection letters, if they were lucky.  It was accepted practice to be totally ignored.  I was cautioned about contractual traps that could leave me empty-handed.  Even if I made it in,  I was told not to expect any concentrated editing efforts.  I wouldn’t be allowed to design the book cover.  I couldn’t set the price.  I wouldn’t be able to control the release date.  I would have to create and fund my own book tour.  Marketing Platforms, I get it about marketing platforms, but the hustle/reward ratio seemed heavily slanted in the publishing house’s favor.  I do most of the work, agent and publisher collect most of the profit.  At least this is how I heard it in casual conversations.  

     All of this presented a heart-sinking dilemma — continue to pursuit other agents in the hopes that they could find me a publisher, or go it alone, self-publish.  My 180 came when I acknowledged that everything about the writing phase had been fun.  I enjoyed the classes I took, the people I met, and the deep emotional places my story took me to.  Writing had enriched my life and was incredibly rewarding.  So why, I asked myself, in the eleventh hour, would I want to subject my positive writing experience to such an ego bruising?  The answer was, I wouldn’t, and I didn’t have to.  Self-publishing had come a long way during the years that had passed, and it was absolutely a viable option.

      I did a little more work on the novel, hired an editor to make sure it was as clean as it could be, my husband and I designed the cover art, I worked with a book designer to put everything together in the most profession looking layout, and off it went to Lulu.com for self-publishing.  It was the perfect solution.  I don’t have the iron-clad self-esteem it takes to go the other way.  Chasing and courting complete strangers in the established publishing world had a little, “Are you my daddy?  Are you my daddy?” feel to it.  I guess I gave up before even trying, a case of “contempt prior to investigation.”

      What self-publishing has done for me is it has allowed me to hold and share my book.  I’ve been immersed in writing Pearls My Mother Wore for the past four years, my family and friends wanted to read it.  I continue to have great enthusiasm for my characters and the plot, and I have plenty of energy to do my own promoting.  I get to do that in my own way, on my own time, and I don’t have to worry about answering for any quotas, and as a print-on-demand operation, I’m not haunted by thousands of unsold books. 

      Lulu didn’t require any up-front money, and in some ways, you get what you pay for.  The customer service was seriously lacking.  When problems loading my PDF arose, it was like writing to an ATM and asking for tens instead of twenties.  My help e-mails were answered with pre-made, generic solutions that didn’t apply.  The fix required several re-downloads, several test-copy orders, and several agonizing weeks.  My other complaint is that the paper stock for the cover is pretty flimsy; the glue binding seems to be holding up well though.  Live and learn.

     If I had to do it again, I would try another self-publishing company, but I’d still go that route if I had to.  I don’t actually know what working with a traditional publisher would be like.  I’m holding out hope that sales of Pearls My Mother Wore become so impressive that they do a 180 and come courting me.

     Thanks for reading, thanks for commenting, see you next Friday.

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