As time rolls on and I look to the start of a brand new year, the allure of self-publishing my first novel seems to be growing.

That isn’t to say I’m giving up on trying to land an agent. No, no. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I won’t seriously explore the self-publishing option until at least the spring and after a few more rounds of agent submissions (more on that next week).

I did, however, read up on publishing electronically via Amazon’s
Kindle Direct Publishing. It seems like a promising endeavor and certainly worth further thought, as are all of the digital publishing options available (I went to Amazon first, as their track record for me is currently spotless).

I don’t think I would go Print-on-Demand for this one. Not that I wouldn’t love to see my book in print. It’s just, well, the world is evolving. And no matter how much my hands yearn for paper, it’s true that the “printed” word is becoming obsolete. Why tie myself down to an antiquated format unnecessarily?

Plus, digital publication is free.

Whether or not I will publish on Amazon’s Kindle platform remains to be written in another post on another day but I am seriously debating its merits and shortcomings and will discuss this further as the unfortunate rejections roll in.

It really makes me feel shitty, though, having that nice, thick pile of negations at hand. Almost makes me lose confidence in the work, to tell the truth. Almost. But I know it’s good. I know it’s well-written. I also know the book’s somewhat different than traditional novels and a risk for normal publishers because of its writing style. You know, the one that continues to bring to mind a graphic novel adaptation.

Still, after picking up and reading an early Michael Connelly novel and shouting, “This sounds exactly like my fucking book,” to my wife—I swear, it was the first time I read it, though not the first Connelly novel (love The Poet)—I know it could sell. I know it could be popular.

It just needs to be given the chance.

Will I be a big time author, the likes of Michael Connelly or, to stretch even further, Stephen King? I doubt it. But maybe. It could happen. Not that I’m holding my breath or focusing all my efforts on this, my blind gambit, but it is my passion. My hobby. And I will fight for it ‘til my bitter end.

I almost want to say “Fuck it,” and move on without the agents. But I made a promise, both to myself and to my wife, that I wouldn’t do so until a certain time. And that time, although fast approaching, isn’t now. So, until then, back to work.