Thoughts, Barely, by Xmastime

I’ve spent the past year whining and mewling like a baby because a literary agent to represent my “amazing, masterpiece! debut novel” has not presented him or herself to me. Meanwhile, everyone keeps yammering that I should just self-publish it, that’s the way to go these days anyway blah blah blah. Of course me being old school means I am horrified of the thought; having it published by an actual company means I don’t hafta give a shit if people like it, since it was deemed worthy of a publisher. Self-publishing simply means there’s no buffer between it and my friends seeing for themselves that the book is terrible and I’m the worst writer in the world.

On the bright side, reading that my slice of superslices Remembrance of Things Past was initially self-published does soften things a bit should I choose to go in that direction after all.