Today I shall be waxing poetic (but, you know, briefly) about a writer's choice. Or maybe it'll be ranting (but, you know, briefly); it's hard to say. I don't intend to rant, but as some slightly irritating real life experience inspired today's post, an unintentional rant isn't completely out of the question.
But we'll take it slow and see how it goes.
As you may or may not know (or particularly care), I've decided to pursue the indie route for my long-suffering novel, Effigy, and lately I've been taking a lot of crap for this decision from certain members of my local writers' groups.
They're firmly in the camp that self publishing is bad—very, very bad—and traditional publishing is good. The fact that they only care to pursue the traditional route for their writing is fine. More than fine even because self publishing is not for everyone, and I don't care what path they choose to follow. They want to go traditional? Great. Best of luck to them.
But what does bother me is their unwillingness to at least politely accept or respect my choice to choose differently. When they found out that self publishing was the road I plan to tread, you would've thought that I had announced my intentions to sacrifice newborns to the demon Laconis. (Name! That! Reference!)
They said, "Don't give up on real publishing!" and "Why would you ever do such a thing?"
Well, I would do such a thing because I honestly feel it's the best decision for this particular project. It's not a choice I made lightly—not by any means—and I've had a lot of sleepless nights because of it. And also because I'm an insomniac, but mostly because I don't want to screw up this book. I want to do right by it.
Which is all any of us want for our novels.
So whatever you choose to do with your writing, I sincerely wish you all the best with it. Love your choice, embrace your choice, and take that leap.
Happy writing, all.