Like many, if not most authors I would imagine, invest a good part of their writing careers attempting to interest publishers, book stores, and the general public, including their families and their friends, in their literary efforts. It was and remains a daunting task, requiring the psychological conditioning of an insurance salesman and the pretensions of a professor of literature philosophy.
For almost fifty years, I was one of those unfortunate would be authors who pursued their literary ambitions by dutifully transmitting their writings, their novels, their short stories, and even their poems to publishers, literary magazines editors, and literary agents, hoping that one of them will be impressed enough to recommend that their works be published and circulated to the reading public. Before the advent and obvious benefits of self publishing, there was simply no other way of ensuring that any author could persuade anyone to read their efforts, unless of course they were struck by a literary bolt of lightening or were known for some other endeavor. Some were, however, fortunate enough to be actually published, earnest literary journals being principal outlets for new authors with no track records. In summary though, aside from distributing photocopies to family and friends, the chances of an unknown author reaching the reading public with anything other than outright fantasies was undeniably dim.
My history as an author, such as it was, probably started in my early twenties. After several years of submitting poems, stories and even plays to student publications, my rate of success, though occasional, was still fairly uninspiring, I decided that post-graduate unemployment, which was readily available in the early 1970s, would provide me with opportunities to write that might have otherwise eluded me. After several months of banging away on an old Underwood typewriter, I found myself with five or six new short stories. Those stories, along with the three or four stories that I had written in my last year in college, formed the basis for a reasonable collection of short stories, all of which were photocopied multiple times and mailed to publishers and literary agents in New York City.
More than anything else, my investment in hope and money was dangerously advanced, if not addictive, enough to make me question my initial enthusiasm for the project. It came as no surprise then after six months of unrequited waiting, I had received only one response to any of my applications for possible publication, this from a New York City literary agent who asked me to pay for research, in this case an insurmountable amount for a man without a job.
I then filed the last photocopies of my short stories in the bottom drawer of an old wooden desk, the classic place for safekeeping, and looked forward to more conventional means of make a living.
It was maybe thirty years later when I came across a website for a company that sought to fulfill the ambitions of unpublished authors by offering to publish their efforts. Sure, any author of a certain age who has written anything is aware or should be aware of the so-called “vanity press”, a quaint idea that seemed to be limited, at least several decades ago, to rich people who could not attract the interests of legitimate publishers. Back then, no self respecting author would admit to even consider the use of any such service, artistic embarrassment and financial requirements being obvious reasons.
Over the following three decades, I continued to write, usually short comic entertainments that I sometimes employed at work related functions and other social occasions at which amusing diversions were appreciated. But the emergence of companies who would professionally publish the efforts of authors who otherwise could not be published was fortunate, to say the least.
So in 2004, after purchasing the services of a company named Authorhouse, the eight short stories that I had written over thirty years previously as well as one new story, were published in a collection entitled Casting Shadows. Over the next eight years, Authorhouse published seven more of my books, two more collections of short stories, Parts of a Past and These Memories Clear, three volumes of literary comic entertainments entitled The Smart Aleck Chronicles and two novels, including the recently published murder mystery The First Communion Murders.
While I have continued to pursue the interest of book publishers who could sell and distribute my books, I have pursued the sale of my books, particularly the most recent published novel, with friends, associates, and local bookstores. I have been fortunate to have had Authorhouse publish my books.
If any author who have had difficulty attracting the interest of book publishers, I recommend that they consider self-publishing.
