While browsing through my email today, I saw a title from one of the many book/writing-related senders that I subscribe to.  It was titled something like “Want to be a writer? Do this…” 

What?  I am a writer.  I write.  Doesn’t the act of writing make me a writer?  I wrote a whole book.

But here’s where I am different than a surprising amount of people out there: I published it.

I didn’t stick it in a drawer because I thought it was terrible and no one would read it.  I didn’t put myself down, or tell myself I couldn’t be a real writer.  I didn’t spend hours crafting query letters, only to receive no response, or be declined.  I chose to self-publish.

*Gasp!*  But, isn’t that a lot of work?  you ask.

Yes, yes it is.  But I had a story burning a hole in my brain, and I needed to get it out to readers.

I tested it, of course, and took in feedback before I released it into the wilds.  And I learned many a lesson along the way (like, not to get too excited when uploading your book information to Amazon, because you WILL make a mistake).

But I am happy as my own publisher, for now.  It helps that I actually like formatting Word docs, and designing promo things in Photoshop, because every day I find there is something I need to do to market my next book, or promote the current title–in addition to all of that work it takes to write, edit, format and design both an eBook and paperback.  But I refuse to wallow in un-published land just because there is a stigma about self-publishing, or because it is hard.

Sylvia has grown on me.  She keeps pushing when she has nothing left to push.  She keeps going when no one else will.  And I will keep writing.

If some publisher takes an interest in my books, that’d be great.  Until then, I am happily on my own.