Why I don’t want to be published!

Lately I’ve been having conversations with people about being published.

No, not those people – not the useful, prestigious ones like agents, publishers and Netflix.

I mean normal people – friends, relatives and such – who flatteringly think that my stuff is good and so I should try to get traditionally published.

Accordingly, I’ve been thinking about whether I actually want to be traditionally published. On one level, yeah of course I do. Boasting rights. Tick of approval. Money. Fame. Etc. Who wouldn’t??

On the other hand…and there’s a lot of fingers on that other hand. I write because I like writing. I like producing literatuah and then reading it over and going, yeah, that’s good, that hits the spot (my spot).

So suppose I do decide to try to get an agent, this is how it’ll go. First I’ll have to write a bunch of self-promoting crap to convince them not to put me in the slush pile – an author bio about how marketable I am (not) as a writer, a pitch about how marketable (not) the work in question is, possibly a run-down on what best selling authors/books I consider my work to be similar to (none), maybe a precis of the plot. To this I’ll attach my work – formatted in 12 point Times New Roman double space with headers containing name/title/word count and all the other frigging stupid requirements with which the manuscript-reading fraternity like to tease us. Including a cover letter to publisher/agent detailing (blah blah blah, did I mention I hate filling in forms?).

Now I send it off. To one publisher/agent at a time, because apparently they can’t bear to be dealt with en masse. And I wait. After three weeks to three years, I then receive a rejection letter saying my work isn’t what they’re after. If I’m particularly diligent (and they’re unusually quick), I’ll get lots. During all this time, my work will languish unread. By anyone. Also during this time, I will get more and more downcast about the value of my work, and spending time on it will cease to be enjoyable. What’s the use, I’ll begin to think, if no one who MATTERS thinks it’s any good?

But just suppose some crazy publisher/agent accepts it? Well then there’s the money, fame, recognition – and lovely, lovely editorial changes. Like, if I’ve put a gender diverse person in, or someone with naughty opinions, they might insist that I dilute it or take it out. Nobody wants another JKR on their hands, right? I’ve noticed that prize-winning novels these days tend towards the morality-tale/virtue signalling side of things. Since I’m more in the ‘if you don’t like it don’t frigging read it’ mould, that might be awkward.

And worse – what if they like it as it is and want another one? I don’t do same same. Genres annoy me. I don’t like pressure. My literary recipes are always experiments and as such, unpredictable.

And the money? Somebody I knew who (unaccountably, given he wasn’t much goodl) got published, said he ultimately earned about two thou. Which is more than what I earn, but hardly a massive reward for the masochistic ego-fuelled journey that is traditional publication. As for the fame, publishers are increasingly – so I hear – demanding that one markets oneself. Screw that. Sitting in bookshops waiting for someone – anyone – to want you to sign their copy of Whatever by Me isn’t my idea of fun.

So WHY would I choose to do any of this? To me it’s kinda like that fisherman story. In short, management graduate dude turns up to Mexican fishing village, says to fisherman, you should think Bigger. Get more boats, more equipment, maybe some minions, do like I say and eventually you could be Rich! Then what? says the fisherman. Then you can spend your time fishing and lying on the beach. Er, right, says the fisherman, and just how is that different from what I do now?

As it is, I enjoy writing and I feel like I’m good at it. I have a modest readership. I could use some extra money (who can’t?) but that’s not a big motivation for me. I’m not greatly drawn to fame or recognition. I suppose it would be nice if people reviewed my stuff in magazines or wherever it is people who matter talk about books and said, Rose writes a treat. Then again those people generally have horrible taste, as per prize-winning lectures on correct thinking masquerading as novels.

I would like to be able to say to my relatives, ‘I am a real writer! As evidenced by…winning something or my latest book being available at all good bookstores. I would like to be able to say, see, all that messing around was NOT wasted!’

But…is it worth it? Still on the fence, personally, and likely to stay there due to inborn indolence. How about you?

Speaking of publishing, my new historical adventure novel – All The Evils, sequel to Pandora’s Jar – is coming out in mid-January. Set in sixth century AD Constantinople, it’s about a woman who finds herself at the centre of events during the worst sports riots in human history.

I’ll be looking for reviewers, so if you’d like a thrilling free book in return for a review, get in touch with me! englishrose659 at hotmail.com and I’ll send you the details.