For too many years, while typing my fingers off, I hoped to see my novels “discovered.”
Like Lana Turner — if she’d gone to Top Hat Cafe to sit at the counter and drink Coke from a straw every single afternoon in the hopes of turning the head of some Hollywood big shot and getting signed to a studio.
Except I also wrote hundreds of letters and e-mails to agents, and submitted my weight in manuscripts and samples.
Sometimes I actually got an agent this way.
The agents sent my work along to editors. Sometimes an editor got interested and there was exciting talk about maybe buying my book.
I also garnered some extravagant praise for my skills, my talent, my virtuosity or what not.
Once, I signed with a so-called A-list agent — a woman who routinely makes six figure publishing deals — who said she was “in love” with my writing and was going to take my manuscript to the Frankfurt Book Fair.
I got close. So close I could almost taste it. But I never sold anything.
Last year I put some of my novels up on Amazon/Kindle. It’s true I’m not rich or famous yet.
But I’m making a little money — so far only in the hundreds, not thousands of dollars each month.
What’s even better, readers are reading my books and liking them.
I know that my novels will stand or fall on the basis of quality. It isn’t a matter of knowing the right people or having special connections.
I’m not an aspiring literary sensation anymore, or a would be star hoping to get discovered by the big shots.
I’m a working Independent Digital Fiction Author. (Here is my Amazon Author’s page.)