And that means it’s back to work!
It occurred to me today while I was working my day job, that Chris and I must really love doing this. I mean, there’s nothing glamorous about being an independent publisher. Seriously. There’s nothing glamorous about it.
We’re not rock stars. We’re not album producers. We’re not record label execs. We’re not artists. We’re not art gallery owners.
We’re just publishers. Which means the work we do is solitary. And the work we do is enjoyed by its audience in a solitary manner. Writers get to do the readings. We get to toil away on the next book.
There are no groupies. There are no people high-fiving us over the removal of a comma, the forced reworking of a sentence, or the removal of a widow or orphan in the text. No one buys me a drink because I fixed that hyphen and made it an emdash.
And right now there’s certainly no money in it. Look, this is a full-time job, but it’s not my only full-time job. This doesn’t cover the rent, this doesn’t make a car payment. It’s never even paid for a pack of smokes or six-pack of beer. It’s never bought my girlfriend something nice. It’s just given her headaches from having to listen to my brother and I argue.
But I keep doing it anyways. Checking my twitpublishing.com email is the first thing I do every morning. Checking the facebook page is the second thing I do. Checking this blog is my third. Checking sales is fourth. Moving onto my personal email, doing my own writing, etc. is all
And, honestly, I’m all right with that. I’m all right with focusing on this pie in the sky. Because I get to make something substantial and real.
Maybe I’m not binding these books with my own hands, but it’s my and my brother’s talents that have gone into their creation. It’s our sweat and tears, and all the ideas and sweat and tears from all our authors, that made these books possible. Something that, at the end of the day, I can point to and say, “That. I helped make that. That is MINE. That is HIS. That is HERS. That is THEIRS. And it is fucking GOOD.”
Basically, it boils down to this: I have two books. One is completed. One is near completion. And they’re OURS. They’re OUR company’s. The stories, those are the authors. But the wrapped up, completed, printed and bound, beautiful books are OURS. I mean, how many people do you know can say, “Yeah. I got a book. I made it. It’s printed on my dreams and bound in my hopes. I’ve dedicated hours to its perfection and beauty. And it is beautiful. Because it is mine.”
And, you know what? At the end, after 600+ hours of combined work, we have a freaking book. And it kicks ass. And that’s fucking awesome.
Finally, I’d just like to say that Proof copies of books smell so much sweeter than normal new books. They smell like . . . like . . . well . . . newly printed books. But they’re not really books. They’re just proof books. Look, when you publish your own book, and you smell that first proof copy . . . that’s when you’ll get it. It’s like the smell of a baby’s feet to its parents. It’s this smell of amazingness that defies words. It’s this fucking magical thing that sticks with you to the end of your days.
And it’s beautiful.
Happy New Years.