by Patrick Sills

Created on: November 17, 2008   Last Updated: January 18, 2009

My goals were simple. I believed my expectations were realistic. A long time ago in a place far, far away, I was a senior in high school. I had made straight 'A's in English, Literature, and Creative Writing for many years. Interestingly, in Jounalism, I made 'C's, because I was too opinionated on one side or another of any given issue. All of those aptitude tests we used to take repeadtedly indicated that I should be a writer. I was labeled as a "creative, free-spirited" individual, and my scores for expressing myself on paper were in the top 1% or 2% in the country.

I thought about writing off and on, but from age 15 until around 30, I was too busy trying to establish a career in music. I played in countless rock bands from 1975 until 1990. It finally dawned on me that my father was right. Music wasn't going to pay the bills. Besides, the type of rock music I was into had begun to show its age, and I didn't like how the genre was evolving. I had an idea for a novel and started it 2 or 3 times, but would lose interest quickly. In the 15 years I played the bass guitar, I didn't clear $10,000, so what made me think I could make it as a writer?

By the time I needed bifocals to read fine print, my pessimistic outlook had taken a 180 degree turn. I had stumbled onto several websites that offered publishing for a few hundred bucks. These online publishers would not only print your book, but supply you with an ISBN number, provide a cover design, and list your work on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and a slew of other bookselling sites. I was 45 years old and quite aware of the sobering statistics surrounding traditional book publishing. Only 1-2% of manuscripts were accepted by these big houses. Furthermore, they wouldn't even give your work a read unless you had a literary agent. Finally, even if you were among the fortunate 1-2% of accepted authors, you still had a 70% chance of losing money. If you've ever wondered why these publishers won't give you the time of day unless your name is Stephen King or James Patterson, I rest my case.

Therefore, these online pubishers, subsidy houses, vanity houses, whichever term you choose, would be my Savior. My figurative foot would be in the door. Or so I thought. I chose a company called Outskirts Press. Their pricing and packages were quite attractive. I spent months at the word processor until my first novel was ready to submit. A couple of months after submitting my work, freshly-pressed copies were in my hand. As previously

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