by Barbaraanne Helberg

Created on: January 24, 2007   Last Updated: June 01, 2010

Mark Twain paid to have his first pieces published, and Mark Twain wasn't his real moniker. Vanity publishing, Twain's method, and self-publishing may be alternatives to entering the world of written recognition.

The "getting published" process can be disheartening. With so many top publishing houses closing their doors to new, unproven authors, finding an outlet for one's work can quickly become a quagmire. Editors won't look at manuscript submissions that run over word count requirements, are poorly presented, obviously are not correctly researched, aren't well proof-read, or don't fit the genre they are publishing.

If a vanity publisher overlooks some of these mistakes that exist in a manuscript submission, he isn't being honest with the author. Neither should an author settle for having these mistakes in something he intends to self-publish.

However, if there is a worthwhile story to tell with imagination behind it, commitment to learning writing skills and editorial demands, and a place to type, one may choose to explore the rewards of self-publication, in which the writer eliminates the middle man and controls everything himself.

The danger in attempting self-publication is a temptation to lower standards. The writer must be ready, rather, to demand of himself the same quality of manuscript work that he would plan to submit to a commercial editor.

A process that will help in this includes: 1)  reading widely in the chosen genre; 2)  reading a copy of a genre publisher's guidelines to learn format and develop one's own style; 3)  becoming an adequate researcher; 4)  preparing a mock query letter to pinpoint the focus of one's story - how the writer would describe his manuscript and pitch it to a publisher.

The writer needs to get down on paper a good opening scene, such as:

"Airy...Airy Breezewell...where are you...?"

The voice is near, Airy Breezewell thinks, but she feels far away...away from that admonishing whisper that haunted her years ago, and away from the forest from which it first called to her.

Airy sees wire glasses over glass-hazel eyes...hears the hum and thump of washers and dryers in the Cage Street laundromat...looks at beaten jeans over slim hips and legs...sweeps a gaze at his ballcap...Braves...and shaggy black hair, clean, but uncombed. Ungroomed, black factory fingernails...thick-knuckled, thin fingers...wide shoulders and upper body

• 1
• 2
• Next Page >>