Last weekend’s North Carolina Writers’ Network Conference was a surprising, disconcerting, yet accurate example of the current state of book publishing. As an exhibitor showcasing the advantages and triumphs of independent publishing and online marketing, it was also painfully clear that all of us–self-publishing enterprises, advocates and authors–still have a long way to go.

It started with the opening keynote.

Ron Rash, the keynote speaker, captivated us with a reading from his latest book, Serena.  His delicate weaving of setting, character, emotion, and plot in this depression-era tale of angst left us all in awe of his exemplary writing abilities. It was absolute perfection, and for me, almost transcendental.

Ron also went on to talk about how he researched various types of information for his books, which are heavily dependent on historical accuracy. The anecdotal accounts regarding his efforts to gain personal trust and dialog with these odd and introverted “experts” were funny, enlightening and educational. He obviously puts his time, not to mention his heart and soul, into painting a realist picture for his readers.

While walking us through his own publishing experience and background, however, Ron pointed out that he only became serious about writing while in college, and that it took him almost two decades to become published.

That hit me like a ton of bricks.

He casually went on to say that many of this writing colleagues, some of which he felt were better writers than himself, actually gave up their craft and aspirations due to the constant stream of rejections from the traditional publishers.

I was dumbfounded and aghast. I wanted to stand up and scream “This is an outrage! We’ve just witnessed such wonderful prose from this celebrated author, and now he’s telling us that even better, more talented authors gave up writing because they didn’t get picked up by a traditional publisher? And their work is lost forever?”

Inside I was fuming, but I didn’t say a word, except to Michael Graziano sitting at my side.  This wasn’t my conference–I was simply a exhibitor who knew a better way. This was a weekend writing and publishing conference that, for a while there, had entered the Twilight Zone.

I was hoping at least one author in the room would stand up and challenge this generally accepted premise, and ask Ron whether he or his friends would have tried other publishing alternatives; Whether they would have traded their rejection letters in exchange for having their self-published POD title available in an online marketplace–with little or know upfront costs. Maybe Lulu wasn’t around in those early days, but LSI, Author House or some other vanity press probably was.“Come on!”, I thought. At some point at least, shouldn’t an author take their destiny into their own hands and go out on their own? Are we really such gluttons for punishment?

I wanted to shout, “What is the price of obscurity??!!”

As much as it hurt me to see it, the authors around me didn’t bat an eye at his comments. Looking around the room I sensed a murmur of consent, along with a few nodding heads. As shocking as it was from my perspective, the audience understood, identified with, and even reinforced this time honored rule–Getting your book published is a painful, long and relentless struggle. It’s what we authors must endure for a chance to become successful.

The horror.

There is a price for obscurity–a high price. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Fortunately, authors now have a choice. You can certainly walk in tandem with your fellow authors in hopes of landing a big publishing deal–but you do so at your own peril. And, if you follow this path your voice may never be heard.

Or, you can embrace the future–self-publishing, POD, online marketing and commerce. It’s worked for thousands of authors just like you, and it can work for you too. Best of all, you have nothing to lose, because when you start showing success one of the traditional publishers might just come along and start knocking on your door.

Why?  It’s simple. Because they’ll be facing obscurity.

Till next time,

Henry