At this moment, in this summer of 2010, if I Google “self-publishing” one male writer’s self-publishing adventure pops up an inordinate amount of times. To preserve myself from charges of slander, he shall be referred to as Sun King/Southern Nut. I was on a fiction reading panel with him once at Chicago’s Printers Row Festival. He wrote a piece about highly adventurous lusty sex; I wrote a piece about a lonely single mother’s propensity to steal. The Sex God yawned and fidgeted and kept checking the time. I am not objective about this writer. I believe I experienced a gender divide. But if he knows something, I want to know it too.
Besides a friend of mine says The Sun King does this to men too. I have unfairly genderized his disdain.
The Sun King has discovered the Expresso Book Machine, which “turns a pdf into a library-quality paperback in minutes.” Anyone for whom pdfs are a piece of cake could not employ a more direct means of publishing. You and the printer are both on site; it’s near instantaneous and cost-efficient. In his case, “one of the most celebrated illustrators in country, and lucky for me, a friend” designs his book cover. Ah, fame follows fortune. I prognosticate that when the Expresso Machine runs a campaign ad, the Sun King will be its virile featured author. He doesn’t exhibit any hair problems.