In the lightning fast world of electronic writing and publishing, surviving for a year makes your a veteran. That means I’m ancient, with skills beyond the pale. Thusly, I will now pontificate to all who gather round. (Hey, this is the Green Porch, so take off your shoes and stay a while.)
Eons ago I posted on the definition of an Indie. I won’t rehash that, but suffice to say (I know, snooty, isn’t it?):
- The definition of indie is fluid
- Every indie is different
- Every indie evolves
- No indie is independent
So what about me? Here is the story of my evolution thus far.
How many of you have ever gone to a classical guitar performance in which the instrument was splendidly crafted, the musician inspired and the music selection brilliantly uplifting, and yet the performance sucked because the guitar was terribly out of tune?
After self-publishing my second eNovel in December, I’ve been increasingly tormented by the fear that it possibly may not be quite the classic in the making I assumed anything pouring from my fingers would instantly be. Understand, this is a strange sensation for me. Even as a kid I used to imagine what it would feel like to be one of the dumb kids. I’ve just always been blessed/cursed with an ego the size of a professional athlete’s (despite neither being very professional or athletic).