Periodically people say to me, “If you would just write a book about X, you might get a publishing contract,” or “If you would just approach an agent in Y way, you might get signed and you might be published.”
No. Never again will I grovel to agents and publishers, saying “Please publish me,” or “Please represent me,” which in my opinion is the sad equivalent of the powerless child saying to the all-powerful parent, “Daddy or Mommy, please love me.”
I think these people— agents and editors and publishers--are, at best, callous and utterly unable to understand the sensitive mind of the creative artist. And at worst they are, in my opinion, (like Stephen King’s first publisher, who snubbed him, and like Brian Keene’s publisher, who robbed him) evil.
For the time being at least, I refuse to do business with people who are at best callous and at worst evil. I refuse to sell my soul to the devil.
This is my position—and if you’re a writer, it need not be your position. I don’t care, and frankly it’s not my business, what other writers choose to do. But this is what I’ve chosen for myself.