There was a time when self-publishing meant that you were
silly enough to pay some company of crooks a load of money to print several
dozen poorly constructed copies of your naively written novel and then try to
sell them from the boot of your car. It
used to be called Vanity Publishing, and for good reason: the only thing it was
good for was stroking a wannabe writer’s ego.
What it did not do was put food on their table or allow them to quit
their day job. Self-publishing used to
suck.
Read the rest at Iain's Blog.
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