So, I’m having a conversation with my best friend, trying to encourage her to publish some of her poetry. She’s a wonderful writer and a great poet. So I think she should publish some of it.
“If,” I said, “you are ready and willing to share them.”
She responded, “I shared them on my blog. Sharing isn’t the issue. I just don’t think anyone would ever pay to read them.”
Okay, I’m going to get deep for a second here.
It’s more than the money. I honestly don’t expect to make much off of Welcome to Newtonberg. The money would be nice, but it’s secondary. If money is your sole purpose for writing, you’re doing it for the wrong reason. There are more than enough of those types of authors (and publishers) these days.
The fact that the book is there for anyone to read and not rotting inside my old briefcase — that means that there is concrete evidence that the stories existed. Other people can read them and later on, I won’t be the only person in the world that remembers them.
I guess in a way, I’m letting Newtonberg become real. Well, as real as Lake Wobegon or Lake Eden, or any of the other towns that exist only in fiction. But the more people that read the stories, then the more real the town becomes. And I think I was doing the town a great disservice by keeping it to myself.
It deserves better.