What’s wrong with self-publishing, anyway?

Yesterday, in the middle of the Columbia River, on a windsurf rig being buffeted by gusts of more than 30 mph, I had the oddest thought: Why is it that I persist in not-publshing my work on this blog, or any other that I could brand and build? Why do I persist in pursuing others to publish my work?

I know: Strange thing to think of when you’re trying to survive crazy-ass wind.

Upon further reflection, I realized this morning that the decision by at least one other person — an editor of another site, webzine, digital literary magazine — to share my work on their site, affords me the assurance that at least one other person on the planet thinks there is merit.

So it is today, when another of my efforts has found visibility at the estimable Horror Sleaze Trash website. It gives me such a tickle to say my work is featured there. I’m a somewhat self-deprecating sort. As a kid, I always loved pulp. Tarzan. Hardy Boys. Ian Fleming. Max Shulman. And all those classic old horror movies from the early ’30s, including Bram Stoker in “Dracula.” That character is iconic, and appears in this recent offering, “Drinking and Driving with Dracula.”

Not that I suggest you emulate the model offered here. It’s fiction. Surely you can find better beer than Burgie.

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