For those of you worried about Wednesday's post--No, I did not have a psychotic break. Thank you for those of you who expressed your concern. And yes, I did notice y'all defaulted to remote methods to contact me. *grin*
One of the big bugaboos in the current "The sky is falling" rhetoric is that indies lack the quality traditional publishers can provide. The question is exactly what kind of quality are we referring to here?
This week, I started and finished reading two stories during my free time. Charlaine Harris's latest Sookie Stackhouse novel, Deadlocked, (a traditionally published novel) and Volume 5 of Bebe Smith's The Honey Trap Files, The Priest (an indie published short story).
One hand, we've got a NYT bestselling paranormal mystery series. On the other, an indie sexcapade.
But, but, the indies don't even proofread!
Hate to tell you, but Charlaine's book had three very noticeable typos. Bebe's had none.
The short story only has sex in it. Sex is bad!
Sookie and Eric definitely got it on, even though Charlaine didn't give explicit detail. She did give a little more detail about the orgy in Eric's living room. (Just in case y'all want to confirm anything. *grin*)
You're comparing apples to oranges, Suzan!
Yep, but then so is everyone else.
Here's the point--both women entertained me with their stories. They made me forget about politics at the Day Job, that both of my cars are in the shop, that GK needs oral surgery, and a myriad of other problems I needed a break from.
That, my friends, is the definition of quality.
On Not Writing
2 hours ago