OK, so my first book was a bit rough. It still is, yet my second one will be a lot better, I hope. I wrote Guerrilla Working to get it out of my head and to create something I could call my very own. I had never written a book before and had not called upon anyone else to proofread and I suppose the result speaks for itself. Still, you learn your lessons, it is out there, for better or for worse and I can’t take it back.
As Brenda Ueland wrote: everybody is talented, original and has something important to say.
Assuming she was right, I still believe that what I wrote about is original and is important enough to let it out into the wild. I certainly didn’t expect to make any money out of the venture however, yet I can now claim to be a published author. Who knows really how many books anyone but the biggest of authors have actually sold? I wrote it for myself and I am proud of that.
It is also a thrill to see it for sale on Amazon. Other bookshops are available. Seeing it appeals to the narcissist that is in all of us. I have now, however moved into another state of authorship. My book has become available in the second hand market. It may well be available in a charity dump bin as well yet this means that people have bought, read it and thought it worthy enough to give it up for resale. The mad fools!
Or perhaps not. It turns out that the price of the second hand book is more than the new one and so it could be that they are just chancing their arm.
Still, it gives me the slightest of thrills inside. Is that so wrong?