My lifelong dream came true on August 26, 2025, when the Aurora Public Library in Aurora, Indiana (God Bless you, Leslie Sutherlin) held a launch party for my debut novel Justice House Shadows. The room was filled, standing room only, with my family and friends, all there to support me in my dream, all understanding how much my writing means to me. I wish I could somehow truly express to them how much their support means. Writing is a lonely life, a drudgery in many ways. Although nothing gives me greater joy than the process of creating poetry, short stories, plays, and now, I guess, novels (I’m working on another right now). When I write I’m lost in my own world, a world of new ideas, the magic of words and images, a world where I call the shots, where I decide what happens and how. It’s such a power trip for a guy who has little power in this currently dark, dark world we live in. I can escape, yes, but I am not so much running from real life as running toward another world. And it’s beautiful there, safe and comforting.
I don’t know why but standing at the podium the other night talking about my work, reading my work, answering questions, looking at those smiling faces, made me feel like I have contributed something worthwhile to the world, something that might last, that might add to the discourse of humanity. That sounds so grandiose, but it’s simple for me. I just want to have been a part of the literary world in some small way, in the promotion and preservation of the written word. I used to dream of being a rich and famous writer, traveling the world speaking, smiling for photos, autographing books and napkins fans had pilfered from restaurants where I’d eaten. But age and experience have a way of grounding us. Now, I really just want people to read my work and maybe take some enjoyment from it, maybe learn something, feel something.
When I sought publication for this little book, I was not at all prepared for the brutality of the publishing world. I was wholly unequipped to deal with vague contract clauses and loopholes, marketing costs, and the exhaustion of selling the book. I did not anticipate the roadblocks, the disappointments, the obstacles that come when one does not have a major publisher backing a work. So now, as the high from that glorious launch party fades (though I will forever keep the memory of it in my heart and mind), I must face the truth, that my book is a failure, has sold relatively few copies, and has not ignited any general interest. Book stores will not carry my book, Amazon and Ingram will not list it (over tedious issues with my publisher), libraries and book clubs have not flocked to use it as I had hoped, and I have had almost no response from many, many social media and video posts and the plethora of flyers I have printed.
But, oh well, I tried. I took a shot. I let myself be vulnerable to the cruel world of publishing. I will keep at it. I will still write. And I will still seek publication for my work, because I now know that simply being engaged is the victory. I do take solace in the fact that I was smart enough not to be suckered into pouring my own money into the adventure. I took a hard line about self-publishing or vanity or hybrid publishing (which work well for many people- no judgment here), so I’m proud of that. I believe writers/artists should BE paid for their talent rather than PAY others for it. Maybe that’s just my ego slipping out (it’s huge sometimes and absent at others).
I’m at peace with this escapade, this dip into the publishing pool. The water is cold, and the tide is high, but the swim is invigorating and I haven’t drowned yet.
Ron
