Last night I went on Amazon searching for new authors to read and what I found was a little disheartening. After about thirty minutes of wading through samples of stories that might have been better served being rewritten or edited, I gave up. This isn’t the first time I have had this experience. Please don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of very good writers coming out, and for the most part my experiences have been good, I just think that there should be some sort of quality filter that one must go through in order to post to some of these self-publishing sites.
The urge to publish and be read can sometimes hurt the quality of the product that is flooding the market. Trust me, I’m not throwing stones at anyone I’m sure I’m guilty of this as well. I understand the unstoppable urge to put something before it Is ready. I think it taints the industry as a whole and makes it harder for those who are serious about writing to be taken seriously.
Taken as a whole I believe self-publishing one’s own work is a good thing; it allows some very talented writers to be read that might not have had the opportunity otherwise. Self-publishing gives the writer more control and is virtually free to do which are good things. The flip side of that is the lack of quality control, which means almost anyone with a computer can write and publish their own work, rather it be good or bad and this of course floods the market making it harder to find talented writers to read. Yesterday, as I searched I read a lot of samples that looked like first drafts.
I honestly think that there should be a threshold that needs to be met. I’m talking about a review board not there to reject works, but to enhance and offer support. Most of the samples weren’t bad they just seemed rushed. Let me reiterate, I think self-publishing Is a great opportunity for writers, but I do think that there should be a minimum threshold that should be met before anything goes to the market. Do you agree or disagree? Let me know what you think.
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Addicted in a broken town
Car broke down right at the edge of town
The night was silent and cold
Is it my heart or did she want my soul
The blood moon is my sun
Far from the fire of the raging sun
This addiction is my pain
It felt so good I think I’ll do it again
The Devil in disguise
She kissed my lips, and then she drained me dry
Black skies over me
I Pray to God, but to me she won’t speak
Her love is pain and it cuts through the bone
She left me stranded, lost and all on my own
A slave, I will never be free
She’s kissing me now, she’s got her hooks deep in me
Cursed to never grow old
Trapped in a body lost and without a soul.
The house was small a barely standing wood framed two story seated between a burnt-out apartment building and an empty lot that had become the unofficial dumping ground of the neighborhood. The unfortunate few who remained floated about like ghost trapped in purgatory neither here among the living or there among the dead …