My strange and sudden decision to self-publish my first novel.

It may have been one of those quarantine moments, I don’t even know exactly when it happened. I had completed my first novel, a task that took several years — though not in a row — and included another year of editing and rewriting based on friend’s notes, and I had begun the process of trying to get a book agent.

I have been a playwright my whole life and I have written my share of screenplays. All but a few would never see the light of day, and those that did were made for a nickel and fell short of the limelight. Same thing with that cruel mistress, the theatre. I’ve had a lot of fun, and I’m proud of my work; but no, you haven’t heard of me. In fact, that lifestyle is what And There We Were and Here We Are (my novel) is about. The Business of Show as seen from the vantage point of people who spend the best years of their lives stuck in the restaurant industry.

I spent a year researching and querying agents. This process includes obtaining a data base of literary agents, going to every agencies website, reading every agent bio and trying to Ouija Board guess which one of them would jibe with the first ten pages of my book before hitting send. My query letter is sexy as hell and I would get a decent number of requests for pages and chapters and then — silence.

To quote my own character, “Everyone thinks they’re Cinderella, but there’s not enough slippers to go around.” I eventually noticed I was starting to avoid the process, feeling like I had run out of agents to query. Do I go back to the A’s and start over again?

I had taken an oath, I was never going to self-publish. In my mind, it didn’t count. And frankly in the past, I had judged people who did. If someone else doesn’t see your worth and invest in you who is going to take you seriously?

But as time went by I started asking myself other questions — Did I now have a new career of gently querying agents? Had I found another slush pile to hang out in, without the right literary pedigree? I have spent years a breath away from a life-changing script deal only to have it disappear into thin air, and I don’t have that kind of time anymore.

My days of waiting to be plucked from oblivion are over. I talked to a few writers and book sellers that I know and got some facts; having an agent or a publisher guarantees you very little for the launch of a career as a novelist and the financial forecast is even more gloomy.

One thing was certain, I did not write a whole goddamn book for nothing. And also — and here’s the quarantine moment — I had started a second novel. And it was breaching fast. (Pardon the visual, but the sense of urgency applies.) Being newly unemployed and quarantined I have been able to write thousands of words a day and my second novel is going to be, well — I think it’s going to be pretty damn good. Good enough that the first one needed to get out of the way — or better yet, pave the way. What if by the time I am again querying agents regarding my second novel, I have sold a few hundred or even a thousand copies of the first one?

Just like that the pieces fell into place.

Publishing my book on Amazon Kindle and in paperback for the whole world to see is not going to Staples and printing a bunch of copies for friends as I once cynically described self-publishing. Editing and producing my own book — complete with the best design materials and marketing game plan I could come up with — has been a challenging, fulfilling process and I haven’t had to wait on a producer or director or editor or anyone else.

This one is all me.

Tell me how this is any different from an independent film maker using his own money to get a film made. Or back when we would put up a new play in a festival with our own sweat and a few borrowed dollars? Or a young musician selling fabled CD’s out of the trunk of their car.

This book is my story in many ways and the final draft is raw and unflattering but also honest and I hope relatable. And this last chapter — the one of me once again mustering the courage to put something out there in the world is the only fitting ending to this journey.