I found out recently that I have something rather important in common with my favorite author.
Jane Austen wrote the first draft of Sense & Sensibility (originally titled Elinor and Marianne) some time prior to 1796. She was finally able to get it published in 1811, on commission — which means that she (or in this particular case, her brother, Henry) had to pay the publisher for his printing and distribution costs up front before he would consider taking on the project — the 18th century version of self-publishing. Apparently, the publisher had his doubts that the book would sell. Needless to say, they recouped their investment…with interest!
It seems amazing to us today that there was ever any doubt that Jane Austen’s works were anything less than brilliant. But many other writers have encountered similar reluctance on the part of traditional publishers. There are many aspiring authors in the world today who are unable to find anyone in the publishing world to even so much as look at their work — myself included. Fortunately, we now have the internet available to us. Although, granted, internet publishing is still an imperfect world, it does provide writers with many options that were not available even as recently as the past decade. And it gives the author much more control over the finished product. In other words, it’s better than nothing!
Please don’t misunderstand me…I am not in any way comparing my writing to that of Jane Austen’s. After all, the woman was a genius. And although I like to think that my novel does have some merit, I would never presume to rank it with one of the greatest classics of all time. But it is encouraging to discover that a novelist as timeless and enduring as Ms. Austen had similar difficulties in getting her books published as many of us today have encountered. I suppose there’s hope for mine yet…
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“The ocean never ceases to fascinate me. blue and warm one minute, cold and gray the next. Always a surprise.” Renatta broke the stillness.
“I like to think it understands me, my moods,” Moira commented softly. “And it never makes any demands. It’s just there, always. I love it.” She shot a sideways glance at her mother, a look of surprise on her face, as if she couldn’t quite believe she’d admitted something so private.
The Dumari Chronicles: Year One — Anne Patrice Brown
