I’m currently in the throes of editing the first issue of Daniel Is Funny. When I get done with this, I’ll begin formatting it, and making it look less like a collection of Word documents and more like a collection of really nice Word documents. And, when that is finished, I’ll be releasing this thing. And that terrifies me, guys.
What if I’m not good enough for self-publishing?
The world of self-publishing is usually seen as a cluttered wasteland, inhabited by mutant authors who either A) were rejected by publishing companies, or B) wanted to go the easy route, rather than send in their work for someone else’s approval. Both of these views are askew, but when I thought about it while driving today, I realized that, in the case of Daniel Is Funny, there was no other way to go about sharing this thing with the world other than self-publishing it.
I severely doubt that there is any Editor In Chief out there who would say “Of course, Daniel. We’ll pay for 48 pages of your jokes a month, in the form of a magazine created entirely by you” and if there is, I question his sanity/his inability to pay me with anything but his own fingernails, madly carved into “Joke coins.” I have wanted to create my own magazine since I was fourteen, and showed the first issue of Planet Daniel to a grand total of two people. Part of me thinks that I’m old enough to actually put out decent work, to an audience of more than two people. And the other part of me thinks that I’m still that high school freshman, grasping at dreams that are varying levels of being out of reach.
The issues will be 99 cents each, which seems like a good price for 48 pages of pure humor, but there’s no real way to know what’s fair when it comes to something as subjective as writing. You just look at trends and the costs of other books and follow suit. Maybe it’s worth more? Maybe it’s worth so little that, when you read it, I show up to your house wearing a potato sack, and hand you a dollar? But money isn’t a primary concern here. My biggest concern is getting this flashed into the eyeballs of readers.
Like with everything risky, I have to give it a shot. I’d be failing both present me and fourteen-year-old me if I didn’t at least try.