Maybe I’m just chicken shit (pondering self-publication)

When my friends and I turned 16, we came up with the brilliant idea of night car surfing. Our night-blind friend would drive her Eclipse  down the winding back -roads of our hometown, while one friend sat out of  the moon roof and the other (usually I) sat out of the window, legs dangling, only holding on by the fat on our bottom.  The wind rushing through my hair, stars twinkling above mixing with the danger of deer and speed bumps brought out the best and worst in me.

When you’re a stupid, daring stupid teenage, people often think you are fearless.

But I was far from it.

I am far from it.

Behind the girl who would sled down cliffs only because her friends broke bones on it was a girl striving for perfection, desperately afraid of rejection.

This doesn’t go with being an artist where rejection is a daily part of life.

And for that reason, I pushed my art aside year and year, until, no matter what I did, I couldn’t deny what was part of me. I’m not happy if I’m not making art. And what good is art if no one else sees it?

I’ll just have to deal with rejection (again and again).

But it still isn’t easy.

Nor is this.

I have a collection of stories ready for self-publication, and though I have done some research, I wanted to ask you, my readers, if you have a preferred self-publication sight/method?

I need to stop making excuses and just do it!

What is the worse that could happen, right?

Rach