In my years here on Earth, I have reached for the brass ring many times. Literally.
Spinning ’round the carousel, the calliope loud and manic, I rode a pole-skewered pony, my butt sliding on the polished saddle. With one hand gripping the spiraled pole, I extended my other hand, reaching out into the canvas-covered darkness, reaching, reaching, finger hooked, ready to pull, here it comes, then snatch! and I have the bracelet-sized ring of finger-thick metal. Back in the light, I see that it is not brass, but mere iron, and toss it at the clown face on the wall, the crazed calliope Dopplering as I slew past, positioning myself for another turn, another try, another chance at the brass ring.
The stuff of childhood memories, yes, but a piss-poor business model. Yet, having spent a couple of days exploring the writers’ groups over on LinkedIn, that’s exactly what I’m seeing. Writers, reaching for the brass ring, oblivious to the mechanics of the business they want to enter.
Let me put it this way: Don’t shoot the horse you’re riding. If you intend on self-publishing, be aware of the ramifications.
Kurt R.A. Giambastiani 