Been reading about Matt Reilly, a young Australian writer.
He wrote his first book, got rejected by everyone in Oz so he paid to get 500 copies printed. Then he sweet-talked the manager of a Sydney bookshop to give him a huge window display on the grounds that he was local talent. He deliberately chose the bookshop next to the biggest literary agent in Sydney and within days everyone there was curious about this book they’d never heard of that had got so much exposure.
Two weeks later he had an agent and now he’s earning millions for the film rights of his hi-tech thrillers.
I love a happy ending. Maybe self-publishing isn’t so bad.
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