Sometimes these columns seem to write themselves. Something surfaces in the darkened recesses of my mind and just spills out. Later people compliment me, call me astute, and I blink, wondering what I wrote, and why. I've even had to go back and read over the words, on occasion, to see what it was that spurred a comment, or an insult.

This time is different. I've known the column was due for some time, but nothing surfaced. Not a ripple in the murk. Inner silence - great for gurus and the cosmic children of the circle of inner light, but for a columnist, it bites. I like to think that from time to time I can take the events of my chaotic life and arrange them in a sequence of words that makes a difference. Small difference, mind you - a smile, a laugh, a curse. Something. This time I waited a long time for that inspiration, and it was handed to me by fate. Go figure.

Last weekend I was out sifting through piles of old books to sell on ebay with my two boys, Zach and Zane. It was getting late in the morning, and we were tired and hungry, so I pulled into the parking lot of "Waffle World" with high hopes of finding greasy eggs and pasty pancakes to dull the ache. Zach had a coloring book and some markers gripped tight in one hand, and Zane had a plastic bag of WWF wrestling figures, so I knew the hope of intelligent conversation while waiting on food was zilch. This prompted the first in a series of events that seem, almost, to have happened for a reason. I hate that.

I grabbed the local artsy newspaper, free to those willing to put up with the ratio of words to advertisement, and I dragged it with me to a booth in the corner. Zach was carefully pigmenting Scooby Doo in a manner that brought the sixties and psychadelic drugs to mind, and Zane was systematically pinning a Transformer doll with THE ROCK, asking the robot if it new what he was "cookin'." I blanked them out as completely as I could, and began to read.

I made it through the reviews of local bands, upcoming events, articles about local authors and poets. I skimmed the articles and ignored the ads, until I reached the classified ads. There, on the very last page, was a bold-outline were the words WRITERS WANTED. I glanced at it, blinked, then read the ad. SF / ROMANCE novels wanted to print as samples.

There was a phone number. I set the paper aside, helped the Transformer show The Rock his role, and ate my meal slowly. I couldn't get the ad out of my head, so, after we ate and got back in the car, I called the number. It was a weekend, and they were closed, but I had made first contact.

A couple of days later, I'd heard nothing, but I called the number again, just in case. I got a man named Joaquin, funny accent, and very excited to hear from me. They are a "print on demand" publisher working locally for Old Dominion University.Joaquin proceeded to explain that there was a convention coming to town, IMAGINECON, and that they wanted to get some book samples together to try and branch out into book publishing for authors and small / independent publishing houses.

It was my turn to blink again. "I'm a special guest at IMAGINECON , I explained. I already have six novels out. I have one you might be interested in.

I'll blow past the self-promotional stuff with the quick note that my novel, The Path of the Meteor, and my collection of Wild-west horror stories, Spinning Webs and Telling Lies, will be published before the convention, and get to the meat of this column (though queries for the collection, or the novel, are always welcome—wink wink nudge nudge).

Here's the thing. When I published The Tome, to get a perfect bound, hundred page book done in a full color wrap-around cover would have cost a fortune. Seven to ten dollars a book, and the killer was, you had to buy in the thousands to get that "low low price."

Enter print on demand. Joaquin and Colley Avenue Copies. Fifty books. Five dollars each. 100 pages, full color covers. The books are beautiful. Let's do some math.

Three cents a word. 40,000 words. $1200. Printing cost $250 per 50 books. The world now exists where a professional-rate anthology can pay for itself in the sale of 150 signed books at $9.99 apiece. A small press digest style magazine can exist, and flourish, given good editing and some careful advance-sale work to the book dealers. Everything has changed. The good, and the bad in publishing have been given a new ticket of freedom - almost anyone can have a book, and a pretty one.

I see God and the Devil in this in almost equal parts. I hate the notion of major publishers using print on demand. It is almost impossible to know if you have your correct royalty count. How does the publisher keep track? How do you keep people from stealing from you? How do you keep track of best-seller numbers? Who will police it, and will the quality be equal at all sites? I don't know any of those answers.

From the small business perspective, it is different. Things that were out of reach are viable. Books that might never have seen print - are possible. It requires a new perspective, and a new plan. Editing is still a skill. Writing and proofreading and page layout are things that don't come to you in a trance as you daydream your way to the top of the publishing world. None of these things are necessary to get a book published cheaply any longer - and let's hope that doesn't mean we are to be assaulted by crap. It probably does, but let's hope anyway.

So, all because I read a local newspaper I would normally not have read, my ideas of publishing on a small scale have been totally revised. My notions of what I might do with some of the ideas floating in my head have shifted. The world changes, and every time it does I feel both older, and wiser.

Anyone who would like information on this publisher should just send me an e-mail and I'll be happy to provide it. I may return to this subject, or - I may just decide to write more about The Rock vs. the Transformers. Either way, I'll be back - and I hope you'll be here to read it.

Until next time.....