One of the sad truths of my life is that I pretty much don't do anything unless The Harpoonist approves of it -- and I do mean anything. I met The Harpoonist many years ago, when we were both graduate students in a writing program. She is exactly one foot shorter than me, and yet she controls me the same way she controls her dim, slobbering Boston terrier. It would be sad if it weren't so effective. She is rarely wrong, and for that I deeply resent her.
So, when we were talking books last night, I told her about my latest self-publishing idea, which, well, it's certainly forward-thinking. Suffice to say, it takes self-publishing to the next level. By eliminating the book altogether. I had worried she would not like my idea, and yet she did. The Harpoonist loves Moby-Dick, and The Harpoonist is a mystery. These two things are related.
In any case, I like this new idea. You know what it seems? It seems easy. It's not really, not at all, but I like it anyway. I've spent so much of my life taking the road less traveled that the idea of taking the road untraveled sounds intensely appealing, especially because, in this case, the road itself is, shall we say, invisible.