by Kit Bakke

My daughter belongs to the twenty-something tattoo generation. Several years ago she urged me to get a tattoo, too. “OK,” I replied, “but only after my second book is published.” I imagined a tattoo of a fountain pen, with little drops coming off the point, one for each book.

Then, after basking in the glory of the 2006 publication of my Miss Alcott’s E-Mail, I spent most of 2009-2010 collecting rejections for my middle-grade novel Dot to Dot. Finally fed up, I swallowed my pride and turned to the dark side: self-publishing.

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