Question for you all:
Is it more important to be respected for your work, though you may not live to see that respect, or to be published and lauded now, though perhaps not later?
I saw this quandary posted somewhere else (and done much better, by the way) and some of the answers surprised me.
To me, there’s no contest. I crave respect and would never want to give it up – even posthumously. My husband tends to chuckle at one of my Grandfather’s favorite authors. The man’s name escapes me right now, but his stories were well known and popular for awhile. They’re banal by today’s standards. I’d rather be remembered as a nice woman who rarely published, but liked to write, than as an awful writer.
This question will continue to come up due to the self-publishing craze, of course. Not everything that’s self-published is bad. Obviously, not everything that’s published by big houses is good. What’s your take?