Twenty-some-odd years ago, I wrote a book. A little super-hero adventure called Fantasti-kid.
I was in high school at the time.
Senior year, my class was the first in the school’s history to have to do a big project, called the Senior Venture, in order to graduate. So I took that novel, where heretofore had existed as a set of EasyWorking 8-in-1 word publisher files sitting on a floppy disk, and turned them into a self-published paperback.
I gave a few away, sold several others. One copy’s sitting on my bookshelf. The rest would be gathering dust but the box they’re in is all closed up.
(As an aside, my Senior Venture project was one of a few chosen to be featured in an article for the school paper–in which the price I was charging was misquoted to such an extent that I would have lost money on every copy sold had I sold them at that price. Nobody actually held me to that, though. Also, it’s amazing the things that come to mind so unexpectedly.)
Two dollars and ninety-nine cents is less than the price of a single issue of most modern superhero comics, which will get you an infinitesimally small portion of the latest world-changing crossover event. Or it can get you a full super-hero story complete with beginning, middle, and end.
Also? Contains explicit Christian content.