Maybe I should just let one of those print-on-demand folks do everything for me. But I've been frugal all my life. The POD folks will get you your ISBN. But there is a broker who will sell you one for $125 and ten of them for $250. Buy them in the thousands and they start costing pennies.
There is a printer in Tennessee the big POD guys probably use and I got into their system for setting up an account so I could get some pricing before I hit the wall of them wanting an ISBN. That place, too, has very specific file specifications, none of which I understood.
I've been reaching out to a number of people and have some meetings set up. Nice to meet someone face to face. I'll need a great book cover designer. Ditto website design. I think I'm trying to reinvent the wheel and know others have gone before me.
I'm hoping to find someone who is enthusiastic about the book and will do what I need for a piece of the pie. I've already come to what will probably seem stupid to many people. I've agreed to pay my agents a percentage of any profits from the e-publishing venture for Vote for Me! I appreciate their ongoing consultations.
Vote is a comedy. The divide between the political parties has become so bitter we could all use a bit of laughter. I think Vote for Me! would bring howls from both Keith Lieberman and Rush Limbaugh. It might be the one thing they could agree upon. I think it has the chance of real internet-led blockbuster popularity. Fred Underwood is a great character:
"Waiting for the officer to run his license tag and wondering if he would also be fined for the red transparent tape that he had used to repair a broken tail light cover, Fred looked into his rear-view mirror to see his own broken and aging face. He needed new glasses. The scratched lenses of the mangled pair sitting on his thin nose gave him the look of a disgruntled teacher who had been fired long before retirement age, which pretty much summed Fred up. His hair had more salt than pepper, and pepper was losing that seasoning battle daily. The lines at the side of his mouth were deep and long, giving him a permanent scowl. Fred lowered his window as the officer waddled forward, and claimed to the cop, “I was only going five miles over the limit.”
"'I got you at six,” the policeman, who looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy but without the smiles, replied, took the license and proof of insurance Fred had ready to hand over, and began to write the ticket."
Fred finally had to end his over-extended college life as an English major and entered the world of teaching. Boy, did that not work out. And the reader will learn all about those grand failures including a book burning at a Christian private school and a doozy of a disaster at a ghetto public school.
So if I've got any designers reading this blog who are interested, give me a shout.