Problem was, what separated the very good to superb manuscripts filled with believable characters, a logical storyline and precise spelling and grammar skills from the highly goofy? Not intentionally funny prospective books, but pages and pages of prose that were purpled more dramatically than any Rocky Mountain landscape. In the online world, the answer was extremely simple: nothing.

Recently, I received an e-mail from an author who had a book published with PublishAmerica. She asked how I got out of my contract, how much I paid to do so, wondered what state I lived in, and then told of her works. “I write mystery/murder with some romance in them, and I have an Inspirational book and I have two adventure/comedies. I do not use any cussing nor smut in my books.”

The rest of her e-mail exhibited a lack of familiarity with the logistics associated with writing. She introduced herself by name in the third paragraph and her grammar hinted at her lack of formal education. Being rather new to writing didn’t restrain her from trying different genres. Had an editor read her brief literary sample, even if it was family-friendly, it would have been a rare professional to ask to see more of her prose. Or would it?

For that eager G-rated writer, wasn’t it grand to discover PublishAmerica, that online “traditional” publisher? Especially since she was promised the opportunity for her manuscript to be turned into a trade sized paperback, which would be sold in “brick and mortar” bookstores around the world? Not only that, her book would be available at online bookstores like Amazon, B&N, Books A Million, and Powells. And no more waiting for months or years for her book to be edited like with those “other publishers”, her precious paperback was made available to the waiting public within one month.

PublishAmerica didn’t charge their authors thousands of dollars to get into print. This revolutionary “traditional” publisher was responsible for transforming the entire publishing industry by letting everyone who had ever written a book on virtually any subject have their story turned into a real book with pages that were turned instead of downloaded. PublishAmerica allowed you access to closely monitored public and private messageboards, provided you with a free website that they edited, and, best of all, there was no price tag to any of those convenient services. Once you signed a contract you were sent you a single dollar bill to show you how much PublishAmerica thought your book was worth.

Before your book was made public, PublishAmerica asked for a list of up to 100 of your families’, friends’ and associates’ names and addresses. Who was the largest market for your book—those who knew you. Who wasn’t? The very folks they discouraged you from contacting: “…do not include businesses or organizations of any kind, including bookstores, media contacts, or government organizations.”

Why did PublishAmerica prevent books from being touted by the media? Why were titles “edited,” by a word processor’s spell/grammar check program and not actually read by a professional editor who would offer character changes, chapter revisions, point out inconsistencies, etc. Better still, why were some of those fast track books completely unedited—even including a disclaimer in the front mentioning this fact? Why were the quality of Publish America tomes almost consistently amateurish? Why were books overpriced -- the average being $19.95 for a less than 200 page paperback? And, finally, why were three unpublished authors, namely Willem Meiners, Larry Clopper, and Miranda Prather, running a publishing company?

To someone like the aforementioned “Inspirational” writer, those questions didn’t cross her mind after she received that dollar bill. Later, she wondered why only her family and friends bought her book. Even the reference librarian at her local library wouldn’t purchase it. Online sales from those big bookstores didn’t happen and there were no reviews from magazines, newspapers or even online sites. Her web site was never edited and she was banned from the PublishAmerica message board for asking why her book wasn’t selling. And those 50 copies she bought the last time PublishAmerica offered a “special discount” were still in a box out in the garage.

After being scammed out of spending hundreds dollars buying his or her own book, the author disappeared, at least from the cyberworld, maybe never to write again, embarrassed and ashamed. Part of this was the author’s own fault. Despite all the negative press that PublishAmerica had been receiving on and offline since 2004, it was ultimately up to the author to sign that contract. Any author wishing to become happily published was responsible for researching prospective publishers. The new writer had a myriad of books to read, writers groups to join, and classes to take. Getting a softhearted friend/relative to critique a manuscript was soothing for the ego, but the resultant book was usually awash with clichés, misspellings, typos galore, and story problems. Having an established writer, professor, editor or someone who understood critiquing manuscripts was what a newbie writer needed.

In the computer age, many wannabe writers assumed that by putting their words into a double-spaced manuscript on a word processing program that it was ready for publication. Their training might consist of barely completing elementary school, but that failed to dampen the literary aspirations of some. A published author didn’t need a PhD in education or literature to write a book, but the fortitude to not only complete a manuscript but to go on and write another. And another. Real authors weren’t one-book wonders but those who were dedicated enough to hone their craft by creating more works of literature. They also read, and by doing so, learned how other writers wrote stories, and even how they got their beginnings. Upton Sinclair, who penned the controversial novel “The Jungle” about the meatpacking industry set in Chicago circa 1900, wasn’t a first timer. In the book’s Afterward, Robert B. Downs wrote: “Sinclair’s leap from obscurity to fame was sudden. In his early twenties he had made up his mind to become a successful writer or starve in the attempt. He came extremely close to the latter before accomplishing the former: his first five novels, published from 1901 to 1906 produced altogether less than a thousand dollars in royalties.” Ironically, Mr. Sinclair earned far more in royalties than any PublishAmerica author did 100 years later. The point was that the author did not quit after writing just one book but learned his craft via the most effective method – by writing.

Any author, whether budding or seasoned, was supposed to understand the publishing industry and learned what comprised a legitimate publisher and what didn’t. Briefly, a legitimate publisher paid for the copyright, had the ability to get books shelved in bookstores and libraries, got books reviewed in newspapers and magazines, and did a lengthy editing procedure that often took several months and was done for content, and not just spelling and grammar. Vanity presses charged upfront fees, but PublishAmerica did not, so that was why thousands of authors (initially) assumed the company was “for real.” PublishAmerica got its money on the backend, and that was where the brilliance of the scheme lay. In a sense, how PublishAmerica amassed all those manuscripts was comparable to free sample trolls that prowl the ‘net in search of freebies, only to amass quite a collection of gratis knickknacks and turn around and sell them on eBay for a handsome profit. Only Publish America did it with manuscripts that authors oftentimes took years to write. Published or unpublished, ready for publication or not, having your book printed with the name PublishAmerica on the spine was a guarantee that your book remained as obscure as it was if it was hidden away on your personal computer’s hard drive.