Laura Brown got her first book published when we were in junior high. A response to September 11th, the novella about a girl whose father died in the World Trade Center was touted as brilliant, impressive, and inspiring—by all her friends and family. As her best friend, I was obligated to agree, but inside I thought the situation was ridiculous. Even I could tell the book wasn’t that good. How on earth had she gotten it published? And so goes the joy and trauma of those who’ve yet to learn what “self-published” really means.

Every year publishers get thousands of book offers, and every year rejected authors delete their proposals and decide to just publish their books themselves. Usually the masterpieces end up languishing in the author’s basement, or sitting politely on his mother’s shelf. Rarely does one get to meet the eyes of Borders or the mighty Barnes & Noble. But the development of the Amazon Kindle’s self-publishing feature is making it easier for these works to actually make it to the consumer’s store shelf. Yes, for the miniscule fee of 99 cents, you too can publish your uncle’s memoire, your brilliant NaNoWriMo project, or the poetry you wrote after Brent dumped you sophomore year. 

Though authors certainly won’t get rich off an Amazon Kindle book scheme (Amazon claims 65% of each book’s revenue), it has made the other charms of traditional self-publication even easier to access. And I must say I was a little worried when I found out about it.

For years professional reporters upheld the integrity and quality of the news industry. Those who informed us of the world’s goings on had made objective truth their code—and were prosecuted if they broke it. And then, one day, the oh-so-trendy web log came into being, and suddenly thousands of average Joes were brilliant analysts and commentators. Those who weren’t, quoted them.

It isn’t hard to imagine the same thing happening to the world of literature: As Americans discover each other’s secret “talent,” the need for those stuffy editors is easily forgotten. Readers no longer feel they need someone to point out quality, and suddenly publishing houses are dropping their standards to match those of The Shack and any other monstrosity the Kindle makes possible. No more great literature or heart-wrenching non-fiction. Just the demands of the general populous. Thinking about it is like watching the first handful of dirt being poured over literature’s casket.

And yet, if I slow myself down, I can also see how the Kindle could fix the whole problem. Yes, a mere 99 cents can now get you published, but the $359 price tag guarantees that any potential audience will still be small. And when you further consider that most Amazon shoppers start with something specific in mind, the chances of finding one of these books without knowing the author personally is rather small—meaning we’ve gone back to being read by Grandma Jones and a few of her bingo buddies.

The difference, then, is that Kindle writers send their work into a virtual world where it will soon be lost. For some, the lack of extra copies sitting around will be enough for them to forget and move on. And for those who insist on being proud, they can bask in the knowledge that their books would have been bestsellers if more people had Kindles to buy them on. Either way, aspiring writers get to feel the joy of being published, I don’t have to read them, and the tangible book lives on.