Bleeding Ink

Ignorance has a way of aligning itself with grief. Most writers are wholly inept to the intricacies of the publishing industry and to them David Moldawer illuminates like a prophet. He’s a veteran—a decorated soldier whose varied medals dazzle the eyes—and after speaking with him, I was forever changed. My ignorance was strong when it came to traditional publishing. It’s the kind of stuff that requires an insider’s perspective that has witnessed a book’s journey from wads of crunched paper to a well-worn dust-jacket with the words “National Best Seller” printed under the author’s name. the depth of my ignorance was chronic, ignorant to its own severity David and I met at a writer’s meet-up, an impenetrable gaggle of potential clients assuaged him which required a friend-of-a-friend to penetrate and allow for an introduction. David’s a literary-looking guy with a slightly nasal New York accent, thick glasses, scruffy beard, sweater covered button-up and intelligent eyes—and affable, accepting my request f