Vanity Publisher

...with some obvious details, such as...

The Medusa-like hair.

The thing a sane person doesn’t sign.

What’ll come (left) of the Promises (right).

By the way, here's the staircase irl, shot locally last December, widened for my digital overpainting. A little but not much filling in was needed. It's no fun having a staircase if you can't show it.

And here we get to the boring part, as I get into my rant mode now:

Vanity Publishing, for so I’ve learned, is a marvellous enterprise. For you get to mix Two Kinds of Idiot into a very potent brew. Behind the scenes, one is very happy to coax the young &/ stupid into proofreading, administration, sales or especially illustrating for little pay or for free, with promises vague as the mists on a bright Midsummer’s day. (I’ve already told you how they tried that one with me, but with 20 years in the biz that’s not a thing.) But here comes the grand scene: Next, they fool an even greater idiot into paying to get to work.

A taxi driver wouldn’t do it: “Please, may I dive you somewhere, sir? Across the town? See the beach? To another town? Would you accept to be paid five grand for that?”
Or a chef: “Please, will you try my sirloin steak?”
Answer: “Sure, it’ll cost you thousands, but it will be good exposure for you!”

You get the point. Good exposure. Work experience. A foothold in the trade. Whatever lie that’s told behind the scenes, but magnified a thousand times. For the vain author will now pay the publisher dearly for their cheaply bought efforts...
...Instead of simply going to a real publisher or a good trusty printing house with their precious manuscripts;
months or even years of painstaking research,
difficult writing,
painful editing, and all?
Writing books isn’t easy!

Evil thought: What if I had something like that? My own little Vanity studio! I’d hold drawing or painting courses again, but this time I’ll tell them that after ten very costly lessons, they’ll become the next Monet or Picasso. I’ll get the esteemed inmates to try on cubic water lilies while I’ll go counting the money, all while my unpaid staff, themselves aspiring artists, may keep their dreams alive while they cook my dinner, manage my sales and sweep the floors.
It’s just temporary.
Greatness awaits them. Who knows?
But I’ll get rid of them first, just like I did with the serfs I had some months ago.

There’s also Vanity galleries, Vanity stages and Lord knows what Vanity else; they’re probably businesses run on the same sound principles. But I digress. End of rant.