Sexually incontinent, self-centred, spineless and shameless - what’s not to like about Harry Flashman, George MacDonald Fraser’s timeless comic character? This is the first book, originally published in 1969, and it began one of the greatest series of historical fiction in the English language. The Hornblowers and Sharpes have their place, but heroic types can be dreadful bores at times. Give me a promiscuous, drunken coward nine times out ten; the tenth time being when it was my hide or Flashman’s and I can be sure he’d sell me into slavery to protect his own skin. 

This first novel in the series begins where the fictional caddish bully of “Tom Brown’s Schooldays” is left by Thomas Hughes - expelled from Rugby School for drunkenness. It takes him to a commission in the army, unwanted marriage to the pretty and faux-naïf daughter of a Scottish cotton magnate, a passage to India, and from there involvement in the last official war Britain lost - the First Afghan War of 1839-42. History records only one survivor from the party that retreated from Kabul, but we have Fraser to thank for the tale of the otherwise unrecorded second who left many better men and several wronged women behind.

My own novel, “Milligan and the Samurai Rebels”, has two main sources of literary inspiration - the diaries of Ernest Satow for their history of 1860s Japan from a British perspective; and the Flashman novels for their demonstration that serious history does not have to be po-faced. Fraser is meticulous in his research, with Flashman inserted effortlessly and entertainingly into the gaps that exist in any account of real events. This book and its sequels are great examples of how to research and write historical fiction, and shame on lazy writers who are simply “inspired” by a period and then change established characters and events to suit their own purposes.

A phenomenal achievement from a writer who was serious about his history while equally serious about his mission to entertain. 

American novelist Sue Grafton brought a wave of criticism on herself through a number of disparaging remarks about those, like me, who choose to self-publish their fiction. Like these critics, I think she is mistaken, but since she has subsequently apologized and expressed a desire to learn more about changes in the publishing world, I won’t add my droplet to that wave. I too occasionally err, as my wife kindly points out.

Ms Grafton’s original comments did raise a couple of points that are worth considering, even if she herself has since rowed back. The first is the idea that self-publishing is a “short-cut,” a way of avoiding the hard work required to become a published author in the orthodox fashion. As many indie writers who responded to Ms Grafton correctly pointed out, there is an enormous amount of work required to get your own work out there and publicize it. Self-publishing isn’t about avoiding work as much as substituting productive work – publishing and marketing your story – for the unproductive task of spending months or years in a (likely) futile attempt to find an orthodox publisher.

Another issue raised was that self-published authors have an inflated sense of self-worth, acting like “a student managing to conquer Five Easy Pieces on the piano and then wondering if s/he's ready to be booked into Carnegie Hall.” Well, an element of ego is probably involved in any public display of artistic output, but it is difficult to see why any more is involved in self-publishing. It would also be easy to highlight many conventionally published authors whose mastery of their craft is well short of the average concert pianist’s. Ultimately, this line of reasoning rings of “know your place,” a location of which I have long remained proudly ignorant.

Since the musical analogy has been introduced, it may be worth recalling the spirit of the punk movement of the 1970s. A reaction to the corporatisation and blandness of much of the music of that era, this promoted the idea that anyone could be in a band and gave us groups such as the Sex Pistols and the Clash, whose music stands up pretty well these days. Democratization of the creative process should surely be welcomed, and while there may be some semi-literates producing fourth-rate bodice rippers who are not exactly the Johnny Rottens de nos jours, it is likely that self-publishing will lead to some works of merit seeing the light of day that otherwise would not have done so.

Fundamentally, it is a mistake to see publishing as a moral issue. There is no ethical requirement for hard work – that is unavoidable in one form or another anyhow – or for only the “deserving” (whoever they might be) to have a chance of an audience when so much rubbish gets put out by conventional publishers. I make no apologies for saying that I would love to find a short-cut or any cut at all to the literary equivalent of stadium filling. Frankly, however, at the moment I’m playing a couple of tunes I wrote to a few friends and the odd passerby at open mic night in my local boozer. The closest I get to Carnegie Hall is busking outside. But greatly enjoying it.

Milligan and the Samurai Rebels was first published on 30 May, so I have now passed the three-month point in the …experiment? ...adventure? that is self-publishing. What do I think of the show so far? Well, I feel a bit like I have Waldorf and Statler from The Muppet Show in my head, with one shouting “Brilliant!” and the other yelling “Terrible!” at the same time (and in true Muppets comic genius modifying and finally reversing their respective positions so that each ends where the other started). Mixed emotions, in other words.

The mixture is not evenly balanced – without question it has been the right decision to self-publish, and I recommend serious consideration of this option to others with a manuscript sitting in a drawer somewhere. It is difficult to overstate how rewarding it is to see your work in print and on Amazon and most of all to receive unsolicited positive feedback from friends that goes well beyond the societal norms of politeness. My minimum aim was not to embarrass myself, and the next step up was for people to actually enjoy reading my book, and I think I have achieved those. So the Waldorf (or is it Statler?) shouting “Brilliant” is definitely louder than the Statler (or is it Waldorf?) shouting “Terrible”.

The downside is the realisation just how difficult it is to get any self-published work in front of a larger audience; to get it beyond that first wave of colleagues, friends and family. An orthodox publisher gets hundreds of copies of your book into bookshops around the world. Even a self-published author who is writing in a more established e-book field – sci-fi, romance, vampirey-werewolfy stuff – has a large pool of readers actively looking for exactly the style of book they have just written, particularly if they are willing to offer it for sale at a rock-bottom price. The routes to market for self-published middle-brow humorous Japanese historical fiction are less obvious, but that is not to say they do not exist. This blog, Amazon reviews, recommendations on other websites: these all help, and e-book sales in the US suggest word may be trickling out. But I could do with a kick-start, a bump to take awareness to the next level. Reviews in English language Japan-based magazines, which I am currently negotiating, may provide that.