Birdskin birth

I'm getting close to the moment of submitting my manuscript for e-book formatting.  There is something slightly dodgy about being a self-publisher - a bit like Lonely Hearts columns used to feel before the internet.  Do you remember when the classifieds were considered the refuge of Cupid's failures - those who couldn't hack the real world of hard-core, face-to-face dating combat?  Even if you'd met George Clooney through a small ad you would never have admitted it, and any friends who knew would be sworn to secrecy.  I tried it once and only felt able to tell my hilarious tale once safely in a relationship - thus proving I wasn't a saddo. 
Now the whole world meets online and no-one thinks any less of them.  So I'm hoping that very soon I won't have to follow "I'm publishing an e-book," with "because..." and a garbled apology.  As anyone can self-publish - the smartmouths will say - then anyone will, and then who will separate the wit from the chav?   Those of us who didn't manage a deal will just yawn and remind you of Lionel Shriver's "We Need to Talk About Kevin" which was rejected by dozens of well-known publishers (before eventually being picked up by a small press who I believe paid her no advance and had no publicity budget) while her other six published books, made her no money at all! Still I wouldn't say no to a six figure deal and a promotional tour if anyone is offering.