Today marks the 16th anniversary of my very first book release. If you’re doing the math, that’s about a decade before AI became a thing, right as eBooks and self-publishing started to have a moment, and couple of years before individual author sales started trending down while the book market as a whole boomed.
I thought I’d take a moment to reflect on all that I learned throughout my journey, because it’s been a hell of a ride so far.
When I was your age…
Back in 2010 and earlier, the Internet was a very different place. It was actually useful and had a lot of good, reliable information that still showed up at the top of search results. That’s how I found what the submission requirements were for the big NY publishers so I could format my books accordingly. It’s why, to this day, a full-length novel to me is at minimum 100k words in length. Online research is also how I learned how important copyright registrations are, and that the literary agency offering to help me sell my book for a significant upfront fee was actually a scam.
Information really is power. I feel like that’s an important thing to note these days, when books are getting banned, libraries are losing funding, the education system is a shambles, and the Internet is now (according to the latest metric I saw) about 60% AI slop. Good, reliable information is getting harder to find—don’t ever doubt that it’s deliberate.
Going from manuscript to print
If I could describe my writing career in one word, it would be Late. I’m perpetually in that moment just after something peaks. I submitted my book to a small publisher imprint that provided both print and eBook services because at the time it was a rare opportunity. By the time I signed the contract, they’d discontinued print. I started self-publishing at the height of the boom, after the market was already flooded, but before people realized Indie books had actual literary merit. So I got sales, but couldn’t get book reviewers to give me the time of day (even the ones who’d previously reviewed and loved my traditionally published books in the same series), and when I told people I was self-published they didn’t take me seriously.
But I did get my books in print (finally). And when Amazon shut down CreateSpace to integrate print with their KDP branch, I feel like I got ahead of the curve (for once) when I switched to IngramSpark (the industry standard). That’s always been the dream: to have a bookshelf full of books with my name on them. A trophy case of my accomplishments has done more for my impostor syndrome than any positive review or encouragement I’ve ever received (although those are still nice to get, too).
Physical media is a lot harder to destroy than digital. Keep that in mind when you see eBooks disappearing from your digital library, when movies leave your streaming service, and when you lose access to your digital games. You can’t edit the contents of physical media without leaving evidence. It is shockingly easy in digital form—you’d never know the difference unless you had the original for a side-by-side comparison. It is now more important than ever to have hard copies that you own. If you can afford them.
Watching creativity get murdered
I recently posted a question on my social media: Would you rather have limitless options and no way to choose, or be limited to one option for the rest of your life? I was talking about myself. As a kid, I was interested in everything, and learning was both fun and easy. I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. Even the assessment test they gave me in high school didn’t help. It basically told me, “You can be anything you want!”
As a result, I had no idea what major to declare in college. I was going to go for creative writing before my parents very kindly explained to me how stupid that would have been. They meant that it would limit my options for a well-paying career, and that I already knew how to write, so what I really needed was to learn about other things so I had something to write about.
But their words were an echo of things people say and hear every day of their lives. Don’t go into the arts—there’s no money in it. Get a real job and do arts on the side as a hobby. We discourage kids from investing in their creativity because it interferes with them being good little worker bees. We don’t teach the work that goes into making something that feeds the soul, so we don’t value it. We depend on art and creativity for our sanity—especially in the dark times—but we expect it to be free.
And now we went one step further, outsourcing our creativity, our learning, and our critical thinking to machines. The problem with AI (and there are more and more of them every day) isn’t so much that it robs creatives (although it does) because people have been doing that long before AI came onto the scene. It’s that it makes it too easy for kids to be lazy with their brains. It takes seconds to type in a prompt and get the easy answers, the shortcuts. It prevents kids from being curious, from wanting to learn—from wanting to put in the effort necessary to become good at something.
Your brain needs exercise just as much as your body. Without it, it atrophies. Hard work isn’t sexy. Our anti-intellectual society doesn’t like smart people showing off even a little. This is how you get an entire population to willingly give up their freedom of thought. Take note, and do something about it. Think.
Loving what you do is everything
I’ve said it from the start, and I keep saying it because I sometimes let myself forget: the art is the reason. It’s not about the sales or the fame. It’s about the process. The blood, sweat, and tears you pour into your art is what makes it worthwhile. The moment you forget that is the moment your passion becomes a job. And no one likes a job they have to do just for the money.
I’ve had periods when I put so much time and effort into the sales part of publishing that I lost sight of the love, and it broke me. In case no one told you, selling books is way harder than writing them. It takes a certain type of personality and sometimes a massive budget to turn the smallest profit. You need to be able to understand how the system works and have the balls to game the shit out of it, because capitalism rewards the ruthless and punishes the virtuous.
I’ve never been ruthless. My brain has a set of rules and won’t let me break them, sometimes to my detriment. I had to make a conscious decision to stop. I put my commercial success aside to focus on the craft because that’s what keeps me sane. I have to write what I want to read, which often means stories that aren’t exactly “trending” at the moment. I don’t regret a single word I ever put on paper. That, at least, I can be proud of.
Originality is what sets trends. Repetition keeps them going. In an era of remakes and adaptations, creating something new is an act of rebellion. New breaks the mold. It gets you out of the box of what is and opens up a whole nother world of what could be. If I could give one piece of advice to aspiring writers out there it would be to write what’s in your heart, not what’s popular. We as a society are in desperate need of original ideas. And, if I were a conspiracy theorist, I’d posit that this, too, is deliberate.
Faith is internal
If you’re just starting out as a writer, you’ll likely experience the phenomenon of diminishing faith. Everyone’s a cheerleader when you’re just starting work on your first novel. Everyone has words of encouragement—for the first year or so, while they still have hope that you’ll hit a bestsellers list and they’ll be able to say they know a famous writer.
You’ll find that that support and encouragement will wane more and more if that instant success doesn’t happen. If you can’t get a publishing deal, if you can’t sell your book, if there are no speaking engagements or interviews, if your book never goes viral… Suddenly you’re a failure. Your writing is a waste of time. Your continued dedication to it is stupid, and you’re antisocial and rude for skipping get-togethers and neglecting your family obligation.
Like I said, art is only valuable when it turns a profit. Otherwise, it’s just that annoying, time-consuming hobby that doesn’t matter to anyone but you.
You have to love what you do. You have to believe it has value and merit. Because if you don’t, no one else will, and you’ll spend your life fighting an uphill battle just to make the people around you give you the space you need to do it. If you can’t find the love and faith in yourself, spare yourself the heartache and stress. Find another passion. For some people, writing is like breathing. For others, life is more complicated and other responsibilities take precedence. It doesn’t make you a failure. It makes you human. Your happiness matters, so prioritize what makes you happy.
This, too, shall pass
The wheel keeps turning. Sometimes you’re up, other times you’re down. Right now, we’re in the dark times. No one can tell you how long they’ll last. History tells us that when the light returns, the world will be exponentially better for it. I’m trying really hard these days to look toward that light and not focus on the darkness. I’m keeping my head down, doing my thing, writing my books. I will say, the lack of financial incentive gives me a lot of creative freedom, and I love that. I treat my writing now as an escape, the same way I treat the books I read.
And I take comfort in the thought that I’m doing my tiny little part in making the world a tiny bit lighter with the books I write. Because when it’s all over, I’ll be able to look back and say the darkness didn’t break me. It made me flip a great big shining bird at everything and everyone that ever tried to tell me that my words didn’t matter, that nobody cared about my writing and nobody wanted to read “those kinds of books.”
If for no other reason, do it out of spite.
Here’s to another 16 years
Here I sit, with two books almost ready for release. Another year of firsts for me. A genre I haven’t written before, a format I haven’t tried before, and so much custom art to bring those scenes to life. I’m looking at two whole things that didn’t exist until I pulled them out of my brain and put them on the page (except the art—I got professionals to do that for me).
And I’m giddy with excitement. I did this. Not some machine. I didn’t need AI to source ideas, or brainstorm plot points, or flesh out a particular scene. These books are all me, from the very first idea to the final, printed product. Aside from professional edits and the art, I did everything myself.
I’m a fucking rock star. And, after 16 years, I have a shelf full of books with my name on them to prove it.
So cheers to many more to come.
Until next time!