"We don't read ebooks," my friend said awkwardly when I asked her about suggesting my book series for her book club. I laughed and said I understood, which I did, but that doesn't mean it still didn't sting a little. You'd think I'd be used to it by now. Some of my best bibliophile friends bash ebooks in my presence, reviewers banish self published books from even submitting to their website, and older people get that disappointed look in their eyes when they find out my books aren't printed on paper.
I get it. I really do. No one would trust someone who self-proclaimed herself a doctor or a lawyer without passing the tests set-forth by the experts in their fields before her. It makes sense that I would have to go through the powers that be of publishing to share my stories with you.
It didn't start out this way. It started with creativity. The need to tell a story. The fun of creating characters and the drive to see where they go. Then there was hope. The hope that someone else would enjoy my characters as much as I do. The hope that they, too, couldn't wait to find out what happen to them next. I had a few close friends read it, I fixed it up, and I finally sent it out to the wolves. Hope is never as high as when the first editor you query requests the whole manuscript.
I paid to print the entire 283 pages and ran it to the post office. I sent it with a post card that came back a week later. He got it. Then I waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing. So I politely emailed after three months and nothing. I never knew if the editor hated it or was eaten by a horde of horrible hamsters.
So I went to writer's conferences, learned how to write a proper query, and began looking for an agent. I spent hours researching, rewriting, and emailing anyone I thought would enjoy the books. Some agents I never heard from but others were enthusiastic. Pages they requested and prose they enjoyed. But they couldn't sell it they said. It was too late. A little thing called the Hunger Games had just come out and they had their fill of dystopian. One year earlier and my life may have been different.
There was other feedback, of course. My main character wasn't relatable. But I chocked this up to my third person narrative and the fact that she was a teenage girl who had high self-esteem. Who would want to read about that, right? I had no set genre with dystopian and fantasy but that, ironically, turned out to be its own genre later: urban fantasy. And even though it was a stated series there were too many characters. Hope was dwindling.
As the years passed, I continued to query as I wrote the second book. I queried them together but nothing. My first child was due and I still hadn't accomplished my dream of getting published before he was born. So I decided to do it myself. Had I not earned professional status through the hours of writing, research, and business planning I'd been through? I made a cover and published my first book on my 31st birthday. My son was born the next day.
I shared my literary accomplishment on Facebook. My friends and family were ecstatic for me. They were buying the book and they liked it. Hope was back. I quickly got the second one ready with my newborn strapped to me in his wrap. My friends gave me reviews and I thought I could really do this. But then the excitement wore off. I hadn't finished the third book and I got a bad review for not having professional editing done. That's when the shame started. Embarrassed, I stopped taking about it. But I didn't stop writing. And with the support of one of my best friends, I finished.
This time I have decided to go balls to the wall and have the entire series professionally edited. I have designed new covers. I have built my own website. Hope rides again!
All of my friends and family are supportive but I need to reach a bigger audience. I have found review blogs online and started to get that nervous query excitement again. But there it is over and over again: no self-published submissions. They had bad experiences with overzealous authors over bad reviews or there were too many grammatical errors or the covers weren't pretty enough. Had these reviewers never read a crappy book from a big publishing house? What a charmed literary life they must lead! And, really, when did it become socially acceptable to judge a book by its cover again?
Shaming someone for following their dream would never be acceptable outside of the snarky confines of the Internet. With musicians and film makers going the indie route for decades, why are we so hellbent on fighting writers doing the same thing? Why do we put so much trust in literary agents and publishing houses to tell us what is good enough to read? Shouldn't we be celebrating someone, anyone fighting to tell their own unabridged story? Can't we decide for ourselves if it is worth reading? Shouldn't we embrace new technology that gives a voice to anyone regardless of their financial status?
If it's about the paper, then print it yourself! Ebooks are arguably (energy consumption vs. deforestation) better for the planet and cheaper for for everyone. I'm not begrudging anyone owning a beautifully bound book. I love the smell and feel of old books. My mother is a librarian after all. That doesn't mean I can't enjoy some good electronic fare sometimes!
So I take it back. I'm not ashamed of my ebook series. I'm proud. I'm proud of the hours I spent crafting my characters and story. I'm proud of the times I typed into my phone late at night with a baby asleep on my chest. I'm proud of the editing I did during lunchtime when the kids are busy at the table. And I'm proud of the shameless self-promotion I do during naptime to keep my dream of being an author alive. I'm proud to be an indie author!
I get it. I really do. No one would trust someone who self-proclaimed herself a doctor or a lawyer without passing the tests set-forth by the experts in their fields before her. It makes sense that I would have to go through the powers that be of publishing to share my stories with you.
It didn't start out this way. It started with creativity. The need to tell a story. The fun of creating characters and the drive to see where they go. Then there was hope. The hope that someone else would enjoy my characters as much as I do. The hope that they, too, couldn't wait to find out what happen to them next. I had a few close friends read it, I fixed it up, and I finally sent it out to the wolves. Hope is never as high as when the first editor you query requests the whole manuscript.
I paid to print the entire 283 pages and ran it to the post office. I sent it with a post card that came back a week later. He got it. Then I waited. And waited. And waited. Nothing. So I politely emailed after three months and nothing. I never knew if the editor hated it or was eaten by a horde of horrible hamsters.
So I went to writer's conferences, learned how to write a proper query, and began looking for an agent. I spent hours researching, rewriting, and emailing anyone I thought would enjoy the books. Some agents I never heard from but others were enthusiastic. Pages they requested and prose they enjoyed. But they couldn't sell it they said. It was too late. A little thing called the Hunger Games had just come out and they had their fill of dystopian. One year earlier and my life may have been different.
There was other feedback, of course. My main character wasn't relatable. But I chocked this up to my third person narrative and the fact that she was a teenage girl who had high self-esteem. Who would want to read about that, right? I had no set genre with dystopian and fantasy but that, ironically, turned out to be its own genre later: urban fantasy. And even though it was a stated series there were too many characters. Hope was dwindling.
As the years passed, I continued to query as I wrote the second book. I queried them together but nothing. My first child was due and I still hadn't accomplished my dream of getting published before he was born. So I decided to do it myself. Had I not earned professional status through the hours of writing, research, and business planning I'd been through? I made a cover and published my first book on my 31st birthday. My son was born the next day.
I shared my literary accomplishment on Facebook. My friends and family were ecstatic for me. They were buying the book and they liked it. Hope was back. I quickly got the second one ready with my newborn strapped to me in his wrap. My friends gave me reviews and I thought I could really do this. But then the excitement wore off. I hadn't finished the third book and I got a bad review for not having professional editing done. That's when the shame started. Embarrassed, I stopped taking about it. But I didn't stop writing. And with the support of one of my best friends, I finished.
This time I have decided to go balls to the wall and have the entire series professionally edited. I have designed new covers. I have built my own website. Hope rides again!
All of my friends and family are supportive but I need to reach a bigger audience. I have found review blogs online and started to get that nervous query excitement again. But there it is over and over again: no self-published submissions. They had bad experiences with overzealous authors over bad reviews or there were too many grammatical errors or the covers weren't pretty enough. Had these reviewers never read a crappy book from a big publishing house? What a charmed literary life they must lead! And, really, when did it become socially acceptable to judge a book by its cover again?
Shaming someone for following their dream would never be acceptable outside of the snarky confines of the Internet. With musicians and film makers going the indie route for decades, why are we so hellbent on fighting writers doing the same thing? Why do we put so much trust in literary agents and publishing houses to tell us what is good enough to read? Shouldn't we be celebrating someone, anyone fighting to tell their own unabridged story? Can't we decide for ourselves if it is worth reading? Shouldn't we embrace new technology that gives a voice to anyone regardless of their financial status?
If it's about the paper, then print it yourself! Ebooks are arguably (energy consumption vs. deforestation) better for the planet and cheaper for for everyone. I'm not begrudging anyone owning a beautifully bound book. I love the smell and feel of old books. My mother is a librarian after all. That doesn't mean I can't enjoy some good electronic fare sometimes!
So I take it back. I'm not ashamed of my ebook series. I'm proud. I'm proud of the hours I spent crafting my characters and story. I'm proud of the times I typed into my phone late at night with a baby asleep on my chest. I'm proud of the editing I did during lunchtime when the kids are busy at the table. And I'm proud of the shameless self-promotion I do during naptime to keep my dream of being an author alive. I'm proud to be an indie author!
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