I Don’t Want Your Poopie Ice Cream Anyway!
Dionne asked me to talk about being an indie author. I’m pretty much off the indie rah rah train for the most part, except when someone specifically asks me to talk about it, then I can be persuaded.
There was a time when I had the plan to get a “real publisher”. It was the proper and respectable way, and I took my writing very seriously. I’ve been writing since at least junior high and I wanted to be a published author. I wanted to be “validated”.
I wrote a lot of books I’ll never publish and did not submit because I knew they weren’t ready. This wasn’t a fear of rejection. I’d submitted short stories before and gotten rejections. Some of them form letters, some of them nice. I’d never understood the whole “crying over a rejection letter” thing. The most I’d felt was a little bummed/disappointed. I knew it was just part of the process.
As I got closer to having a novel that I thought might be ready for publication, something funky happened with my writing. I stopped doing as much of it. Because now it meant I had to submit stuff to agents. And then after that I had to get a publisher. And then I had to lose control of everything from my title to the way editing was done, to my cover art. Then I would live in this mystery land where I had no idea about my sales for months and months at a time. And I’d have to deliver books on someone else’s deadlines. And if I someday started writing fast, I’d have people trying to “slow me down” due to their publishing schedules.