Anyone Have a
Machete?
I am an indie.
At least for now, that is. While I hope to one day to see my
books in every bookstore I walk into—all three of them that are left as ebooks
take over the world—for the time being, I am on my own everything. I am the
author, the publisher, the marketer, the publicist.
There is a new path becoming a successful author and I am
trying to help forge it, or at least follow in the footsteps of the early
pioneers. Authors like
Amanda
Hocking and
Christopher
Paolini have blazed the trail, self-publishing their work prior to
traditional publishers picking them up. It is not an easy thing to do, and I am
still wondering about the wilderness, hoping I do not get lost, but this is my
path and one I have chosen to take.
I never thought of myself as a writer. Until three years
ago, emails were the longest thing I wrote. And, typically, those were pretty
short. I did love to read, though, and read a lot. Fate prompted my
metamorphosis from reader to writer when I picked up three ‘bad’ books in a
row. The plots were predictable and uninspired, the characters flat and
one-dimensional. I remember making the remark, “I could do better than this.”
Shortly thereafter, I started working on
Progeny.
I have a big imagination. Always have. Most of my life, it languished inside of
me, spontaneously offering off-the-wall insights into the world around me. Most
of the time, my thoughts meandered into the absurd, silly musings like, ‘How
long could I wear a gorilla suit in a grocery store before someone would say
something to me?’ Instead of wasting that churning mess of creativity, I directed
it at something useful, my story, and came up with a good one. At least I think it is good.
As far as the writing itself was concerned, however, I will
freely admit I had no idea what I was doing. I still do not, really. Lawyers
and doctors ‘practice’ law and medicine in the same way authors practice
writing. You cannot master the written word. It is impossible. At the time,
however, I did not know that. I was a five-year old deciding to give calculus a
shot. It is just numbers on paper, right?
Fast-forward ten months.
I was done! I had written a book! Hooray for me!
Now what?
Well, while I had come up with a great story, I had not
produced was a good book, although I did not know that at the time. The stars
in my eyes blinded me to my shortcomings as a writer.
I tried the traditional path of query letters to agents,
sending off chapters and either getting “no, thanks” in return or hearing
nothing back at all. I convinced myself that it was because I had written a
behemoth of a book (308,000 words) and I was an unknown. Who wants to take a
risk on that combination?
I decided to prove
them all wrong. I was going to self-publish my book and show them just how good
I was. That would show them!
In retrospect, I made the right choice, but for the entirely
wrong reason. The more likely cause for all of the “no’s” was that the writing
was a mess. Yet I was still too much of a novice to understand that.
I reached out to a number of book blogs and secured a couple
dozen reviews. To my pleasant surprise, the vast majority of them were
overwhelmingly positive. People loved the story, which is obviously a good
thing. Yet some not-so-good reviews were sprinkled in with the others, and they
were nearly universal in their criticism. The writing was substandard.
Did I listen to them like I should have? Yeah…not so much. I
was already writing book two in the series, and I could not be bothered to go
back and take an honest look at book one. Big mistake.
In November of last year, I was presented with a fantastic
opportunity. Someone big in the traditional publishing industry wanted to read
Progeny. By this point, I had over thirty 5-star reviews on Amazon, with an
average rating hovering in the4.7 range. It had hit #7 on Amazon’s top rated
Epic Fantasy for the Kindle.
This was my big chance, right? Validation was nigh!
So, I sent the book. As was.
I have longer version of what happened after that
here
should you care to read it. The short of it is that I suffered yet another ‘no,
thank you’ along with a very detailed deconstruction of the book. Guess what?
Progeny needed work. A lot of it.
I put my new writing on hold (by this point, I had started
in on book three) and did a heavy, intensive reevaluation of the first book. I
made extensive changes, cutting over
75k words of useless fluff and adding 25k new ones in order to shore up
weaknesses. A couple of characters got makeovers, one of which was massive. I
contracted a respected editor and she helped me work out story structure
issues.
The book, as it stands now, is a thousand times better than
the original. I wish daily that it were the version that I had originally
published. However, that is impossible, and not because my time machine is in
the shop. You see, if I had never
self-published the original, I would not have the version I have now. The
original draft of Progeny would still be sitting on my computer, gathering ether
dust.
When I leapt into the indie jungle, I did not know what to
expect. I stumbled around blindly for a time, bumping into trees and tripping
over fallen logs, but I think that I have finally found the path cut by others.
Make no mistake, this trail is treacherous and wrought with unseen pitfalls, but
at least I am on the right track. That or a poisonous analogy spider bit me and
I am hallucinating.
I really hope that did not happen.
