One of my mottos is “If you need something done right, you have to do it yourself” (I fear that you’re going to find that phrase peppered across many a blog post here), so obviously the whole idea of self-publishing appealed to me right away. Once I got past the fact that self-publishing was no longer a “last resort” but “first choice”, I embraced the medium and all its pitfalls and drawbacks with open arms.
What appealed to me about self-publishing? Control. Control over everything except the public’s minds (and that may still happen if I can get a hold of some WW2 brainwashing tactics and Kool-aid). I get to choose the book cover (and create it/hire someone to create it), I get to control the marketing strategy (book trailer FTW), I get to control the series as a whole. I get total control over my characters and they can say whatever the fuck (excuse my French, Dex is a bad influence) they want to say and do whatever they have to do. I get to own the rights to everything. I get to create my bio. I get to hire a photographer. I get to plan my own events. I get to interact directly with “fans” instead of a mouthpiece (I say fans loosely because I have no idea if I will have any fans or not). I get to write about what I want to write, regardless of what is ‘in” or not. I can choose to end the series at seven or eight books or I can bring in a follow-up trilogy years down the road if I find that I’m missing my characters too much. I can write sex scenes without a publishing company breathing down my neck. I get to make my own logos and merchandise and artwork. In short, I get to create an empire.
What’s not as appealing? Well, any of the above. I mean, that’s a shit ton of work right there. But you know, I wouldn’t have it any other way (although look for a rebuttal post in about a year).
In other news, I’m off the Island now (but “WE HAVE TO GO BACK, KATE!”) and I’m adjusting to city life. I say adjusting loosely since I’ve lived in the city for 29 years. Luckily, this does mean I’m still writing. As soothing and beautiful as lounging on a boat and going for long walks in the woods with curious deer bounding around you is, it’s not REALLY conducive to my writing. I mean, the entire fourth novel is set in the urban, gritty sprawl of Seattle. At the end of November. Does the picture on the left look anything like downtown Seattle in November? No. Anyhoo, the sounds of the binners and drag-queen drug addicts in the alley behind my apartment are adding that little bit of atmosphere to my craft. And look:
Ghetto progress bar says everything is coming along just fine.