Why I Choose to Self-Publish My Writing
There is something divine about early book printing. A graceful simplicity to an author delivering a handwritten document and walking away with printed copies. Perhaps the print house was plaster and warm wood, bathed in the golden glow of an afternoon, the light interrupted by dust motes carried through the air. Maybe the smell of oils, warm ink, and sweat lingered as the printer pressed letters down onto one sheet after another.
(17 Pros and Cons of Traditional Publishing vs. Self-Publishing.)
Let’s move forward several hundred years. An author queries a book, lands a deal that is maybe five figures, then dozens of people at traditional publishers work on a manuscript before it ever reaches a printer. And printing has grown more complicated. We have perfect bound print on demand, casebound hardcover, sewn hardcover with matte dust jacket, on top of ebook and audiobook format.
Self-publishing, for me, is an attempt at simplicity. Rather than teams of strangers tackling each task independently, I am responsible for every part of my book’s journey to publication. I take on all the risk and all the gain.
I never considered querying my first novel, Lifeless (2016). I spent nearly a decade on it, typing through lunch breaks and late nights, even when I had early meetings. The idea of tweaking this story, or radically changing it, into something more marketable was not interesting to me. The book was professionally edited, a new experience and one I was glad to experience as I did. A traditional author hoping to secure future publishing deals may be less confident arguing for their artistic license with their first novel.
The cover art by Kate O’Hara was a memorable joy. After years spent writing this novel alone, I got to learn what objects in my story resonated with an artist, and consider what to show to potential readers and what to conceal. It was an incredible experience, one rarely granted to traditionally published authors. I have never met a traditionally published author who worked with their cover designer. Some don’t even learn what the cover is until the publisher posts it on social media. The authors were not informed as respected stakeholders, let alone allowed to voice opinions or make decisions.
Under a traditional deal, I would’ve been under a different kind of pressure, too. Write a sequel, I’d imagine would be the advice, or something similar to Lifeless. Instead, I wrote a fun little novella about teleportation. With each book, I learned more skills and branched into new facets of publishing, learning to love my process for more than just the control over my work.
For my second novel The Control Problem (2022), I produced an audiobook. Recorded and directed at Live Oak Studio in Berkeley, I sat in the same room where En Vogue and Destiny’s Child did recording sessions. Using the same studio kitchenette as once used by Beyoncé is a rare experience for an author. More than that, I learned how an audiobook is made. I spoke with the director and sound engineer, I commissioned the music and did the proofing for the file, and got to watch it all come together on a mixing board bigger than my dining room table. Then, I got to choose how to distribute the final product to the world. I understand the costs, the revenue potential of each version of each book in my catalog, and I bring that knowledge to each new book.
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Since my first novel, self-publishing has only gotten easier. Many people at traditional publishing houses also work freelance, and can be contracted to edit, design, and market a self-published book. Tools for generating respectable interiors are easy to find, simple to use, and not terribly expensive. Print on demand is likewise straight forward. If you want to publish a book, you can do it with minimal technical expertise in a short amount of time. Many self-published authors put out multiple books a year; a strategy of high volume to keep readers engaged without taxing their patience.
This is not for me. The power and joy I find in self-publishing is in approximating a traditionally published work. I look at the list of experts and artists I hire for each book with pride. For The States, I have hired nine experts to complete pieces of the final product. I love writing, but I also love this kind of collaboration. I love finding experts to trust with my book, guide them towards my vision, and then let them do their magic.
With the good, of course, is the bad. All of these roles cost money, expenses a traditional publisher covers for the author. Between editing, book production, marketing and advertising costs, I have only had a couple of years where I broke even. Bookstore and library placement has been tricky. Then, there’s the social stigma. When strangers ask for the name of my publisher, they often respond to my answer with a condescending smirk. As if doing more product management and keeping full rights over my work makes me less of an author.
There are times when I yearn for a steady, guiding hand to take over decisions and tasks. To have the great machine of a Big Five ahead of me, breaking trail ahead and shoving my books into people’s outstretched arms? Delightful. I recently spoke with an editor at a major publisher. I had coincidentally read and enjoyed many of the books she had worked on, and I took the opportunity to ask questions. Perhaps too many questions. In any case, her answers were detailed and eloquent. I felt heard and respected. After we parted, I imagined what it would be like to build a book with someone so successful, a composed and confident professional.
But then, I remembered the anecdotes I’ve heard from traditional authors. Advances that barely cover childcare let alone living expenses, book tours unceremoniously ended mid-flight, books bought from authors and then never produced. And these were all told to me by superior writers. What chance do I stand in such a system?
For now, then, I will sit at my computer at night with dust motes that glimmer in the blue light of my screen. I’ll come up with my strange stories and update all the red columns of my spreadsheets and hope I’ll think of a way to break in, break through, and make this path viable. Because I love it, flaws and all.
Check out Norah Woodsey’s The States here:
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