As I stared at my living room ceiling, struggling to type out this week’s blog post, I wondered: had my well run dry? Had my attempt at blowing up Weirdo Writes and turning this into something more been just a hyped-up, caffeine-induced fever dream? Was I tapped out after such a good previous month of blogging and posting (mainly) on time?
Then a stray thought hit me. It’s often these straying fragments of sanity that bring me the greatest seeds—ones that sprout into beautiful pieces.
I bring you this blog as it came to me: in pieces, as a midnight ramble, on a queasy stomach as I seriously ponder the question: is being a self-published author worth it? I will expand: do I want to continue down this path?
In this introduction, I’m unsure of the answer to the first question and hesitant to answer the second. But I refuse to shy away from either, and hopefully by the time this blog ends, I’ll have answered both.
Is Being a Self-Published Author Worth It?
Yes…and some days, no.
Just like any other breathing human being, I want to feel—or rather know—that my work hasn’t been in vain. Is it a blessing to be able to write, to get my story out there? Of course. I’m grateful on many days that I was able to take something that rattled from lobe to lobe and put down something coherent on paper. It’s no easy feat, whether you’ve sold two books or 20 million. Writing is tough. Marketing and selling your wares is tough, and when you don’t have a large budget, it’s even tougher. But it’s also an opportunity to rise to the occasion.
But I’m rambling—my attempt to avoid really answering the question.
If I had to choose, if I had to defend self-publishing, then my answer would be yes. It is worth it, with the caveat that you, the indie author, understand that success will not be overnight. The journey will get frustrating, and although you’ll receive tremendous support from family and friends with your first book, once the second and third are published, that enthusiastic support may wane.
As their relative or friend, you have to not take that as a reflection of your work, but understand that people have short attention spans. They see that you haven’t become the next Andy Weir, so they’ve moved on to something else. Don’t take it personally.
You’ll need to grow thick skin—and by all means, grow it quick. The shade and digs can and will come from coworkers, friends, family, and (drumroll please) other authors. (I won’t go into detail here, but I may tackle this in another post on uncomfortable topics.)
As an indie author, you have to have your priorities in order. If your goal is to get rich quick, you might want to go back to the drawing board and think of something else. Although selling and subsequently making money is the endgame, it cannot be the main focus. If you’re making art simply to make art, then go for it and the money piece won’t matter to you.
For me, it boils down to something extremely important: ownership. These books are my intellectual property. I’m able to steward the plots and make the final call on cover designs and edits. Black Melancholy is my own little madhouse, and I can hack away and Frankenstein things together as I please—as I see fit.
Do I Want to Continue Down This Path?
I’m torn. Part of me would like to at least try traditional publishing. I’m curious what it would feel like to have a huge publisher logo on the spine of my book, whispering that “you’ve made the big leagues.” A six-figure advance doesn’t sound too bad either.
But I like self-publishing. I love the creative control, and I have a vision—one that sees further than what I can explain in a single blog post.
Simply put: yes. For the time being, I will continue down this path, and I will do so with zeal.
Are you an indie author? Is the self-published journey worth it to you? The Weirdo wants to know!
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