I’ve written three books.
These are full-length fantasy novels. Dragons. Swords. Assassins. Magic. It’s all in there. It’s all happening.
I never thought I’d write one. Then I went to Argentina for a month where I had no social circle, just a lot of free time, and boom. Most of my first book came pouring out.
After I published it, I resolved that I would write another. I would prove the first hadn’t been a fluke.
A year later, boom. The second book.
Then, since the first book was kept open, I wrote its sequel.
All three have been published around the same time each year. If they were kids, I’d have three children under four years old. I’d be drowning. Instead, they’re books. Whew.
I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I’ve pushed “publish” on my self-publishing platforms with books that had shitty covers, a thousand small errors, and structural errors.
I’ve struggled to market them out of a lack of confidence and a general apathy to sales and revenue.
The time I’ve put into them, which is substantial, and the money I’ve put into them, which is also substantial, are investments in myself. I feel better having written these books. I have made my life into something I enjoy.
But I could do this forever. I could write a novel a year and keep spitting them out for the handful of friends and family who read them and the handful of con-goers who buy them. There’s nothing standing in my way except the sense that there’s no challenge there.
As it turns out, that’s a pretty big roadblock for an author who only does it for the feels.
So my goal is now traditional publishing. I’ve honed my craft. I’ve developed my style. I’ve tested the waters and found them warm.
The real work is no longer the writing. The real work now is the selling. The marketing. The convincing. It’ll be a challenge, but that’s what it’s all about.