Maybe This Isn’t For You

The great thing about self-publishing is how easy it is to do. If you really want to put your work out there you can. You can write it and format it and design a basic cover and publish all by yourself.

The horrible thing about self-publishing is how easy it is to do. Anyone can write a book, format it, design a basic cover, and hit publish.

The thing is, even though it’s easy to do and there are not gatekeepers holding you back, self-publishing is not something everyone should do.

I consider myself a resilient person. I’ve been able to handle a tremendous amount of stress in my life without batting an eye. (Terminally ill father while take four AP classes in high school and playing two varsity sports? Easy. Triple major at Stanford while working full-time? Challenging as all get out, but doable. MBA from Wharton while working a more than full-time job? Required a few meltdowns along the way, but done.)

I also really don’t care what 99% of the world thinks about me. There are maybe five people whose opinions mean the world to me and I could really care less what the rest have to say. I’m going to do me and you can take it or leave it.

I’m also in relatively good health, mentally and physically.

But I’ll tell you, self-publishing is a challenge for me. On all levels.

It’s a fight to keep those outside voices out of my head while I’m writing. (Every single time I use alright, I know there are people who will cringe and judge me for it. I mean, seriously?)

And it’s a daily struggle to get visibility for my books. I don’t advertise, I don’t sell.

And even though I know that not everyone will like what I write, it’s never easy to read a one-star review of a book I wrote. I don’t even like reading the three-star reviews.

And when success does come (I know this part more from observation than personal experience) there’s a whole new set of challenges. Do you keep writing what your fans want even though it’s not what you want? Can you really deliver what they want again and again and again? Do you even know what they want? And what do you do when you’ve experienced success and then lost it? Does that mean you were never good enough in the first place? Or that you’ll never achieve success again?

Self-publishing is one of the most mentally challenging things I’ve ever done. It is not for the faint of heart. And, yet, most writers have issues. We aren’t perfectly happy and contented individuals. There’s a reason we don’t spend our free time sitting on the couch watching television or playing video games. Many of us have a dissatisfaction with life that we need to explore through our art.

And when you’re off-balance to start with, self-publishing can destroy you. It can take what little self-esteem you had and crush it. And it can take someone who was already a little distrustful of the world and push them over the edge. I saw it happen this week with an author who became convinced that a promo site had deliberately sabotaged them.

That’s not the first author I’ve seen lose it either. How many public meltdowns over reviews have we seen? Too many to count.

The stresses of doing something so emotionally demanding and doing it in public are extreme.

And, you know what? It’s okay to say this isn’t for you. It’s okay to decide that you want to write, but not publish. It’s okay to realize that you’d rather go the traditional route of agent and publisher (which does have its own stresses, but at least it allows you to hold on to the fact that you were chosen). And it’s okay to realize that you’re perfectly fine making stories up for yourself and never putting a single word down on paper.

It’s all okay. You have to do what’s best for you.

Look. We all have our own challenges and demons that no one else sees. And if self-publishing brings those out for you, it’s okay to walk away from it. (And for every single person reading this thinking I’m talking about you, I’m not. Pretty sure the person who directly inspired this post doesn’t read this blog. And really it was more a general thought I’ve been having these days that I was triggered to write about when I saw KKR’s business blog today: Quitting)

And I’ll tell you one last thing: It’s even okay to walk away from this if you’re good at it…

Life is too short. Find what makes you happiest.

Dead Squirrels and Empty Vodka Bottles

No, that’s not some snazzy metaphor for 2017. Or a summation of what my house looks like these days. (Although close on both counts. Haha. Just kidding. Sort of.)

The last six months or so I’ve been walking the pup around my neighborhood instead of taking her to the local sixty-acre dog park, because one day she just decided she didn’t like getting in the car anymore and would rather stay on leash and walk around here instead. (I think this has something to do with the number of rabbits that invaded our neighborhood this year. As you can imagine, there aren’t a ton of rabbits at a dog park. Although the day she found a recently killed one is one of my most vivid dog park memories…)

Anyway. Sometimes we go to the right, sometimes we go to the left. And I’ve started thinking of the right-hand walk as the dead squirrel and empty vodka bottle route. There’s a squirrel on the sidewalk about two blocks from here that’s been on the sidewalk for at least the last few weeks. Before that it was on the grass next to the sidewalk for weeks. I don’t know how it died. It must not have been run over, because at this point the skin on its chest is gone and you can see each and every rib on one side of its body and they’re all perfectly intact.

(Why I haven’t taken a picture, I don’t know. Probably for the same reason I didn’t take a picture of the tiny little snake eating a frog ten times its size when I was in Guatemala. It’s a cool thing to see and remember, but not so cool I want to ever look at it again.)

And then there are the vodka bottles we see on our walk. Those little baby ones that it would be easy for someone to swipe when no one’s looking as well as some larger ones that would fit well in someone’s hand. Fortunately, whoever the resident alcoholic is, they haven’t reached the liter-sized bottle stage yet. But whichever direction we go, the little vodka bottles litter every remotely wild space. Empty lot=vodka bottles. Dirt road=vodka bottles. Cluster of trees next to a stream=vodka bottles.

Some days I think I should pick it all up. Bring a bag and one of those little tools the convicts use to grab trash off the ground and erase all signs of the resident alcoholic (or experimental kids or both) and give the dead squirrel a final end.

But I don’t.

I could actually make some profound point right now out of all of this, but I’m not going to. I just thought I’d share. And, really, who doesn’t want to write a post with a title like that?