The agonizing gamble of change
or how losing it all is making me a better writer
*author’s note: some themes and imagery of this newsletter may be distressing. If you are sensitive to morbidity, death, grief, or suffering, this may not be for you. Please take care of yourself and know your boundaries before continuing.
Did you know that it can take weeks for your body to starve itself to death? That it can happen slowly, with meat and skin hanging from your bones and a soft, wet rattle in your throat that sounds as if you’re drowning? That you can still talk and laugh and make it seem [if no one looked at you] that you might be okay?
Were you aware, that some illnesses refuse to let your starvation be satiated, both mental and physical, and no matter how much you want nourishment, there is none to be had? Force feeding is futile. Motivation, on all fronts, is extinct. And sometimes acceptance of the end is the only grace you have left.
That is how my 2024 started.
And no, this isn’t figurative. I’m sorry to begin your reading like this, but I needed you here, with me, to understand the rest. Or, at least, feel it. Are you confused? Sad? Angry? Wishing you could go back to before you read this?
Yeah. Me, too. But here we are.
In late 2023, I watched the pain of my mother’s illness become too much, too soon, and we were too late.
In January 2024, while I was at the tail end of a local writing retreat, trying to calm my panicked nerves of what was to come, she died. One hour before I was set to be home. I woke up before the sun did to the shrilling ring of my cellphone and the calm, solemn voices of my family asking if I wanted to be home when they took the body.
My life has been like holding sand ever since.
In 2024 I became an orphaned adult, lost jobs, friends, and my sanity, said goodbye to my 15-year companion, and felt heartbreak over all the emptiness losing left behind. And although 2024 has been the culmination of the loss, in hindsight, I feel as if I knew it was coming.
I started writing The Truths We Make in January of 2023. This book was my exploration into the idea of if we can ever put down the weight our families demand we carry without losing ourselves in the process. You see, I had just moved back home to help my mom and I was struggling with it. I had never planned on coming back and frankly, I didn’t want to. I felt as if I was being strapped down to the bottom of a lake, left to drown in the memories of a life I had left behind. One I had outgrew.
But what choice did I have? She needed me and I needed to be able to live with myself and my choices. There’s very little I subscribe to so wholly, but doing what’s right, even when it’s hard, is one of them. Therefore, with little less fanfare than I felt deserved, I moved.
That year continued on like that; something would happen and I would push through because, what other choice did I have? It was all material. It was all temporary. So, instead of fighting it, I wrote a book. A sad, grief-stricken book that I loved but also, never wanted to write.
I knew in my heart it couldn’t keep going like this.
And 2024 agreed, just not in the way I had hoped. It shed every hard thing and replaced it with what felt impossible. Ripped away were all the trappings of a life I’d built. Many that I had come to find a comfort in because I could navigate their difficulties intimately. Where, without them, I felt exposed to hard truths I had wanted to avoid but now couldn’t.
I was starting over.
The only thing I had was another book that was drowning in the query trenches, this aptly thrown together anchor to a life I felt I was losing, and I couldn’t stand the thought of one more thing being ripped away. Not this time. Not this book.
So, I did the dumbest, scariest, most agency-laden thing I could do. I decided to publish it.
Now, you may have your reservations about indie publishing, or maybe it is just curiosity, but I’m not going to go into the very analytical breakdown of a decision like this or why I want to challenge your beliefs on it. That will have to be its own post, deservedly. What I will talk about though is the pure audacity it takes in a creative field to decide you are good enough.
Good enough to write the thing. Good enough to find all the pieces to make it publishable (like editors & artists & marketers—although you may just think you’re good enough to do it yourself). Good enough to sell your own product yourself, with sometimes no backing.
The balls on you.
I can give you example after example of both people in the writing world (Rupi Kaur, Hugh Howey, E.L. James, Margaret Atwood) and outside of the writing world (Sara Blakely, Gary Vee) who have all bet on themselves in a world that has slammed their doors, but I won’t.
Because this post isn’t about them. It’s about me.
And by July of this year I was sick of taking a backseat even though I wasn’t sure if I was good enough. Too many things were happening to me but what was I doing for myself? Wallowing and waiting for the bad to stop?
It wasn’t enough.
I feared drowning without even trying for the surface far more than I feared kicking my feet. So, whether I was good enough didn’t matter anymore. I needed to swim. This was something I could do, something I wanted to do. And even though I’d been equally encouraged and cautioned that my timelines may be a little snug, I just couldn’t wait anymore. I needed a lifeline.
I carefully curated my team, paid my deposits, got everything aligned so that I had help and I had time and I could make everything happen smoothly with as little stress as possible even given the year I was having.
Can you guess what happened then?
You’re right. It fell apart. Delays and cancellations and missed deadlines. And at the end of the storm, all of the people I had hoped would help shoulder the load, vanished. Instead, I had to learn how to do it on my own. And I have learned so, so much.
Here’s a few secrets and/or advice for anyone who is wanting to indie publish:
You’re going to lose friends. People will start to slowly pull away from you, especially other writers. You’re not chasing the same dream anymore and a lot of people still have their own stigmas about self publishing. Let them go. Those people aren’t for you.
In their place, others will step in. There is SO MUCH community in the indie world. Readers, editors, artists, and yes, other writers who are all ready to embrace you. You’ll find yourself in group chats and DMs and hangouts with people who will be your biggest supporters. They will share tips and secrets and links and resources. They will believe in you in a way you so rarely are believed in, wholly, because of you and only you.
It’s just a book. One single book. In traditional publishing there is this heavy weight on the debut, as if you have ONE CHANCE and if you fail, that’s it. In indie, it’s the opposite—it is all about the backlog. If you want to be a career writer you are going to have lots of books. Who cares if the first one sells less? Go and write another one.
Remember—it doesn’t have to be just one or the other. I’m still querying books for traditional publishing. I’ve also talked to a lot of other indies who have traditional deals. It is VERY common to have both streams of income. You don’t have to “settle” for one or the other. Do both if it calls to you.
Ask for help. Seriously. You do not have to do this on your own.
On that note, always speak up for yourself. If you don’t like something, don’t settle. The fun part about doing this for yourself is that you get to make the decisions. Make sure your art/cover/formatting/whatever is what you want it to be.
Set reasonable expectations and celebrate them! It’s really hard to see six-figure deals and NYT best sellers and think you’re successful when your baby career is nowhere near that level. But the great thing about success that I’m learning is that it is something that you get to decide for yourself. I could think ‘ah-man, only 200 people have read my book’ or I can see that TWO HUNDRED FREAKING PEOPLE HAVE READ MY BOOK. I prefer [and highly suggest] thinking the latter.
Honestly, there are so many more tips and secrets I can give [which I will write about in future] but the bottom line is this: if you want it, do it. And if you’re doing it, mean it.
2024 has taken so much, but it is also giving me the gift of redefining my priorities. It has given me the courage to let go of the things and people that are not right for me. Every choice I make at this point is full of unknowns, so now I get to ask myself without security or comfort what it is that I want for the future.
And one of those things, without fault or change, is to be a writer. To be active and involved and part of this community. Everything else, all the specifics or details, I’m still figuring out, but this is a step I needed to take.
I’ll admit it’s odd that it’s all coming to a close. November marks my birthday, my book’s release, and the last mile before this year is behind us all. In a way, with The Truths We Make publishing, it feels as though the tide is shifting.
This year has forced me to open up when before I would have hidden. I am learning to embrace uncertainty and vocalize my fear. It’s coming across in the depth of my relationships with people and, unsurprisingly, my writing. The amount of feedback has been humbling in the best kind of way with so many relating to what I would normally lock away as vulnerability. TTWM is a testament to my bleeding heart and the reviews have showed me I’m not alone. And, I’ll tell you, it hasn’t stopped there.
I’m on to new things; changing in irrevocable ways, and while I’m deeply grieved to have had to say goodbye, my future still sits in front of me.
And it won’t wait for anyone.
If you’ve made it to this point, I’m shocked. This was long and revealing and uncomfortable. But I appreciate you nonetheless.
You probably know that I wrote a book, but did you know it is now available for pre-order? Click the photo below to get your order in or you can find it on Amazon & Barnes & Noble online.
Here’s a little more about it:
Secrets bind them. Love may break them.
The Truths We Make is a gothic romance where a woman returns to a haunting estate, uncovering buried secrets and reigniting a forbidden love that could destroy everything she holds dear.
Evangeline Pierce knows one truth: no one falls in love with a Poe and leaves unscathed. Raised alongside the infamous Poe brothers, she’s navigated the treacherous waters of wealth, secrets, and betrayal. Now, after eight years away, she’s pulled back into their world, but not for a happy reunion.
Paxton Poe is dead, and whispers of murder hang heavy in the air. As Eve faces the ghosts of her past, including the love she’s never truly let go, she must unravel the mysteries surrounding Paxton's death before the truth destroys them all.
In a house where legacy is everything, love may be the most dangerous inheritance of all.
Finally, I am still looking for a few more ARC readers. If you know someone who would be interested in reading The Truths We Make in exchange for an honest review, please share my information with them!
Until next time.