verucaMODNC

To self-pub or not to self-pub, that is the question.

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of submissions and rejections, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and cast your net in the vast ocean that is KDP, Smashwords and self-publishing.

To write, to edit. To lose sleep. To publish, perchance to sell. That is the dream. And in that dream of sales, what satisfaction might come? Satisfied readers? A sense of accomplishment?

You get the gist. I’m torn. Do I publish my work myself, or wait and hope that someone will take a chance on an unknown? If I were releasing a new album or single, it would be a no-brainer. Labels won’t even look at you unless you can prove that you are a self-contained entity. Things in the publishing world, I’m told, don’t work quite the same way. Maybe I want too much control.

I find myself drawing lots of comparisons between my two lives, the one I have in music and the one I have as a writer. My instincts are to market and promote myself, whether I’ve signed a deal and have a book to sell or not. I’m building my brand. Establishing my voice. Because of this, I’m fortunate enough to have a small-but-loyal fan base who are ready to buy my releases. So why should I wait?

The advice I receive, when I ask this question, is varied. Some say that there is no reason to wait, this mostly from successful indie authors. Others insist that I submit my work to agents and editors, anthologies and open calls, and be patient. A sort of “if you write it, they will sign you” mentality. Which does work, apparently. I just can’t wrap my music-minded brain around it.

Also, I have the patience of a hummingbird. Ooo! Another flower!

RWA 2014 is coming up and I am excited about going, even though I feel like I’ve accomplished little since my first RWA last year, although (yay!) I am PRO as of yesterday. I should have a novel out by now. Maybe even two. I should be about to release another. That’s how I am used to working, in music. This world moves at a different pace. I just need either to adjust to it, or to set my own.

You already know which way I’m leaning.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time? The submission process? The nail-biting, waiting and wondering? The second-guessing? The sense of unwavering unworthiness when responses come back at a snail’s pace?

Me.

Maybe.