My Self-Publishing Delusions

 

I've more or less settled on my novel's new opening. I took my own advice and started in the middle of the action, using quiet moments for the main character to reflect and thus convey the back story. What this new approach has done, though, is to cut many, many words from my story. Many. It had to be done. While I really loved the two rather lengthy band anecdotes I'd written, they simply won't work; if by "work" I mean, sustain a reader's attention. Had the story been about her band performing in her small town, they'd fit perfectly, but it's not about that. 

So, much as I hated to do it, I restarted the novel just as the MC is approaching the town of Chance. I never delete passages completely; I saved the original opening to a separate document, because, really, what do I know about what readers want? Maybe I'll later decide "they" would like the first opening better.

Speaking of delusions, it hit me tonight that my novel will go nowhere. I've been pondering paying for a professional cover if the price is within reason, something I've never done before, but I don't know why I should waste the money. And I don't know how much I believe in the novel's commercial appeal. Personally? I love it, but that's me. Or do I just love having written it? 

And if I'm unwilling to pay for promotion, my book will be sunk. I don't mean twenty dollars here and there, but an actual advertising budget. I can't afford that. So it's going to sit on Amazon's shelf and quickly fade away, just like all my other books.

When I read posts on Reddit, I start to wonder whether I'm actually a bad writer. One guy (I assume) tonight posted that his debut self-published novel sold 300 copies the first day. I don't think I've sold 300 copies of all eleven of my books put together. But then I think, well, how would anyone know what kind of writer I am if they haven't read my work? The fact remains, though, that there is no clamor for my books, nor will there be. 

Silly me, at one point I was so enamored with my story that I briefly considered querying agents again. So yes, I'm delusional.

What I really need to do is examine my motives. I began expanding Second Chance into a novel because I had no new ideas and because I realized how I'd blown a perfectly good plot, which embarrassed me. When I hit upon the idea that the MC was discovered by a label rep when she was performing in a club, it opened up endless possibilities. It was so much fun! 

And there you have it: I wrote it for fun, for the enjoyment of using my imagination and challenging myself to invent new scenarios. While it's natural to want to share something you love with the world, one can't expect the world to revel in your fun times. I personally hate when someone close to me (who shall remain nameless) tells me, "You have to watch this" or "You have to listen to this song". Invariably I don't see in it whatever it is that they saw.  

Why can't I just chalk the whole experience up to fun? I suppose because that's not an accomplishment in the true sense of the word. 

"What did you do today?" 

"Well, I had fun."

"Oh."

The whole process, by which I mean the publishing process, will be an awful lot of work just to affirm my fun time. That includes separating the book into chapters, formatting, editing, cover, blurb.

And the story isn't even complete yet. I'm still on the fence as to whether to add an epilogue of sorts, plus at least one character still needs to be fleshed out. And heaven forbid, I haven't even had the whole thing read aloud to me yet, and that's a bomb just waiting to explode.

Fun!

I guess that's what hobbyists aim for.