An Open Letter to Those Who Have Failed

Today I'm writing to everyone who has experienced the sting of failure at something that mattered to them.

You had a goal, maybe one you set for yourself, maybe one assigned to you by an authority figure (a boss, a parent, a teacher), and you were determined to fulfill it to the best of your ability. You knew it would be tough, but you rolled up your sleeves, pushed into the fray, and gave it your all. You put in that overtime, you eliminated distractions, and you pushed past every obstacle that tried to get in your way.

You did your absolute best to ensure that the product of your labors was the pinnacle of perfection...

...and it wasn't. Your essay came back with an undesirable grade stamped at the top, your boss told you to scrap the project and start over (or even fired you), or you created something and put it out into the world only to discover that no-one enjoyed or got anything worthwhile out of it. And in that moment, when the adrenaline rush of having completed your task spiraled down into a sick feeling in the pit of your gut, you had this thought at the forefront of your mind: "I had one job, and I failed."

This letter is for you.

As with many of my posts (of which I know this is the first in a very long time), I'm writing this from a place of experience. As many of you know, in late 2016, I published the third book in my fantasy series, 'The Sehret Chronicles: The Survivor'. And then in 2017, I pulled it from the market and announced that I intended to rewrite it and publish the new edition at an undefined later date.

Those of you who know that much likely also know that at that point, I essentially dropped off the face of the earth as far as writing and blogging were concerned (though, let’s be honest – I’ve never been good at blogging on a regular schedule). What you might not know is why.

When I finished writing 'The Survivor', I faced a rather challenging situation -- where with previous books, I'd been able to recruit more objective third parties to help look over my work and point out problem areas/tell me when I needed to work on something, I faced what one might call a "beta famine". Others were willing to look the book over for me, but found their schedules too busy to allow them to get through the giant of a manuscript I'd sent to them (upwards of 140K words in its first draft form). No matter how many I asked, and how many (I'm sure) fully intended to be of help, I got hardly any feedback, and my self-imposed deadline for publishing the book I'd spent three years writing and editing loomed menacingly.

I had to make a choice -- push back the deadline until I could get more substantial, objective feedback (probably the most sensible option), or rip into the manuscript based on my own judgment and what little input I'd managed to glean from others and publish the book "on time".

And I made what was admittedly a rash and incredibly risky call: I chose the second option. I combed through the book, chopped scenes relentlessly, tuned up as much as I could, and with much terror and stomach-twisting, I uploaded the manuscript and hit 'Publish'.

And it tanked. I mean absolutely, spectacularly TANKED.

This could have been partially due to my subpar self-marketing skills, but I largely blame myself for failing to hold out for better feedback and rushing to publish something that clearly was not ready to be released into the world. Beyond mere low sales figures, the only reviews I got on the book cited a plot in shambles, characters who didn't seem like themselves, and a message that was confusing and, in some places, actually disheartening.

When the first review came in and pointed out these glaring issues, I went to my parents' room in the middle of the night (yup, I'm a low-energy Lymie and still live at home), told my mom about the review, and cried my eyes out. My depression/anxiety/OCD/etc. kicked into overdrive, and my headspace got unspeakably dark. This was my primary method of ministry, of contributing to a world I was rarely able to reach otherwise, and instead of helping my target audience, I'd produced something disappointing and potentially discouraging. I wanted to pull the book right then and never publish anything ever again.

But years of talking to other indie authors have taught me that sometimes a few one- or two-star reviews are mere flukes, and that you shouldn't act on them unless they become a trend. I did not feel the review was malicious or even necessarily incorrect (I take reviews very seriously, especially when I can tell the reader is sincere), but as it was only one, I made the decision to leave the book on the market for a while and see what happened.

And then it came -- the second, lengthy and painstakingly detailed review, relating not only every single thing that I'd felt insecure about during the process of writing and editing the manuscript, but also concerns for aspects of the story with which I had been happy, or felt I'd done well for once. And I cried again. My stomach roiled. I felt like I'd failed utterly, like I could never recover from having thrown so much time and effort and passion into a project for three years of my life and produced a result as catastrophic as this.

This left me with a decision. From my perspective, I could have done one of four things:

1. Left the book on the market, accepted that it was the "black sheep" of the series, and tried to make up for my mistakes with the next installment,

2. Take it off the market and pretend it never existed, either proceeding with a new, completely different book or just leaving the series as-is,

3. Take it off the market and never publish anything again (something I seriously considered more than once), or

4. Take it off the market and try again.

After consulting trusted sources close to me (including an old writing buddy who was invaluable in providing feedback for the first two books), I chose the fourth option. I swallowed my pride (most of it, anyway), unpublished 'The Survivor', and posted my apology to the world, along with the promise that I would undergo a rewrite, and requested prayer, as I'd never done something this drastic before and knew that I would struggle once the euphoria of having a second chance wore off. (It was stressful having something on the market that I felt might not be good enough, and I gleaned some measure of relief from the knowledge that it wasn’t available to potential readers anymore.)

It's been seven months since I made that announcement, and the manuscript for said rewrite is still at... *checks current word count in Scrivener* ...6,587 words.

Yup, you read that correctly -- seven months, and the current version of the rewrite doesn't even contain a thousand words per each month I've been working on it. Granted, this is partially because I've made several attempts and, upon being unhappy with some of them, pulled scenes that would have added onto my measly word count. In any case, rewriting this book has been possibly (I daresay almost certainly) the most difficult thing I've ever done as a writer.

Why? Because every time I open that document or someone asks what I'm working on lately, I'm reminded that the whole reason I'm still working on this book is because I failed. As even one of the aforementioned reviewers acknowledged, I threw my heart and soul into the project and tried my best to make it everything it could and should have been, but still it flopped profoundly.

So every time I try to get back to work and make progress towards what I hope will be a better and more worthwhile result, it feels like I have someone leaning over my shoulder, continually whispering, "You failed. You failed at this once, and you'll fail at it again. You are a failure."

But I’d like to draw your attention to an important element of this post’s title: It is addressed to “Those Who Have Failed”, not to “Those Who Are Failures”.

It is crucial to draw a distinction between the two, and to understand that failing and being a failure as a person are two entirely different things. Everyone fails at something eventually, and while the consequences vary in their nature and severity, we (and especially the perfectionists among us) can all relate to the crushing discouragement that follows, and thus may glean much from the following one-liner that you’ve probably heard a million times:

“If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”

But why should we “try, try again” when another attempt brings with it the potential to fail again? Would it not be safer to give up, to run up the white flag of surrender and save ourselves the heartache? Why should I put in another several months/years into rewriting a book from scratch when it brought me such agony last time despite everything I put into it?

As to the question of whether it would be “safer”, I would have to say that yes, from the perspective of a fearful human being, the idea of holding back from attempting something (especially something at which you've previously failed) would feel safer. After all, it's difficult to make the same mistake twice if you never make a second attempt at the pursuit in which the mistake was first made. 

To the question of whether it would be better, though, my answer would have to be… maybe not.

The reason I say “maybe” instead of “definitely” is because sometimes there are things we are truly not meant to do, either because they are not worthwhile pursuits or because they’re simply not part of God’s plan for us. So the first step following any failure should be to ask ourselves (and, more importantly, God) whether what we failed in doing is something we are meant to do.

If the answer is no, the next step should be to let go – there’s no point to continuing in something that wasn’t meant for you, and neither is there anything to be gained by holding onto guilt and regret over falling short in the pursuit of something that you weren’t meant to achieve. It’s okay. You’re allowed to not excel at some things, and you’re certainly allowed (and I would encourage you) to step away if you feel that what you are pursuing is getting in the way of something more important. God is the ultimate giver of second chances, and you can always seek Him and pursue His will anew, even if you find you've strayed from it before now. 

If the answer is yes, then that’s when you really need to buckle down and get brave. Because with every new beginning, there is risk. There is the potential for stress and failure and heartache, and there’s no way of knowing what lies on the road between where you begin and where you’re trying to go.

But is the risk of embarrassment or a temporary emotional low really worth turning away from something God has set before you to do?

This is where my answer has to be a resounding NO. And let me tell you why.

First off, if you’ve already consulted God (through prayer, the Bible, and the input of godly advisors) and determined that the seemingly failed pursuit is one you’re meant to undertake, nothing else matters. Nothing. Not fear, not shame, not any insecurities you might have (remember, Moses had speech difficulties and thought he wasn’t worthy of speaking on God’s behalf because of it). If God has set you on a path, He has a purpose for it, whether you see it or not, and He will bring you through it, no matter how many times you think you’ve faltered or even fallen along the way.

“Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.”

- Philippians 1:6, KJV

"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.

In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths."

- Proverbs 3:5-6, KJV

Second, if what you’re doing is for God and backed by His will, you can bet that any doubts and fears that might arise are not from Him. After all, if God is with you in your pursuits, then who are you doubting when you think things like, “I can’t do this”? It would be understandable to doubt yourself, as a fallible human being, especially when the Bible explicitly says that “without [God], ye can do nothing” (John 15:5, KJV). But if you’re doing God’s will and leaning on Him for the strength to follow through, then to doubt your future is to doubt Him. And that is an entirely different matter.

If we truly trust in God to direct our paths, we have no reason to fear, because He knows the way and is infinitely capable of getting us to the end of the road, regardless of our own inadequacies.

“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord, nor of me his prisoner: but be thou partaker of the afflictions of the gospel according to the power of God;

Who hath saved us, and called us with an holy calling, not according to our works, but according to his own purpose and grace, which was given us in Christ Jesus before the world began.”

- 2 Timothy 1:7-9, KJV

Third and finally, anything done for God is done with eternal benefits in mind, and thus, continuing in a difficult task when God is in it will ALWAYS be better and more worthwhile than anything we might lose in the process (time, energy, comfort, pride, etc.), and is certainly well worth the risk. 

This is why, despite how atrociously behind I am in my writing goals, no matter how badly I feel about myself as a writer or how much I would like to throw in the towel and give up trying, I refuse to give up. This is not out of pride or stubbornness (although I'd be lying if I said those never play a role in my decisions or my resolve), but rather because I believe God has set this task before me, and even if I failed the first time, I have to believe there was some purpose to my efforts (even if it was just to teach me a lesson -- for example, not to rush to publication like that again), and that what God has in store for me is worth pursuing. Because while I may have failed, and may often think of myself as a failure, God is not and has not, and I can trust Him to do His will through me regardless. 

I just have to press on, keep a stiff upper lip, and trust that the infallible God I serve will use even my stumbling efforts to His glory. 

If God is in what you're doing, then even your failures (crushing as they may seem at the moment) will lead to a greater victory in Him. This is our hope and our promise in the face of even the most devastating failure. 

“Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before,

I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.

Let us therefore, as many as be perfect, be thus minded: and if in any thing ye be otherwise minded, God shall reveal even this unto you.

Nevertheless, whereto we have already attained, let us walk by the same rule, let us mind the same thing.”

- Philippians 3:13-16, KJV

Rejoice in the Lord (a cappella) - Hamilton Family

Book Release Announcement! (The Sehret Chronicles #3: The Survivor)

The time has come -- the day is here...

One book more!

...Okay, I shall now switch out of Broadway musical mode and get to the point of my post. You may have noticed that I have not been very active on here for the past several months. There is a reason for this -- I have been hard at work getting the third book of The Sehret Chronicles publication-ready. It's taken up a lot of my time, attention, and energy, and I am pleased to announce that at last, there is a third book on the market!

The Survivor, formerly known as The Rescuer, picks up directly where the first book, The Follower, left off. Here's the back-cover blurb, for more info:

The ragtag group thrown together by a cave-in in 'The Follower' have reached the surface of the Rhenor mountains, and have plotted their course to Delnam, where they will part ways at last. Their adventure takes them through the hostile Kirat territories, but as long as they keep to themselves and are careful to avoid the locals, they expect to reach their destination safely.

When Zarea Kal, a Kirat runaway, brings her pursuers crashing down on the camp, the group united by circumstance is rent apart once more. Now those taken captive must fight for their freedom, and those already free must survive long enough to set things right.

But even with their enemies occupied, the battle for their souls and sanity still rages, and demons -- either real or of the mind -- refuse to retreat into the shadows that spawned them.

The battle for survival is not over. It has only just begun.

This release has been three years in the making, but at last it is here, and the book is now live at the links located at the bottom of this post (you can read what's written above it, or skip ahead -- it's up to you).

Not sure you're interested based on that description alone? Here's a sneak peek from the beginning of the book:

----------------------------

Prologue

The man looked dead, but it was hard to be sure. In the light of the dying lantern above him, his face was blank, his eyes shut, and his chest too obscured for Zarea Kal to be sure it was not moving. The keys at his belt swayed and glittered like jewels, tantalizing her in a way no true gem ever could. She watched them with eyes wide, her bow primed to notch and let loose another arrow if the man rose.
Beside her, Darek whispered, “What are we waiting for?”
Zarea silenced him with a wave of her hand, and her eyes flitted about the area. A small camp, three men guarding it, none well-armed. Their chest of supplies sat open to the air, dragged out earlier by the largest of the three to allow for easier access during the supper hour. That might have been wise, considering how much they ate from it. But they'd never bothered to drag it back into the tent.
And that was their mistake.
The brawny guard still did not stir, but Zarea thought she heard him mumble something unintelligible, and she released a shaky breath. The man was alive, and she lacked the nerve to change that. Hopefully, he would have the decency to stay unconscious until they were gone. She notched another arrow and rose to a crouch. “Let's go.”
Darek nodded, and they advanced. Zarea led the way into the camp and slowed her step as she approached the man she'd shot. The sedative-coated arrow that pierced his shoulder remained in place, and Zarea's eyes flitted to the wound before she forced them to move away. She dropped by his side and fumbled with the knot that tethered the keys to his belt. She grabbed at what she thought was the right end to loosen it and yanked.
The keys jangled.
“Kali!” The hissed nickname made her look up. Darek gestured wildly to his belt and glanced at the tent nearby.
Of course. Zarea pulled a knife from her belt and began to saw. A few heart-jolting clanks later, she pulled the keys free.
A breeze blew through, and the corner of one of the tent flaps flipped enough for Zarea to see inside. Her heart leapt to her throat at the sight of the two sleeping men inside.
She inhaled deeply and pulled an arrow from her quiver, then held it in her left hand like a dagger while gripping the keys tightly in her right. Darek rushed to her side and took the keys, then moved swiftly to the chest of supplies. After several agonizing moments of peering into the lock, of sticking one key after another into it without success, finally there was a click and he pulled the key free. He glanced at Zarea and lifted the lid.
Zarea’s breath caught at the sight of the contents. Stores of dried meat, of bread, and even a bag of dried berries sat before them. They were not much to look at, but she could not turn away, and her mouth watered. How pathetic that she should desire these withered old morsels after seventeen years of having plenty without having to lift a finger.
Darek rifled through the chest to see if there was anything else of use, then gestured to Zarea and mouthed, “The bag.”
Zarea rushed back to their hiding spot and snatched up the empty satchel she'd left there. A few stale crumbs fell to the ground, and she left them for the men to find. She and Darek stuffed as much as they could into the satchel, stuffing a fair amount into their mouths, as well.
The food stuck in Zarea’s throat, and she coughed, then froze wide-eyed. She waited for the men to wake up, to rush out and see who it was that was coughing on their precious food. But no-one came.
Darek’s eyes were equally wide, his lips cracked as he whispered, “Water. They must have some.”
Zarea tried to think. If she were these men, traveling through the plains in the dry season, where would she keep a precious commodity such as water? Not in this chest – she knew that already. She would want it nearby, easy to reach when the need for refreshment hit her.
Her eyes strayed to the tent, through the flap as it waved in the wind, and she caught sight of something that might be a jug by the larger man's bedroll.
Darek followed her gaze, and his face turned ashen as he shook his head. “No, Kali. They'll wake up.”
“We need water.” Her knees wobbled, but she forced them to hold her up as she crept to the tent and pulled back the flap. She caught her breath as the light fell through the crack, all the way to the jug and the man sleeping beside it. He stirred.
A pair of hands clapped over her mouth and yanked her back from the tent. She gasped, fumbled for the knife sheathed inside her tunic.
“Keep still,” a familiar voice hissed in her ear. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
Zarea ripped herself free of Darek’s grasp. “If you grab me again, I'll stab you.”
“Go in there, and they'll kill us both.” Darek lifted the full satchel of food. “Please, Kali – we have enough for a while. We'll reach the mountain soon, and when–”
“Stop telling me what to do,” Zarea snapped, snatching her confiscated longknife from his grasp. She lifted her chin imperiously. “I give the orders here, remember? We need water, and I'm getting it. Now stand guard.”
Darek opened his mouth to protest, then clamped it shut and pulled his own bow free, notching an arrow as he nodded and raised it to its ready position.
Zarea took a deep breath and, with her knife raised, stepped into the tent. Every breath the sleeping men took, every twitch or mumbled word made her jump, and she had to fight the urge to turn and run as fast as her legs would carry her. She reached the big man's side and held her breath, afraid the slightest noise would bring about sudden death. She saw the jug, about eight inches tall, and nearly as wide, just past the stranger's head. She tensed, took a careful step, placed her foot mere inches away from his head, certain he would wake and sweep it out from under her. Still his snores filled the tent.
The jug was inches away now. All she had to do was lean a bit, reach out, pull it ever so carefully over his head, and...
The jug’s weight knocked her off balance, and before she could so much as reach out to stop herself, she fell and found herself sprawled over the man's brawny chest.
And that was when he gasped, his eyes flew open, and he threw Zarea back as he groped for his sword. “What...”
Across the tent, his companion stirred. Zarea slugged the man beside her and, in the split-second before he could react, snatched his smaller water canteen from beside him and took off. Hands reached for her. She pulled away, dove out of the tent. Footsteps shuffled behind her and pounded into the open.
An arrow whizzed free of Darek’s bow, and Zarea heard a strangled cry as it hit home. She dashed forward to join Darek, but stumbled and bumped against his arm, and another arrow flew loose, far off-course. It hit the ground beside the larger man, who snatched it up as though it were a child's dart thrown too far from its target. Darek stepped backwards, fumbled for the knife on his boot.
The big man swung the arrow at him. Darek ducked, cried out, used the man's weight against him to throw him to the ground, and fell with him.
The less imposing man charged at Zarea. Fear had stolen away her sense of forethought – with a flick, her knife flew, and the man fell. Zarea gasped, her hand at her mouth. She hadn't meant to throw it. She didn't even know where she'd hit him.
Darek's cry of pain drew her attention back to the fight on the ground. Zarea turned, notched an arrow.
She needn't have bothered. Darek swung a fist, and the man cried out, freeing him. Zarea did not have time to process what had happened before Darek grabbed her wrist and yanked at it. “Run!”
Zarea barely managed to retrieve the food satchel as Darek dragged her along with him at top speed. Soon they put a fair amount of distance between them and the camp, and Zarea wondered why the big man hadn't followed them. Why had he not mounted one of his horses and taken off after them by now?
But she knew why, and the reason made her double over retching.
Darek stumbled from the sudden stop and fell to his knees a few feet away.
“I killed him,” Zarea gasped, unbelieving. “Darek, I killed that man.”
Darek did not answer, and at once Zarea noticed that his breathing was different, quivering, punctuated with gasps and suppressed groans. She stumbled over to him. “Darek, what...?”
That was when she saw the blood.
Her eyes grew wide. “He stabbed you!”
“It’s fine,” he rasped. His eyes were full of pain, but he set his jaw in determination. “Just a scratch... Caught me off-guard.”
“That is not a scratch,” Zarea snapped. “We have to find help.”
“The mountain,” he coughed.
Zarea groaned. “Hang the mountain – I never want to hear of it again!”
“The mountain, Kali,” Darek insisted. “There are places there, places to rest, find water, and herbs to treat wounds. We can find them.”
“This was a mistake.” Zarea blinked back tears and fought to keep a stern edge to her voice. “Darek, I was wrong. We never should have left home. We need to go back. We need to find my mother and tell her–”
“We’d never make it,” Darek said firmly, his voice stronger than before. His blue eyes pleaded with her brown ones. “We’ve gone too far into the wilderness. We can't turn back now.”
Zarea shook her head violently. “No. We can make it, and once we're home–”
“We’d die before we got there, or they’d kill me. And I’m not sending you off on your own.” Darek gripped her hand tightly, using his free hand to push against the ground for support to sit upright. He grimaced as the pain overtook him again. “Help me walk.”
She helped him to his feet, and for several steps, he leaned heavily on her as he tried to regain his bearings. But at last, he nodded and released his hold on her shoulder. “Let go. I can do it on my own.”
“You're sure?”
He nodded, still pale, his expression tormented as he lifted his eyes towards the looming Rhenor mountains. “Let's get going.”

----------------------------

If you'd like to read a longer excerpt, go the Smashwords page for the book and download a sample there (the first 20% of the book, completely free to read), or read up through the beginning of chapter two here.

Paperback Links:

Amazon

CreateSpace
Barnes & Noble

E-Book Links:

Amazon
Barnes & Noble

Smashwords
Kobo

Alternatively, if you would prefer a signed copy, you can contact me at my author e-mail, contact.cfbarrows@gmail.com and order one directly from me. Books purchased from me are $12 USD plus shipping. Haven't read the first two books? That's okay! You can check them out on Goodreads or at the links below:

The Follower

(Book One)

Goodreads

Paperback Links:

Amazon

CreateSpace

Barnes & Noble

E-Book Links:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Smashwords

Kobo

The Merchant's Son

(Book Two, prequel to The Follower)

Goodreads

Paperback Links:

Amazon
CreateSpace
Barnes & Noble

E-Book Links:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Smashwords

Kobo

If you read the books and like them (or just have something to say about them that you want other potential readers to know, even if it doesn't warrant a full five stars), I'd really appreciate it if you'd leave a review. Reviews are one of the most effective ways to spread the word about a book, and are invaluable to indie authors like me. But either way, I hope you have a blessed day and enjoy whatever books you do choose to read, whether they're mine or someone else's. (If you're a fan of Christian fantasy, my personal recommendation would be to check out Jill Williamson's books. They're fantastic. I'm also checking out R. J. Larson's work now, but I haven't read enough to have an opinion on her work yet -- I shall let you know when I do. The world can always use some more good, clean speculative reads.)

Have any book recommendations you'd like to share? Questions about the book I've just released? Feel free to comment below! I'll try my utmost to reply. Releasing a new book is always nerve-wracking, so I should be spending a lot of time online, checking on things, updating other things, talking about all the things on the social networking... um... places, and...

Yeah, basically, there's a good chance I'll reply this time around. And I shall endeavor to do more with the blog in general, now that the most daunting item is off of my to-do list. Maybe I'll even post more installments in the short stories I've previously posted...

...But I digress.

Being Productive (And A Comparison Of Traditional And Self-Publishing)

Well, hello again, fellow digressors. I hope you have all had a pleasant day/evening. The weekend has just begun, and I hope you have some awesome, productive (or at least enjoyable) plans to look forward to. 

Today I actually managed to be somewhat productive. Sadly, I did not build a teleporter or a time machine. Not yet, anyways. I'm still working out a few of the bugs. Instead, I finished writing another vocal song that I'd started a few weeks back, and came up with music for it. That might not sound like a tremendous accomplishment, but I only write about one or two songs per year to completion, so it's nice to actually finish one and be able to share it with others.

Am I sharing it here? No, at least not yet. Maybe sometime when my brain is fried and I can't come up with an interesting blog post topic, I'll cheat by uploading a recording of the song. Because I am such a wonderfully dedicated blogger.

My evening was not so productive, but it was relaxing, nonetheless, and I am closing it out now by trying to write a proposal letter for one of my novels. Of course, "trying" is the operative word there. My distractible brain would much rather play a game, or make a character quote picture, or log onto Blogger and write a post for you lovely people.

But of course, my conscience tells me that I ought to do what I set out to do in the first place, so I shall compromise. I don't know enough about writing proposals to give you all a comprehensive presentation on how to write one effectively. In fact, I have never before written one. Something -- call it wisdom, laziness, or cowardice, whichever you like -- held me back. Instead, I chose the route of self-publishing for my first two novels.

So, since my digressing brain is not particularly interested in writing a book proposal tonight, I shall present to you my views of traditional and self-publishing, respectively. (Let us see how well I focus until my brainpower fizzles for the evening.)

Traditional publishing gives us most of the books we read every day (or every week, month, or year, depending upon your personal reading habits). It is the dream of almost every aspiring author to write the next great novel, find a great agent, submit said manuscript to some prestigious publisher, and become a widely-read, respected author. Many a scribe has sighed and lovingly brushed the dust off of their favorite book, and said to themselves, "One day I will be on the New York Times Bestseller list and the whole world will read my books. I wonder what I'll say when they interview me on television. What would be a good color to wear? Maybe I should get a haircut beforehand..."

Or is that just me?

Actually, I'm more likely to sit hugging my favorite book in a corner and stare in terror at my laptop while feeling guilty for being too much a perfectionistic coward to actually send anything to a publisher than I am to pick out an outfit for my hypothetical interview on the Tonight Show. Many self-published authors have noble reasons for choosing their path, and cowardice plays no part in their decisions. Or at least, I assume those people are out there. I'm still not convinced that it's possible to be an author of any caliber without wanting to run in terror from potential readers a few times. Me, I'm terrified of publishers. Of course, this fear was not the primary reason driving my decision to self-publish, but it did come into play a bit.

I think the primary reason that most authors aspire to being traditionally published is that it demands respect. When your book sits on the shelves of Barnes & Noble with a publisher's logo on its spine, it broadcasts to the world that this book is viable. Extensive work has been employed to write this book, edit it, and prepare it for public consumption. (Consumption in the sense of reading and enjoying it, of course. Please don't eat books. That's just disrespectful.) There are some books out there (which shall not be named here) which perhaps do not deserve the credibility that such presentation gives them, but nonetheless, just the fact that the novel has gone through a credible source is enough to inspire confidence in potential readers.

The primary reason authors get into self-publishing, I believe, is the freedom and ease-of-access involved. It can be as easy as creating a cover (preferably with the help of a professional designer) and uploading your book file to an online retailer to be made available within days. Some services, such as CreateSpace or Lulu, offer print-on-demand services, as well as editors, artists and formatters for covers and interior layout, all for a fee. These services can be utilized to produce a product of equal quality to any traditionally published book you might find at your favorite bookstore. Additionally, there are no contracts involved, and you are fully in control of the pricing and distribution of your work. You answer to no-one, and you reserve all rights to do with your work as you please. And, perhaps best of all for the timid folks like me, there is no middle man, no-one barring you from getting your work out to the world as soon as you can come up with the resources to publish it. 

I have heard many arguments on the topic of whether traditional or self-publishing is best. Speaking as one who has considered both routes extensively, I don't believe one is universally better than the other. Some authors will find that traditional publishing is the better option, while others might find that self-publishing more effectively serves their purposes. It is all in what you hope to get out of the publishing experience, and what you are willing to put into it. Here is my in-depth, highly informed analysis of the two options and how they compare to one another. 

At least, it would be in-depth and highly informed if I were an expert on these issues. Sadly, I am not. But here goes nothing: 

Traditional Publishing 

As I stated previously, traditional publishing offers credibility. However, this credibility comes with good reason: It is tremendously difficult to get published by this method. There are certain expectations of quality which must be met, and these expectations differ between publishers. A book might be intriguing, well-plotted and well-executed, and still be rejected on the basis that it does not meet the needs of the publisher to which it was submitted. In the same way, a book which is rejected by one publisher for being too outlandish might be accepted by another for its fantastical feel. 

Most publishers expect authors to use a literary agent, who must be carefully selected and promised a commission in order to even get your manuscript a second look from a publisher, much less a letter of acceptance. It is not an endeavor for the faint of heart, and succeeding in it is surely a feat to be celebrated. Once you have gotten that letter, a contract must be drawn up and agreed upon, and once the rigors of editing and design have been completed (in which areas I am uncertain how much the author is involved, since I've never gotten that far), your book is officially published. The list price is set by the publisher, and you get your agreed-upon royalties if/when the books start selling. The level of involvement past this point seems to depend upon the publisher, but although many (especially smaller publishing houses) expect a fair level of marketing participation from the author, it is still at a less significant level than for a self-published work. 

The publisher owns your work, but that means they also pay for the print runs, distribute copies, and take care of a lot of the nitty-gritty details that you might not have time to handle. This restricts freedom to some extent (and this extent varies depending upon which publisher you use), as the publisher reserves the right to change things as they see fit (or send it back to you to be changed, depending), adjust list prices, determine distribution, and so forth. And once you have signed your book over to them (as far as I can tell, being on the outside), it essentially belongs to them, though of course it remains your intellectual property. The world of traditional publishing, overall, is challenging to get into, and may not offer all the freedoms which some authors would like, but garners respect and requires a lower input of resources and energy to maintain. 

Self-Publishing 

Self-publishing often gets a bad rep because, as previously stated, there is often no middle man. It is easy to get your work out there. You could invest the capital to print physical copies of your book, or just upload the file to an online retailer for free. You could even do your own editing and cover design (not recommended, but some people like me do it). Sure, formatting is a pain (BELIEVE ME), and producing a quality cover can be challenging, but you can do it, and you can get away with it, even if what you're submitting is trash. You could be a dedicated author who pours his heart into everything he produces and does his best to ensure that his work is polished to perfection before releasing it to the public. But you could also be some high-school kid who pounds at a keyboard for a weekend, decides he likes what he's written, and uploads it to an online service on a whim.

The only way the reader knows which product they stand to consume is by word of mouth, or by taking a chance and reading your work for themselves. Many readers are simply unwilling to take that plunge, though self-publishing has gained more respect in recent years, and does not hold quite the stigma it once did. This is why marketing well and garnering reviews is so crucial for self-published authors. Readers are much more likely to take a chance on an author they know and who comes well-recommended than on one they only discover by accident whilst browsing through the new releases on Amazon. Don't misunderstand me -- self-publishing can be a very rewarding route to choose, and it is much easier to get into than traditional publishing. But it also requires a significant investment of your time, energy, and resources to get much of anywhere. 

On the other hand, with self-publishing, your work remains entirely your own, with no contracts involved, no-one choosing the prices for you or making all the decisions that you might prefer to make for yourself. And while publishers may be reluctant to publish a book which has previously been released via self-publishing, some may still accept it, and as the work has never been signed off to a third party, you are free to do with at as you wish. You are your own publisher, with all the freedoms and responsibilities that job entails. 

Recently, a friend of mine who plans to pursue traditional publishing joined a critique group, and was encouraged by other members to try self-publishing instead because it was easier. On one hand, it is encouraging to hear self-publishing presented as a viable option, while back when I was looking into publication options for my own books, any expression of my intentions to self-publish might well garner looks of horror and lectures on why it would never work. On the other hand, I have to laugh and shake my head a bit at the assertion that self-publishing is either easy or a superior alternative to traditional publishing. In the same way, I am disappointed when people claim that self-publishing is the lazy alternative and that traditional publishing is the only way to go. 

In my mind, they are both worthy options. It all depends on what you hope to accomplish in your publishing journey, and what measures you are willing to take in order to succeed down the road you've chosen. 

Am I glad I self-published? Yes, I am. I have managed to sell some books and, by God's grace, have even garnered a modest following. I am not the most dedicated marketer in the world, and there are some things I wish I had done differently, but overall, it has been a rewarding, worthwhile experience. (Seriously, though, having friends randomly stumble upon chatrooms full of Sehret fans makes my heart very happy.) 

Would I ever seriously consider publishing traditionally? Yes, I would. In fact, I am already taking the first steps towards taking that leap of faith. My perfectionist brain sneaks behind my back and feeds my cowardice with fears of rejection and assurances of my own inadequacy, but the road seems a worthwhile one, and I am determined to walk it, no matter how terrified I may be. (And hey, if I get a book deal out of it, all the better, right?) 

"For God hath not given us a spirit of fear; but of power, and love, and of a sound mind." - II Timothy 1:7, KJV 

"I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me." - Philippians 4:13, KJV 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go plan my speech for when they call me for that TV interview. Hey, I've already picked out a publisher and started planning my proposal letter. They'll come breaking down my door any day now, won't they? Of course they will. Now to pick out an outfit for that interview... 

...But of course... I digress.