The Evolution of an Indie Author

Timeline:

1970-ish: How vain would a writer have to be to slap down good money in order to see his work in print? What unscrupulous publisher would take advantage of such self-aggrandizement? Vanity presses, indeed! I eschew the like.

Mid-1980s: As a college student, I concede that certain academics, writing on esoteric topics, could find it beneficial to self-publish in their field. But never fiction!

1990s: Several of the members of our local poetry club have published chapbooks. That’s quaint. Not something I would do, but I see the value, especially for their families and friends.

1992: I begin my first book, a picture-book with quite a bit of text, Up a Rutted Road. When it comes time to submit it, I begin at the top with a major publisher. One of the high-ranking editors likes it and asks if I would be willing to rewrite it as a middle-grade novel. Uh, yes. No self-publishing for me!

1993: The rewrite of URR is finished. I resubmit to the same editor, who eventually responds with a lovely personal note. "Unfortunately, our MG list is full now. We cannot consider another title for a couple years." Though discouragement rears its ugly head, I continue to study fiction writing, but abstain from submitting, waiting for the wound to heal.

Early 2000s: What in the world is going on in publishing? I hear of many writers who, after forfeiting all hope of being pubbed traditionally, now turn to print-on-demand, whatever that is. I’m pretty sure it’s a type of self-publishing. Meanwhile, I continue to study my craft and write occasionally.

2001: I co-founded Southern Indiana Writers' Salon, a group of local writers. A few of us intend to seriously pursue a writing career.

2002: My friends, Ron and Jo E., support my writing. They seem to think I have some talent and want to sponsor the—here it comes—self-publishing, vía POD, of my manuscript. I decline. “If I can’t find a traditional publisher, I’ll go unpubbed. I’m leaving my writing career in God’s hands.” And He would never want me to do such a vain thing. Would He? No. No. Of course . . . not. But is vanity the only thing that drives one to . . . ? Never mind.

2003: Now I can say I’ve met people who have published their own work. As for quality, that varies. Some works are very good. Most could benefit from a careful, critical editing by a pair of knowledgeable, objective eyes.
             I’m sticking to the traditional route. I approach the same editor again, ignorant that that generally is not done. She agrees to take another look. Alas, again she rejects it, saying it needs more conflict.
            At some point around this time, the Lord—always gracious and merciful—leads Ramona K. Cecil to SIWS. We become friends, and she urges me to look into ACFW membership, attend conferences, and beat up my darlings.

Late in the first decade of the 2000s: I’m following Ramona’s advice by attending conferences and having sit-downs with editors, never giving a thought to self-publishing, though I hear more about the issue, especially following the release of Amazon’s Kindle in 2007. (One of our SIWS writers actually brings one to a meeting for us to see. What a fun toy, much like the little Connect Four electronic game I carry in my purse. Nothing to take seriously.)
            At the first major conference I attend (the now-defunct Central Ohio Writers of Literature for Children Conference, Columbus), I present my work to two editors, since I now have two MG manuscripts to pitch. The first editor requests to see the full of Up a Rutted Road. “Your style reminds me of Cynthia Rylant, but for slightly older readers,” she said. Since Rylant’s When I Was Young in the Mountains is one of my favorite picture books, I was pleased by the comparison. Unfortunately, that editor had to take an extended medical leave and never got to read the full. The second editor also requested a full, but her publishing house was bought out, and she moved on, so—you get the picture.
            Self-pubbing is looking better. Just teasing. Sickness and loss of position, those things happen. I will keep praying, keep polishing, keep learning, keep submitting, keep attending conferences, keep on.

2011-12: The ACFW Conference, the main event for Christian writers, is held in Indianapolis! An hour down the road from me! Huzzah! When I receive my schedule, I’m thrilled to see the name of one of my favorite agents, and I get to have a sit-down with her to pitch my second novel, The Second Cellar. She likes it and requests the full. I have to admit it isn’t quite finished. “That’s all right,” she says. “When can you get it to me?” We agree that March would be good timing, after the holidays.

She retired from the agency in December, before she could see it, and none of the other agents handled MG.
            Lord, what are You trying to tell me? I honestly don’t know. What’s next? A battle rages within. I enter into a dark night of the writer’s soul. A shadow seems to hover over my computer. I want to write, but doubt my calling, doubt my ability to put words together cohesively on a page. The enemy tells me I should give up, use my computer to play Spider Solitaire and check Facebook.

2013: Southern Indiana Writers’ Salon lived a good life, lasting for seven years—longer than most writers’ groups—but suffered a tragic demise a few years ago. In 2012, a handful of Writerly Sisters, former SIWS members, began meeting at my writer’s nest each month.
          One of our scribes publishes some of her children’s books using Smashwords.com. and suggests I consider doing the same. She presents me with my own copy of Publishing E-Books for Dummies and some other resources. They sit gathering dust until—

May 2013: I have an internal debate:

Why do I write?

Because I must. It’s been in my soul since fourth grade. I can’t not write, not for long, anyway.  

What if I never get published traditionally?

That’s possible because publishing is changing.

Do I want to make money with my writing?

Well, that certainly would be nice. But it’s not my priority.

Then what is the true and important thing?

That my work glorifies God. That I write winsomely, pointing readers to Him.

No one is reading my work now. It’s languishing in my computer.

True.

What if I go to all the work of e-pubbing and still no one reads it?

I have grandchildren, my "grandtreasures." They’ll read it. And if they’re the only ones, it’s well worth the effort. Maybe someone else will, also. And perhaps—just perhaps—the right agent or editor will stumble over it and decide it has possibilities. It happens!

But I’m writing middle-grade. Research shows that few middle-grade readers read e-books.

As fast as things change in the world of publishing, that could turn overnight. Up a Rutted Road waiting for them.

I have no plans to e-pub my second MG novel, The Second Cellar, or my third. I’ll leave those decisions to God’s leading. For too long, I held the misconception that members of ACFW eschewed indie books. I've since learned that many of my brother and sister scribes have self-published. I’m sure I’ve read and enjoyed some of their work without knowing it because they took the time to do it right through careful revision and editing and by creating (or paying a professional to design) a professional-quality cover.

This topic came up for lively discussion on our ACFW members loop recently. One writer put it in perspective by reminding us of how blessed we are to have so many options open, considering that in closed and threatened countries, any type of Christ-proclaiming publication is outlawed. Apparently, those who would muzzle Christian writers understand the power in the printed word.

* * *

I would love to hear your thoughts and/or experiences with indie publishing. Please leave a comment.

Write on!

Because of Christ,

Sharon

The Quirky Writer's Kitchen

When I discovered my milk was tainted, on its way to being all-out sour, I did what any red-blooded child of a mama who survived the Great Depression would do; I set it out on the counter to let it get good and tangy. Now I'm about to bake a genuine scratch Sour Milk Chocolate Cake. I'll slather it over with homemade caramel icing good enough to cut in squares and sell in any fine candy shop.

I'm beginning my third middle-grade novel, this one set in east-central Indiana during--you guessed it--the Depression. As I searched for the cake recipe, I got to thinking about how much the 1930s changed the way we cook. It certainly affected Mama's style. 

I was born post-WWII, but I know that much of what Mama cooked was the result of having lived through the dark decade in America's history. We were "economically challenged" throughout my youth. I guess the Depression hung on longer for some folks. My mama had a talent for making something delicious out of nothing. 

There's a wonderful little restaurant in the French Quarter of New Orleans that's famous for its bread pudding. It's good. Really good. But not better than Mama's. And the money I paid for one helping of that N'awleans treat was more than Mama had for a week's groceries. I loved Mama's bread pudding, but I just thought of it as something you do with old, stale bread.

Pies--vinegar (tastes like lemon pie), buttermilk, custard, and old-fashioned sugar cream--were among her specialties. Some of those predated the Depression, coming through the generations from our pioneer foremothers, but recipes that reflected the frugality of the times gained popularity after the stock market crashed.

Casserole recipes abounded during the 1930s, also. Homemakers could stretch a little meat to serve a family by mixing it with something rich in carbs--potatoes, macaroni, noodles/dumplings (homemade, of course), or rice. Toss in some leftover veggies and add a cream sauce of some kind. Bake at 350 degrees for an hour and serve with bread. The wolf at the door was staved off one more night.

Back to my research. (After all, I must eat what my characters would eat.) The cake should be cool enough to cut in about three hours. Come on over, and I'll serve you a slab, along with some hazelnut coffee, fresh from the quirky writer's kitchen. Sound good?

Write on!

Because of Christ,

Sharon

Postscript: Cake and frosting are delicious! Come back in a little while for the recipes.

When I Grow Up...

...I want to write like Kate DiCamillo, author of

• The Tiger Rising
• Because of Winn Dixie
• The Magician's Elephant
• The Tale of Despereaux
• The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane 

Okay, so I don't really want to write like her, since I have my own style, my own voice, but I do admire her work. She reminds me of another writer whose work I really like: Annie Dillard. The two women differ in what they write, but both consciously observe the world around them.  On DiCamillo's website, she says, "...each time you look at the world and the people in it closely, imaginatively, the effort changes you. The world, under the microscope of your attention, opens up like a beautiful, strange flower and gives itself back to you in ways you could never imagine."

Additional recommended reading: "Seeing," an essay by Annie Dillard.

Is This Normal?

When I began writing fiction, I came up with one story idea, something I felt passionately about. I wrote on that one "Big Idea," straying neither to the left nor the right. When I came to the end, I went back to the beginning and began the arduous task of revising. Then I went back to do the picayune edits. Only when that was done did I allow myself the luxury of thinking at length about the next book.

Then I wrote the second manuscript. It's in revision now, but I find I cannot hold at bay other book ideas. Already three middle-grade plot lines are playing around in the back forty of my mind. Further, I'm plotting a historical novella. It seems to me idea begets idea more prolifically than an Old Testament patriarch. Have you found that to be true? Do you write more when you're writing more?

Write on!
Because of Christ,
Sharon

All in the Name of Research

Wednesday was an ordinary day down on the banks of the Ohio in southeastern Indiana. The sky over Madison was a brilliant cyan punctuated with puffs of cloud. A gentle breeze carried the fragrance of southern magnolias down the historic streets, through secluded courtyards, and around early nineteenth-century homes.

It would have been a perfect day to stay home and clean the bathroom, catch up on the laundry, brush up on my transformational grammar, and dust doodads, indeed, but I felt compelled to leave all that behind. After all, I'm a hard-working writer with research begging to be done. So I collected a couple companions and we headed off for the river town to visit the library, locate a good site for a second-hand bookstore for the aunt of my protagonist, get a feel for the neighborhood, and take some reference photos.

Enjoy some of the photos that will hopefully enrich the sense of "place" in The Second Cellar, my middle-grade historical fantasy in progress. (If you've followed this blog for long, you've already seen several reference photos for both of my manuscripts.)

I selected this cream brick home across from the library to be the site of the used-book store.

Kristi Rice, Photographer