In fact, before I heard of authors like J. A. Konrath and Amanda Hocking, who have carved an admirable niche for themselves in the ebook industry, it was still called "self-publishing," and there was a stigma attached.
My story begins when I signed with a literary agency to represent my YA novels in 2005. In 2007, I sold my first book. I was stoked. After years of hard work, my dream of becoming a published author was finally coming true.
Unfortunately, the happily ever after takes a detour here.
First, the editor wanted changes, namely my "too satisfying" ending. It was a "message" book, she declared. My characters can't have everything they want all of the time.
Well, when you're the new author on the block and your editor asks you to jump, that's what you do. So I re-wrote the ending, and it worked well enough. We went to copy and line edits. A conflict popped up, and the book was pushed from a 2008 release to 2009.
Then, one day, the house emailed me the cover image. I cried that day, staring at it. It was over—I knew it. And while I tried to look for the bright side, my cup perpetually half-full, I knew in my heart that no teen girl would want to pick up the book based on its cover. It didn't fit my audience. It wouldn't resonate. It wouldn't implore them to look inside or give the book a chance.
Turns out it didn't matter, because not a single bookstore opted to stock my book. My launch was doomed before the release date even came around.
In a few short years, the publishing industry had sucked the soul from my body then spit it out.
The house didn't want my option novel, and, after careful consideration, I decided to part ways with my agent. I was back at the beginning, starting over again, no better off than I was four years prior, except now I had to explain to everyone in my family and network why they couldn't find my book in any Barnes and Noble.
I was a traditionally published author in an age where the "midlist" was rapidly deteriorating. Not a bestseller, and no longer a "debut" author, I struggled to find a place for my writing.
But I kept writing because I believed in my stories.
Originally, I went indie as an experiment.
The market was extremely volatile (post-Twilight, so "dark" was in and there was a subtle shift from urban fantasy to dystopian taking place), I was on an agent hunt, and no one seemed to be responsive. I'd already accrued 75 rejections for Cross My Heart (some never responded, some rejected the query, some the partial, and three rejected it after reading the final version in its entirety), but it was never the writing, or the story. It was always the "market." More specifically, they weren't sure it would "stand out" enough.
Meanwhile, the indie revolution was underway. Early adopters shouted from their blogs and twitter feeds: Why not let the reader decide?
Why not?
I had nothing to lose.
In December 2010, I changed my name and took the plunge. At worst, my stories would sink to the bottom and be forgotten. At best, the readers would find me.
I was thrilled when, in January 2011—my first full month of sales, I sold one copy of The Guardian a day. Satisfied because the story was no longer languishing on my hard drive, but now had the potential to find its audience, I published Cross My Heart in March.
It took off faster than I ever could have imagined.
I was beginning to think these other indie authors were right—the gatekeepers didn't always know what was best—that, as a writer, the only other person needed in this relationship was a reader. It went against everything I'd been taught about the publishing industry. I had to re-adjust my ways of thinking and doing things. Suddenly it wasn't about what "New York" wanted, but what I wanted—what my readers wanted—and there was a huge amount of freedom in that.
Fan mail started coming in—mostly in reference to Cross My Heart, which ended up spending more than 100 days on the Amazon Teen Top 100 Bestseller list and on the Goodreads Reader's Choice Awards Best YA Books of the Year shortlist that year. But some messages arrived from those wanting to know what happened to Genesis and the Guardians.
I wrote and published Vendetta, a sequel, in 2011, and the conclusion of the series, Revelation, in 2012. In the meantime, readers were begging for more Parker and Jaden. In 2013, I published Collateral Damage, telling Cross My Heart from Parker's point of view. In late 2013, I released a Christmas novella, and in 2018, I introduced the world to Fallon and Nick in Rise.
That year I also decided to combine my newly acquired coaching skills and my ten years of experience in online education to create pen & page. My first online courses were Overcoming Writer’s Block and Editing Strategies for the Serious Writer.
All I Never Wanted followed in 2019, and All I Never Needed in 2020.
Going indie was a risk. It was scary. It went against everything I knew about the "right way" to publish, but "going rogue" was the best decision I could have made—for me and my readers.
I don't know what the future of publishing holds, or where I'll find my permanent place—or if there is such a thing—but I'm so very thankful for this amazing journey I'm on—and for YOU, the fans, who continue to make it possible.
Thank you for everything!
~Katie~
