For years, this blog has been my space to share fragments of the worlds I build — glimpses into Lucardia, reflections on the craft, and thoughts from the strange, quiet corners of storytelling. I’ve been grateful for everyone who has followed along, offered encouragement, or simply taken the time to read. Engagement on my website has already surpassed last year’s numbers. Growth has been slow, but it is still growing. But lately, I’ve been forced to face something uncomfortable.
The world of indie publishing has undergone significant changes over the years. However, this year has seen some developments that are troubling for those trying to do this alone. If you’re in the business, you know what I mean. Amazon, once the reluctant home for independent voices, has transformed into a labyrinth of algorithms, ads, and pay-to-play systems. Yes, it has always been like this. Amazon is a business trying to sell books, after all, but recent changes have made it much worse. Visibility isn’t earned anymore; it’s bought, and the price keeps climbing. To be noticed, you must sell; however, to sell, you must pay. To gain the visibility to pay, you must sell. It is a terrible catch-22. The work itself has become secondary to how loudly one can shout. The race for relevance — the constant pressure to post, promote, and push — has drained more time and energy than it’s returned. I published three books this year, finished another, and have two more on the way, yet my sales have only slightly surpassed last year’s.
I’ve found myself spending more hours trying to sell my books than actually writing them. I’ve watched my output decline as my enthusiasm thinned. The effort has seeped into every part of my life. My health has suffered, my patience has worn thin, and somewhere along the way, I began to lose the joy that once made this all feel sacred. My wife, in her infinite wisdom, called me out on it. She saw what I couldn’t — that I was becoming angry, bitter, and frustrated. She reminded me that this was a hobby, and why do a hobby if you don’t enjoy it? I was letting the noise of the industry consume what I loved most about creating. She reminded me that this wasn’t who I wanted to be, and she’s right. Writing is an addiction, so it is perhaps not as simple as all that, but like all addictions, it was taking over my life and dousing my spirit. It went from a few drinks and a good time, to passed out in the gutter in my own sick. I know, that is a harsh metaphor, but it shows how far I had fallen with this thing I am supposed to love.
A few weeks ago, while walking through the narrow medieval streets of Europe, I started to see things differently. There was something humbling about standing in those places — centuries of stone and craft and patience layered into every wall and courtyard. I realized how relentlessly American I’d become in my approach to art. I was treating writing as production. Consumerism had infiltrated my craft; it had become about output, about chasing growth, about being bigger, better, and faster. But all it really did was water me down. I want to produce stories like those streets, full of feeling and depth, not just facade.
I still hold the dream of being a successful author. I know. There are many ways to gauge success, but for me, I would love to sustain a life built around writing. But, you know what? I don’t have to force it. I already have a good life — a loving wife (who is not afraid to hold up a mirror), a steady job, and the means to live well. The dream remains, but it doesn’t need to devour everything else. If I’m going to keep doing this, I need to do it with purpose. I need to slow down, focus on craft, and stop shooting blindly into the dark.
So, I’m pulling back — not to quit, but to hone, to retool, to rediscover what matters. I want to write from stillness again, not from urgency. I want to make fewer things, but better ones. I want to find my audience through authenticity and patience, not an algorithm. So, if you see less from me, know that I am okay. I am back to doing what I love to do. I am sitting on a comfortable couch, in warm light, creating dark, fantastical worlds filled with complex and flawed characters.
This isn’t an ending. It’s a return to the beginning — to the quiet, to the discipline, to the joy that first made me want to tell stories. I’m still here, still writing, still searching. Just not shouting anymore.
Cheers!
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You write because you love it, not for success. I think in the moment we focus on money (and success) we lose the love and the passion. Imagine Van Gough. He painted because he had to. Sadly, he never got paid what he is worth now. I do wonder if he would smile or laugh bitterly now. I wish you well. I am in the middle of getting my book out and I joke that I will be the only book that nobody will ever buy or read. When It old my husband he said it won’t matter. It will be in our shelf and he is proud of me. Perhaps that’s all I need. Fight my blogging friend and enjoy the journey.
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Van Gogh is a good example to offer here. He struggled financially. Upon consulting Google about his finances, the stupid AI summary tells me “after his death, his works gained immense value” which to me is an idiotic statement. The value of his works was already there. It just wasn’t fully recognized in his lifetime. Would the same AI tell me that much of Einstein’s work in mathematics was essentially worthless (i.e., it lacked monetary value)?
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Thank you, Holly. I don’t use AI, even type -AI in my search engine, and you just proved me right. 🙂
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I started a Meetup group, “For Booklovers, free manuscript for honest reviews” because we all need ‘stars’ and ‘reviews’ these days, preferably the week when publish. If you want to participate and want strangers to read and judge your book manuscript in exchange for reviews, then email me @TheHappyQuitter@aol.com. The ‘free’ part has attracted many readers, so I am giving them my manuscript before publishing it.
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So well said, Scott. We write because we love to. Of course, we want people to read our books, but not at the expense of losing our heart and soul. Back to basics!
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You ARE a successful author. Time to appreciate and own this. You have written and published many excellent books, and you have grateful readers who know Lucardia as a world whose characters interest them deeply, and who eagerly await a next book to find out more about the lives of these characters and the unfolding of Lucardian history.
You are the ONLY person who can deliver these special books that do this for us. If you can recognize and appreciate your success, perhaps you will be able to fully let go of a definition that measures worth in profit numbers and ignores artistic accomplishment. Measuring profit is the domain of Wall Street, not the domain of art.
How many books have you read and appreciated without wondering if the author was “successful” in terms of income? How many plays have you appreciated without wondering if the playwright was “successful” in making a living from their craft without a day job? How many paintings, songs, etc.? You get the picture….
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As a writer with the most words written and least sold ( I can’t prove that statistic! ) I know I am never going to sell lots of books. We have to appreciate small scale achievements. We managed to progress from Kindle to publishing paperbacks on Amazon so my mother could at last hold all my books in her hands before she died. After the world came through Covid and I was widowed and recovered from cancer it did not seem to matter any more. Blogging is fun and got most of us through isolation. It’s still fun, a way of life and important for those of us living alone and probably the way I sell most books . If just one person on another continent, anyone I don’t know personally, enjoys one of my books then that is success..
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Sounds very wise. Follow your muse, and don’t worry about the rest.
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Thank you so much for putting into words something I’ve been struggling with for the last year. I too, have recently come to the conclusion that I ENJOY writing, that I need to write because otherwise my life is meaningless. Like you, I have been spending too much time trying to sell my books. Too much time promoting myself on social media to no avail. So, from now on, like you, I’m going to concentrate on writing. I’ve also reduced my time on social media significantly (it was too tiring and stressful) and am just blogging, posting a little on Bluesky and Facebook and occasionally uploading a video to YouTube. I feel a lot better with this approach. I hope you too find the original spark in your withdrawal from being online so much. Let’s WRITE!!!
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It’s quite the beast and easily snatches at your hope. By the time you realize how much energy it’s draining, the writing is already suffering from neglect. I don’t know how many times I got stuck on some plot point and switched to the social media. Before I know it, the scant hour or two I have to write is gone and all I have to show of it is a few likes. Hang in there Freya! Yes, let’s WRITE!
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