My first book was a collection of short stories. It was titled The Journey Collection. This book was my first kid to hit the stores. I put in work night and day to put together stories for this book. I probably had over 30 stories in this book. It stemmed from just having a lot of time on my hands and an open mind. Every story was made to show you can overcome anything.
When I finished writing this book. I then looked into publishing this book. I looked at plenty of publishing companies but I kept running into companies that wanted a fee upfront to publish. Not a regular fee though. About $3,000- $3,300. Being a kid straight out of high school with no real following. That just didn’t sit well. After going through the process of talking to multiple companies, I gave up and self-published with Lulu. Before doing so I edited my book with Grammarly. Bad idea. I think when it comes to editing, it should be a different set of eyes.
I copyrighted my book before doing all of this I might add. So my mood up until this point was high. I had accomplished my dreams of publishing a book. I was excited, to say the least. Just the thought of someone else enjoying my book as much as I did writing it, warmed my heart. I published it. Then I got nothing.
My mistake I would point out is that my advertising and marketing game was nonexistent. I just added a link here and there and hoped for the best. I felt like a complete failure. But I still wanted to show my loved ones hoping that I would get a pat on the back, to say the least. Or something like, “at least you tried”. You know some type of love. Something that told me they still support me. Something that made me feel like they gave a fuck about me and my dreams. Something that told me they cared about me.
I gave the book to my mother to see what she thought. She was kind of excited when she saw it. She took it in her grasp and read half and said she liked it so far. Then I passed the book to my sister. The English college graduate. The expert with a master’s degree. The golden child. What I thought was my biggest supporter. She picked up the book and looked at the front cover, then the back cover. She looked at me and said it was complete trash. Without even opening the book. Told my mother the same thing.
They ganged up on me and asked me why am I embarrassing them? If anyone is embarrassed it should be me. Right? Embarrassed to even be related to you. But no I’m tripping or thinking negative. Right? Now I heard of constructive criticism. Any creator should know someone will have an opinion about their work. But to not even open it and have so much to say is despicable. Then to let someone else opinion influence your overall thought is weak.
I think I cried for hours after that. Depression and I became closer. As I often heard them have interventions about me publishing because it was embarrassing to them. Mind you I watched my sales freeze. That means no one brought it. That means they never brought it or even opened it up to see the table of contents. I guess this blog is going to be embarrassing to them as well. But whatever. I think I like being the outcast.
In conclusion, if I ever publish again I want to do it to an audience. I want my next book to be edited by a professional because I saw errors that I would like to change when I read back through. Also, I would not ever show something I created to my so-called family. I rather someone from across the world read it. I rather the devil read it than them. I rather let the KKK read it. But anyway, that’s the end to this blog post. Like, comment, and subscribe to my mailing list. View my previous post until tomorrow.