My next adventure in independent publishing

Learning to swim by jumping in the deep end

I’m happy to announce that the third novel in my “Spellbound Railway” series is now complete and almost ready to hit the shelves. It’s called “The Patchwork Boy” and I’m immensely proud of it. Now that the creative part is done, I have to switch gears and focus on the publishing side of things. And this time, I’m trying something a little different. I’ve started a Kickstarter campaign to raise the money to pay for the first order of printed copies.

What’s Kickstarter, you ask? Good question! It’s a website that allows you to raise money for a specific project from a large group of people. If the crowd believes in your project enough to contribute enough to reach your goal, then the money is collected and you’re off to the races. If you don’t reach your goal, then no money is collected and you’re back where you started.

The good news is that failing to meet the goal doesn’t cost you anything, but let’s not talk about failure. I’m already nervous enough as it is. Asking all of your friends, family, casual acquaintances and internet strangers to spend their money on your wild idea is a nerve-wracking experience. You’d think that I would be used to it, after selling my first two books in much the same way, but evidently that’s not the case. So, if I seem to be a little distracted, that’s because I am.

I’m sorely tempted to spend the next 28 days perched on the edge of my seat, constantly refreshing the project page as I wait for the next backer to sign up. That’s probably not the best use of my time.

A moment of Zen Parenting

When a cliché becomes a reality, you adapt

I found myself in the middle of a classic parenting crisis a little while ago. We were bundled up and heading out the door to go to the library for a quick visit before dinner. Max was done his pre-trip bathroom pit stop, and I was heading in to do the same.

In the bathroom, I discover one of the world’s worst sights: an overflowing toilet full of human ick. My mind races back to the morning’s conversation:

“Dad, I have to tell you something. The toilet paper roll fell into the toilet.”

“Did you take it out and throw it out?”

“No, it had poop on it.”

“So what did you do?”

“I flushed it down.”

At the time, I had wondered how that had actually happened, but it was 7AM and my critical thinking skills were still offline. I did take a look at the toilet, but didn’t see any sign of something going wrong.

Flash forward to 4:30PM, with something very obviously going wrong. The very normal emotional responses of anger, disgust, and panic rushed towards my brain in a dead heat. But, luckily, a sense of calm stepped in the way. Instead of freaking out (and I so wanted to freak out), I looked at the gross scene in front of me and told myself “this is a thing that is happening. And I will deal with it.”

I calmly worked on plunging the atrocity down the pipes, as Max clarified that he had used the toilet brush to push the soggy toilet paper roll down the flush this morning. When the bowl finally emptied after repeated plunging attempts, I gave a small silent cheer of relief.I suppressed my revulsion as I cleaned up the horrifying water coating the floor, and I doused the area with the most toxic and powerful array of cleaning agents that I could.

Throughout the ordeal, I kept a calm, positive demeanor (with intermittent exclamations of ‘oh this is gross’). Max and I discussed the situation and agreed that, in the future, he should wait until mom or dad are awake before trying to resolve a toilet-based issue. I told him that I did appreciate that he tried to fix a problem himself, and that he had no reason to know that the toilet paper would expand and plug the drain.  And after giving myself a little clean-up, we continued along on our trip to the library.

After it was all said and done, I was struck by the lack of an emotional aftermath, If I had lost my cool and started bellowing, it would have made the rest of the afternoon and evening stressful and negative for both of us. Hopefully, I can start applying this technique to every challenge I face, but I’m still a normal person , and sometimes I’m going to flip right out.

Oh and yes, I did eventually realize while planning this blog post, that the experience could be summed up with the phrase “sh*t happens”. At the heart of every cliché lies a nugget of truth, I suppose.

Navigating without a map

The freedom to chart your own course comes with surprising pitfalls

In December, I uttered the greatest phrase a writer can ever say: “I’m done”. The first draft of my next novel (book three in my “Spellbound Railway” series) was finished. A sense of fatigued elation came over me, and the joy of being able to step away from the desk and emerge from my basement office victorious was immense.

Shortly thereafter, a second phrase bubbled up into my mind. It came in small, nested itself into the back corner of my thoughts, and started to ache. “What’s next?” it asked. My completion elation turned into smoke and blew away in the face of this yawning void of an unanswered question.

In a regular job, you don’t have to ask that question. You show up, pull your assigned levers, grumble about the boring work and your smelly coworker, and go home at the end of the day. A parcel of cash shows up regularly to justify dragging yourself into the dank cubicle farm. When you finish one task, another is put in front of your nose.It may not be spiritually rewarding, but it is predictable.

But in my line of work, there’s no assembly line. There’s a giant unsorted pile of possible tasks in the corner. I finish one step, and then look at the pile and wonder what should happen now. Most of the pieces in that pile are unlikely to produce anything other than more tasks to throw back on the pile.

So I found myself, metaphorically speaking, sitting on the floor and staring in dread at that massive pile. For a week I scrambled around between all of the possibilities: Do I edit this new draft right away? Do I focus on trying to find freelance non-fiction work? Do I pack it in and get a job painting miniature houses? And so on, and so on.

Eventually, I came to a few realizations. I need to write every day. Taking “time off” from writing only makes me more irritable and anxious. And I need to take the small business aspect of independent publishing much more seriously than I have before.

I’m not fully prepared for every “what’s next?” eventuality, but I think I have a better handle on the basics. In this upcoming year, I’ll see if a kickstarter campaign would be a good fit to pay for the first print run of the next book (and for professional editing, if the campaign went very well). I’m also looking at Patreon as a way to release the next story I’m working on as a serial. Of course, if a publisher or agent wanted to swoop down and take care of all of the parts I don’t like so that I can focus on storytelling, I wouldn’t complain a bit.