The Beginning

"I suppose, the best place to start is always the very beginning..."

In these blog posts, I’m planning on sharing the details of my self-publishing journey – warts and all (of which, there are many!). For now, I’ll start with a bit of background on how I ended self-publishing after three years of looking for a traditional publisher.

It was a frustrating process but ultimately, I’m thankful for it because I learned so much and it made my writing stronger and my skin thicker – both of which are like 'required-reading' for any writer, publishing in any format, in the long-run.

When I was wee, I didn’t have a clue what I wanted to be when I grew up. There were lots of things I’d have liked – a vet, a ballerina, a forensic scientist, a teacher, a spy, a doctor. I’m a musician too, so would have loved to take that further, and toyed with the idea of going into acting. Of course, I loved reading and writing, but didn’t know how to go about turning any of my favourite creative avenues into a career – they’re all so risky. For a long time when I was about four, I remember thinking that I could be something different everyday of the week and that would solve all my problems! After much himming and hawing, in High School, I applied to do Medicine. It meant a set career path after Uni; it was ‘safe’ and sensible. I worked my socks off and got the results I needed, spent time doing work experience and sent off my applications hopefully. In spite of having everything I technically needed, I wasn’t offered any interviews – I didn’t get a place at Uni to do the thing I’d finally settled on after all that time. I was devastated. It really took the wind out of my sails – I’d failed really quite spectacularly, in spite of putting in an immense amount of work. I didn’t have a clue what to do next.

Very long story short, on a whim, I then entered a writing competition in a school leavers’ magazine to win a Gap Year to Australia. I didn’t think for half a second that I’d actually win and pretty much forgot all about it…until the phone went one night when we were sitting eating dinner. I was eating a cherry bakewell, (I remember it so clearly), with a cup of tea. The call was to let me know that I’d won the competition. I was completely stunned. As were my parents, (my poor Mum!), but it was an opportunity I couldn't turn down. I turned eighteen in the August and flew out to Australia in the October, two days after passing my driving test, all on my own. When I think about it now, it seems completely mad!

And it was the best thing I’ve ever done. I worked on an amazing farm with the best people. I learned to ride horses, round up cattle, fix cars, drive tractors and motorbikes. I was a cowgirl for six months and it was wonderful. I raised an orphan calf of my own and generally got to know myself. It was the first time I thought about the future in terms of enjoyment, what I wanted to do, instead of always being sensible and safe. I realised, after spending the whole trip reading and writing about all of my experiences, that I wanted nothing more than to turn both of those things, somehow, into a career.

I reapplied to Uni to do English and returned home six months later to begin my first year as a student at the University of Glasgow. I got my degree in English Language and was able to study widely within and around that – aspects of Scottish History, Archaeology and Language, alongside English. It was at Uni that I formed the idea for my first children’s novel – Maggie and The Magic Bookcase. I graduated four years later with a First Class and started writing in earnest while working some part-time jobs to keep me afloat financially. Three years later, I self-published that first story and here we are today! Life takes you on some really unexpected twists and turns. All of my experiences have taught me – as cliché as it sounds (but then again, clichés are at their root, truths!) – to go with the flow, work hard, but try to enjoy being in the moment. I’ve had no choice, not knowing all this time where I’m going to end up. I’ve had to learn that not being in control of everything every second is actually ok, and dare I say it – actually quite enjoyable.

The Journey Towards Self-Publishing

I circled around self-publishing for a long time. It was a bit like a predator and prey scenario (not sure which I was in that metaphor…). It was always ‘an option’, something I was aware of but not particularly keen on. I’d read up a bit on it and didn’t much like what I found out – the insecurity, the pitfalls, the lack of success, the difficulties (especially with children’s books, but I’ll come back to this in bit). I wanted to make a go of getting published ‘properly’ first – going down the traditional route, sending out submissions to big, established publishers and hoping that someone somewhere would read my story and see the potential I saw – and offer to publish it.

I began sending away my manuscript, sealed in an envelope with all the required extras that each publisher wanted (from a full, chapter-by-chapter run-down of the story, to a detailed biography and list of my writing achievements, to a signed pact promising them my first-born and a lock of my hair… I jest but at times this is what it felt like). Every publisher wanted something different, in a different format. Most of them noted that due to the high level of submissions, I shouldn’t expect to hear back from them in less than 3 months, 6 months, and on one memorable occasion, a note saying that if I hadn’t heard back in a year, to send a gentle reminder. I understand how busy publishers must be, I understand that this is just the way of it, but for an unpublished writer languishing in obscurity, working two jobs to support herself in the mean-time, this was not a manageable way to live long-term. It makes you feel like it’s completely pointless bothering at all. I remember thinking to myself, ‘Save yourself the postage and move on to the next one’.

I did this dance for nearly three years – prepare the submission; seal the envelope; Post Office (Signed-For delivery every time – to make sure it got there and I didn’t waste six months waiting for nothing); wait, wish, wait; disappointment; repeat. I heard back from a few of the houses I’d sent out to – usually saying something along the lines that they liked it, but not enough to do anything with it, that they didn’t have space for a series, etc. etc. and so on and so forth. A few didn’t reply at all – and there were some completely-ignored emails asking (‘gently’ of course), whether they’d received the submission and whether they had managed to have a look. It got old very quickly.

Now, don't get me wrong - traditional publishing remains the 'big leagues', it probably always will. I have every respect for publishing houses still going strong in a changing climate of digital readers and fierce competition. I couldn't be such a book-lover and not give publishing houses their place. I understand the volume of submissions they deal with on a daily basis and I'm not disparaging them for not taking an interest in my book. It's hard not to take rejection personally, of course, but in writing about my experiences I just hope to show that mainstream publishing isn't the only option now available to the unpublished writer. Self-publishing is an ever-growing market and I happened to find a niche there and make something of it, as lots of people have. It's still very early days for me too and I have no idea what the future might hold. My story just shows that traditional and self-publishing both have their places in today's book-world.

Eventually, though, chasing that elusive traditional-publishing deal meant that my mental health started to suffer, there’s no two-ways about it. I became so bogged-down in the weariness of the whole thing that I was ready to pack in the whole dream and move on – to what I didn’t know, but something else. The memorable night I hit rock-bottom with it all was the best night of my life (I’ll explain that conundrum in a second!).

The Apprentice

One thing I will say about the traditional-publishing submissions process is that, it ultimately improved my writing and my attitude. Every time I was hit with a rejection (after I’d picked myself up and dusted myself down again), I’d look at the story and wonder what could be better. I tinkered and added and edited constantly. I reworked bits that were clunky and learned a lot about my own writing process. It was like serving a writer’s apprenticeship, and it was worth the time and heartache. My series has only benefitted from the extra time it had to mature, like a good whisky (one can only hope!). Elements that are now central to the story came after submissions had been rejected. It is now a much stronger, tighter story and I see can that, at least in the very early days of the submissions process, it wasn’t ready to be published. The time spent waiting, wondering and working on it only helped to make it better, so I can’t be too bitter about feeling like it was ‘wasted time’.

Looking back on the days of waiting, I was allowed to grow and mature too – I worked two jobs, was completely exhausted most of the time, but wasn’t unhappy. In the beginning, it was a hopeful time – every submission felt like it could be ‘the one’, and that excitement, the feeling of being poised on the edge of fulfilling my dream of becoming a published writer was precious. I was in my early twenties, fresh out of my Gap Year to Australia, then four years at Uni and full of vim and verve, excited about all life had to offer. The waiting gave me time to look-up from years of studying and a blinkered ‘get through the next exams’ mind-set. I tend to tunnel into a task and lose sight of just about everything else. I did the same when I was writing the first book and sending out submissions, but the long periods in limbo let me look up and see the world I was part-of. I fell in love for the first time and look back on that relationship with a great amount of joy (even though we’re now just close friends). I worked as a joiner’s mate and loved every second of the back-breaking work, meeting lots of colourful characters, working on some amazing buildings, gaining some cool skills (you should see me with a router!) and generally gaining some life-experience – and some inspiration for my writing of course.

In those days, I came up against rejection and learned to deal with it in a more constructive way. I developed a thicker skin. I learned to push on through days when I was thoroughly miserable. I worked exceedingly hard and pushed myself beyond a lot of limits, working crazy hours and having to have the self-discipline to keep writing in between.

I served my writing apprenticeship and it made me – and my writing – a lot stronger. If anything, attempting the traditional route first has that to offer. I’d suggest anyone hoping to get published try the traditional route first. It lets you get a feel for how your writing is received by the professional reading-and-writing community. It will highlight the places you need to improve, force you to look at your work in a critical and productive way and, in the end, make it better. It makes you less precious with your work in a way, since you’re forced to acknowledge that something isn’t hitting the mark and make changes, to accept that you could be making improvements. And you never know – your novel might be picked up by the first house you try! All it takes is one fortuitous encounter with the right set of eyes and you could find yourself published.

The traditional route still holds the monopoly, your writing life will probably be easier with a traditional publisher (but of course there are no absolutes!). They have the contacts, the expertise and the ability to get you into national book shops and into the spotlight. The self-publishing route is 85-90% making enough noise to even get started, at least in the beginning. If you do manage to get noticed and gain some ground with it, it’s then a process of trying to negotiate deals with shops to take a few copies of the book, sending out free copies in the hope it will pay off further down the line, and building everything up from the ground (traditionally-published authors are in the same boat in lots of ways in terms of getting started and generating interest. It’s just generally a bigger boat, funded by a bigger company, instead of a tiny blow-up dingy and your meagre life-savings!). Self-publishing is a lot more work (and I’ll write about it in much more detail in a future post) – but that doesn’t mean to say it is an impossible or thankless task. Done right (and believe me, I’ve made every mistake out there along the way!), it’s possible to get a self-published book international readership and a shelf-space in big shops. My book is living proof.

Rock-Bottom

The night I hit rock-bottom was memorable for two reasons – it was the worst I’d ever felt in the process of writing my books, and more personally, the most worthless I’d ever felt as a person; second of all, it was the night everything changed and I got angry enough to make the first steps in taking back control of my life. I had been running in circles for so long that I just had no fuel left. The relentless optimism required to take each rejection and unanswered letter on the chin was finally dwindling. I was exhausted; physically, mentally and emotionally and I’d had enough. I had to put my hands up and admit that things had to change and I’d have to accept that maybe this dream wasn’t going to happen. I had sacrificed so much for it and had nothing to show. Most of my friends had galloped on with their lives – marriages, babies, houses. I was still living at home, single, chasing a seemingly impossible dream – and none of it looked set to change.

I was a new Auntie – my sister’s first baby had just been born and I was so happy in some areas of my life. Being an Auntie was such a wonderful sea-change and it was my new niece that ultimately gave me the wake-up call I needed. I wanted to be an Auntie to be proud of, not someone who gave up because other people said she should. The night I thunked off solid ground and sat in a dishevelled, tear-stained heap, my first thought was ‘I need to be someone for my niece to look up to – this isn’t any way to go about that’. So, I had an ugly-cry for a few minutes (always highly recommended, it lets the stress chemicals out!), wrote down everything I was feeling (because that’s how I deal with my emotions – words have always been one of my best outlets), then I started sorting out my options. And I got angry. I was angry that no one saw what I saw in the book and wider series. I was angry at the whole, infuriating process of submission and rejection. I was angry at myself for letting myself become so hopeless.

I let the anger fuel me, dried my face, straightened my back and worked out what I was going to do to change things. There was one thing I still hadn’t tried with the book – self-publishing. It was such a massive undertaking that I was terrified of even the thought. ‘Feel the fear and do it anyway’ and all that: I started researching how to go about it that night. I used rock-bottom as a springboard to bounce back from. And everything changed.

It was a huge relief just to be doing something again – I had stagnated and all but stopped writing, even beginning to resent my own stories and characters. Suddenly, I had a huge amount of research to do – all of which I’ll try to collate into a blog of its own – there’s a lot of it. There are various ways to go about self-publishing and the sheer volume of information out there can be completely overwhelming. I had plenty of crisis moments (‘what am I thinking, I can’t do any of this!’ etc. etc. etc.), a few more tears, a few more pep-talks, but I plugged away and after a few days had gone from ‘can I actually attempt this’, to planning all of the details out. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I decided to go for it, I just looked up one day and realised I was already on the way and there was no turning back. It was my last chance and I threw myself into it with absolutely everything I had. The more I worked, the more energy I had to give, the more I remembered what my story was all about – and who I really am - 5'3" of sheer stubbornness. It’s cheesy but it’s true. Self-publishing helped me to shake off years of self-doubt (which I’m still full of, there’s no getting away from it completely!), negativity and stagnation. It’s not only given life to my books – it’s given me mine back too (CHEESE ALERT!!!).

That’s all for now (and probably too long as it is!). Next I’ll get into the nitty gritty of the process, give details of exactly how I’ve gone about this crazy business and hopefully shed some light on a tricky and seemingly impenetrable industry. For now, I’ll just say to anyone out there with a story and no publisher, stick in there. Traditional publishing isn’t the be-all and end-all for your dreams. There is another route and it’s possible to make it work. Have faith in your work, put in the graft and you’re already on your way.

Speak to you all again soon,

Megan xx