This might be the last post for a little while, as to be perfectly frank, I’m in a total writing funk at the minute. That point where you ask why you bother, and question everything you did and its value. I’m sure in the future I’ll keep writing, I enjoy the process of writing, but it’s just so dispiriting when you don’t get anywhere. I’ve posted before about some of the problems I know my writing faces, due to subject matter and style, but I’ve reached the point right now where I’m questioning the energy, time and hope committed to publishing. I’ve done everything right I think, and given it a decent go, but I’m running out of avenues to explore.
When I was younger I followed the traditional route, and had some minor success in small presses and radio, but try as I might, I couldn’t manage that elusive next step to find an agent. I had a few encouraging responses but maybe my writing wasn’t mature enough at that stage. But also, this is back pre-2000, when there was far less competition for representation, self-publishing was a niche, complicated and expensive market, and there was less prioritising of demographics over content. It still occurred of course, but today’s market is so saturated for requests of submissions from those with protected characteristics, that there is another significant hurdle to (ironically) representation. Back then contacts and networking was the other major route to representation, but I’ve never wanted to leverage contacts like that, and retain the naïve view that the writing should speak for itself. And I don’t have those kinds of contacts either.
I was quite happy pursuing the self-publishing route, as the technical and inquisitive side of my nature means I enjoyed learning everything from the technicalities of editing and publishing, to the technology of marketing, and a few years ago there was a burgeoning online writing community on social media, bolstered by the pandemic of course. So I created Twitter and YouTube content, a website, reached out to journalists and reviewers, which is exhausting and fairly thankless. But even on X, as it is now, the writing community has less power. I can get decent interactions and promotions for my content, but it rarely turns into purchases or page reads any more.
I still believe in my writing, and read others voraciously (self pubbed, trad, classics), and don’t believe I lack ability. In fact, I’d stand with the proudest and say some of my writing is very good, but for all the hours and months it takes to convert a story into a commercial product and promote it, for such a low return of readership, its hard to justify. When I come out of this slump I’ll continue to create fiction, but I just don’t know if I want to commit to publishing any more. With all the hard work in the world, success is usually a matter of luck somewhere along the way; the right person liking and talking about your work, to set off the chain reaction which can lead to a broader readership. But that’s as likely to occur with the books I already have out as anything new, and I know from a bookselling background, that sometimes having too many products can put off a potential reader/ purchaser. Do I need to go through the long process and rigmarole of putting a new work on the shelf? Or to make myself a success, should I find a new pen name and start again from scratch, with a particular target market or genre. It’s a big commitment. And a very long odds gamble that it might be worthwhile.
Anyway, this is a bit of a self-pitying post, but I wanted to explain why I might disengage for a while. I hope you might try one of my existing books, and enjoy them. Start with Man in the Bath maybe, which is popular and accessible, or Hope Is A Six Letter Word, an Amazon former number 1 in contemporary literary fiction. See, it isn’t that I’ve had no success at all!
Anyway, I will probably go quiet on here for a while as I re-evaluate my writing journey.
Stay safe
Kit xxx