How to publish a novel and (not) lose your mind
Tell me if you know
Between mental breakdowns and bursts of ambition, I’m hunting for a publisher for The Plan (which, let’s be honest, is probably what caused both). And the stance of most of them boils down to this:
Our current submission process takes at least a month. We’ll evaluate your social media presence to see if you’re promoting your already-published books and/or hyping up your new novel. After that, our submissions manager will review your book and decide if it piques our interest.
Here’s my question—why the hell do I even need a publisher then?
If you’ve already got your own media channels where you can hawk your book, you might as well self-publish and pocket the profits. Amazon will handle the e-book and print-on-demand for you. Take the AI-generated graphic novel *Wist* as an example. The author built a TikTok for it and rocketed the thing to bestseller status—despite only owning the copyright to the story itself.
Even me, with my modest audience and an unfinished book, I had a decent hit—percentage-wise, at least—and it could’ve kept going if I hadn’t stopped posting regularly.
So, it’s pretty damn cheeky for a publisher to demand that authors do the selling themselves—while maybe, maybe, getting 10% of the wholesale price per copy. The real power of a publisher isn’t their printer; it’s their established distribution. Those prime bookstore shelves, the cozy relationships with literary critics, the tame bloggers they’ve got in their pocket.
Emotionally, I’m in-between of two feelings.
First, endless despair. Turns out, it’s not enough to spend years honing your craft, writing dozens of stories, sharpening your skills, and enduring the torture of finishing a novel. That’s just the start. There are thousands like you, and the U.S. publishing industry is a mess—layoffs, drama, and the worst debut season in a decade. Doesn’t matter if you wrote a kickass book—you’ve still gotta sell it.
Second, finally, acceptance. The miracle might not happen. You’ve gotta run your own media channels and build new ones for an English-speaking audience. Learn to make TikToks that don’t make you feel like a cringey sellout, maybe even start a YouTube channel. All while slaving away at a soul-sucking JOB and outdoing yourself time and again. (Yeah, “JOB” here is my little nod to “slavery”—same vibe, less chains.)
So far, I’ve sucked at sticking with anything longer than a day if it doesn’t spark joy or pay immediately. And since the creative grind only pays off in the crucible of war, I guess I’ll have to dig deep and find that damn joy somewhere.
For that shred of confidence, by the way, I owe my friends big time. When I’m mentally unraveling, I think of their support and stitch myself back together.
And who knows? Maybe one day I’ll be TikTok-famous, awkwardly holding The Plan in hand, and we’ll all have a good laugh about it.