The gloriously messy truth about self-publishing

Indie Author Chronicles

When I first told people I was independently publishing my next novel, the reactions ranged from politely supportive to thinly veiled concern. One friend actually asked if I just wasn’t good enough to get an agent. Another offered to lend me a copy of Self-Publishing for Dummies — with love, of course.

Truth is, I didn’t stumble into indie publishing because I couldn’t find a “real” publisher. I had an agent for years. I chose this road with both eyes open — and yes, occasionally bloodshot. Because while the traditional route might come with marketing teams, bookshop placements, and advance cheques (allegedly), the indie path comes with something far more valuable: freedom.

And chaos. Glorious, creative, character-building chaos.

What they don’t tell you at the start

There’s a persistent myth that self-publishing means you write a book, click “upload,” and wake up the next morning a best-seller. I can confirm this is... not accurate.

Instead, you’ll learn there are 78 different file formats, and that your cover, which looked perfect in Photoshop, appears stretched and possessed when printed. You'll discover publish-on-demand back-end systems have all the warmth of a tax audit, and that finding the right people to work with is like cutting your own hair in the dark.

If you’re going to do the job right, you need to replicate what traditional publishers do. But with a lot less money.

Wearing all the hats (and dropping most of them)

Being an indie author isn’t only about writing. You’re also the marketer, publicist, social media manager, copy editor, accountant, and on occasion, motivational speaker to your own exhausted self.

I’ve taught myself the basics of book cover layout, audio file formatting, and how to write a press release without it sounding like a hostage note. I’ve learned the difference between good feedback and "my mate read it and said it was alright." And don't get me started on learning to write ad copy that doesn’t scream “desperate author seeks validation.”

And none of this comes cheap. I knew I’d need to find an editor. What I didn’t realise is I would need three. A developmental editor to point out the plot holes and tangles. A copy editor to improve the words, and then a proof reader to fine tune what remained.

I’m no slouch with graphic design, but knew the cover design had to be trusted to someone else. Someone who understands the market and what trends are coming down the line in fiction publishing and what would work for my genre.

And then I needed a marketing manager. Someone with contacts, skills, and time. Someone who understood how to get the word out to the sort of people willing to amplify my voice.

All of this came after I worked out how to set myself up as a limited-company indie publisher. How to obtain ISBN numbers. How to get my book formatted and printed and available as an e-book. How to create and distribute an audiobook. How to distribute to bookshops and make it something they’re willing to risk putting on their shelves.

My browser history could get me banned from polite society.

The cost of doing it right

Here's the bit that stings a little: self-publishing costs money. Not a lot if you cut corners, but if you're aiming for something professional, polished, and not held together with duct tape and dreams, it adds up.

Cover design? £500 and then some. A good editor? £1000 and up. Warehousing and distribution, formatting software, ARC distribution tools, advertising budgets — all essential, all mildly terrifying to your bank balance.

I’ve learned to think of it as investing in a small creative business — with all the risks and rewards that come with that territory.

Why I’d do it all again (even the spreadsheet bits)

Because in the end, it’s mine. Every missed typo, every social post, every moment of panic before hitting “publish” — they belong to me. And when Rainbows and Lollipops launches on June 12 (yes, that’s me slipping in a plug), I’ll know this book made it into the world because I worked out how to get it there.

Would I love a team behind me, gently guiding the process and making the tea? Absolutely. But would I trade the autonomy, the direct connection with readers, and the creative control? Not a chance.

Join the journey

If you're curious to see how this all unfolds — the good, the bad, and the gloriously awkward — stick around. Over the coming weeks, I’ll share the real behind-the-scenes secrets of life as an indie LGBTQ+ fiction writer in the UK. Expect honesty. Expect humour. Expect at least one blog about a disastrous attempt at TikTok.

We’re on this wild ride together.