Let’s start with the truth no one likes to talk about: there’s no one-size-fits-all formula for self-publishing success.
In fact, what works for you won’t always work for everyone else.
So, if you’re looking for a fool-proof hack to success by reading this, you’re going to end up disappointed.
If you’re looking for some thoughtful advice on how to make self-publishing easier—or less lonely—then I’m your gal.
So, let’s dive in.
Years ago, a mentor of mine said something that’s stuck with me ever since. “It takes fifteen years of hard work to be considered an overnight success.”
At the time, 20-year-old me thought that was a little excessive. But 37-year-old me? Yeah, that mentor was right.
The reality is, you can interchange the number of years, but you can’t interchange the hard work.
Writing is hard work.
Editing is hard work.
Publishing is hard work.
Whatever route you choose—self-publishing, traditional, or hybrid—it requires resilience.
But it’s the best kind of work for someone like me—and someone like you. Writers. Storytellers. Authors.
So, here’s the most important thing you need to know about self-publishing. It doesn’t make your work less valuable than traditionally published books. It’s not a last resort if rejection emails keep piling up. It’s not even a cop-out.
It’s permission.
Permission to share your voice with a readership that’s lovingly embraced self-publishers and helped their stories see the light of day. Some of your favorite traditionally published authors? Yeah, they were once indie authors just like me. And, hopefully, just like you.
So, once you stop treating self-publishing like a backup plan, the next question becomes: where do you start?
You start small. You write a chapter. You write another. You complete a book. You edit that book. You find a friend or a family member to read it and give you feedback. You make changes.
If you have the means to hire an editor, do it.
If you don’t, read. Re-read. And read again.
When I self-published my first book, Firsts Are Always Messy, I could barely buy groceries for my family. A professional editor was completely out of the question. Instead, I relied on Microsoft Word to tell me which words were spelled wrong. And sheer intuition for everything else.
Turns out, that wasn’t the greatest idea.
But I learned a lot.
For example: Most romance books are 70,000—90,000 words. Firsts Are Always Messy was originally 150,000 words.
Cue the embarrassment.
I learned my fair share about self-publishing by simply doing. Failure is always a possible outcome. But when I did fail, I never framed it as, “I should quit. This isn’t for me.”
Instead, I told myself, “Hey, we learned one way NOT to do that.” Then, I shifted focus and kept going.
Eventually, I went back and edited that very first self-published book. I cut 50,000 words, rewrote some sections, and figured out how to correctly use punctuation. Whoops.
It’s still not perfect, but it’s as close as I could get it at the time.
And that? That’s the beauty of self-publishing.
You learn. You grow. You figure out how not to do something. Then, you refocus, you write something new—something better—and you keep going.
Just like Dr. Seuss. His first book, To Think I Saw That on Mulberry Street, was rejected by twenty-seven publishers before someone finally said yes. Twenty. Seven.
I’m grateful that after hearing “no” twenty-seven times, my favorite childhood author believed in his work enough to try one more time.
I often frame writing this way: It’s not so much about how many rejections you receive, but how you persevere in spite of them.
“No” is not a dead end; it’s just a closed door. But you don’t have to stand in that hallway forever. Open a window. Climb through it. Or better yet, bulldoze your way through.
If you need to make space for yourself, DO IT. I give you permission to.
Because there are no rules. There’s only the small, quiet voice saying, “Keep going.”