I am a writer.
I’m sorry, but I’ve tried calling myself an “indie author” and it just doesn’t work for me.
But then, neither did indie music. To me it always meant “grunge” and if there was one look I never ever reconciled myself to, it was grunge. No way in hell would I wear little summer dresses with Doc Martens. So the “indie” label never sat well with me. See how powerful words and associations can be!
I’ve been writing since I was ten and what I always dreamed of was to see my books on a shelf in a book shop. I wanted to walk through an airport and see people picking up my book. I wanted to see someone reading it on a train, on a plane, and hear a laugh or a sudden intake of breath. I wanted to stir people’s emotions, write something that takes root in their hearts and follows them throughout their life.
I’ve tried for a year to focus on social media, building email lists (hey, it’s what I used to do for a living) but my heart just isn’t in it. My heart beats to the tap tap tap of my keyboard and the gentle whir of my Mac as the words are born onto the page.
I’ll keep tweeting (do any readers actually follow unknown writers, or are we all just following each other?) because I rather enjoy sharing random, sometimes mad thoughts. But the focus from now on will be on finding an agent, who will then find me a publisher.
There are some great indie authors out there who really make it work for them, and I think that’s amazing. But it’s just not right for me. Not right now.
You have to be true to yourself. No matter what you do.
People can tell when you’re faking.