Breaking even
I didn't lose!
We’re friends here, right? I can tell you something vulnerable, maybe even embarrassing, and you won’t judge.
OK. Good.
Why did it take eight years for “Sound Tucson” to turn from an empty Word doc into a finished book? Research, sure. Writing, obviously. Rewriting, of course. Margins – jeez, nobody tells you about the flippin’ margins.
But I bet a solid 2-3 years of that timeframe, if I’m being honest, was tied entirely to self-doubt. Not even the “Will people like it?” kind, which is inherent with every creative endeavor. I’m talking about that pit-in-the-stomach, flop-sweat-inducing kind of self-doubt – “What if this whole project is a FAILURE?”
When you decide to self publish, you are no longer just writing. You are producing. You are *shudder* selling. You are responsible.
Publishing your own book: It’s not cheap.
If I couldn’t convince enough people this project was worthwhile, I was set to lose a significant chunk of change. That’s a scarier proposition than “this book was boring/bad.” This would mean I did an inherently selfish thing – publish a semi-memoir about a niche topic that has little broad appeal – and I did it in place of something else. Something my kids could enjoy now, and not “when they’re older.”
“Sound Tucson” has been out for about four months now. And as of this week, I am in the black. I have sold more copies than what I paid to print it. I didn’t fail.
I have about 20 copies left. I’m not stressed out about selling them. Any additional purchase is gravy. I’d still like you to buy one, if only because I really, truly, genuinely believe it’s good and that you’ll like it. But any money I make from here on out goes straight into the savings account.