Writers are a funny breed.
Virtually every other art form has a million approaches, and no one seems to question this.
Perhaps it's because writing requires some degree of education, and holding a reader's attention for possibly many hours to read an entire book involves creating more fascination than a 45-second TikTok video of a hot young chick swallowing whipped cream.
Whatever it is, writers seem to always want to be right about what writing well requires (note my audacious use of an adverb there).
Check back regularly as I reveal how I not only do not have "imposter syndrome," but consider myself to be a bit of an unrecognized genius.
As I plow through the final edits on my soon-to-be-published geopolitical thriller/historical fiction novel, I am already drowning in decisions. Not from editing--that part is easy, for me, at least.
But as I will soon have to reach out to my formatting company, I need to zero in on exactly how I am going to publish and market this saga. And the options remind me of the salad aisle in the supermarket these days: many possibilities, but none are what I really want: a turnkey solution that looks great and leaves me with a modest profit per sale.
Instead, I feel caught between the conglomerates of online booksellers, with Amazon and Barnes and Noble at the front of the pack, of course.
If you want simplicity, you can go with just Amazon and do "expanded distribution." If you want a bit more production control, you have many options, but Amazon obviously put its own products up front---everyone else can move to the back of the bus.
Want a beautiful hardcover with a dust jacket? Amazon doesn't offer that. I am still toying with just doing a chic case laminate. My guess is that dust covers will go the way of landlines and cable TV inside of a decade, but we're not there yet, and the association between a dust cover and "fancy hardcover that looks like it could sell in a brick-and-mortar bookstore" prevails for now.
Which brings your options back to independent distributors like IngramSpark, who I hear almost universally has crappy customer service. And that's not a small thing in a complex process like this, when you're doing it all alone.
A part of me is tempted to just do KDP Expanded and do an ebook and a paperback, and maybe offer a case laminate hardcover. I may just end up doing that because all the other options make me stabby.
I will have to decide before the end of the year, because I am definitely going to professional formatting by New Year's upcoming.
As with everything from groceries to housing to politics, we are shown the illusion of choice and options, when we are actually being controlled by a handful of publishing oligarchs.
You dream about it.
But when the day draws nearer, you feel a kind of sorrow I cannot really explain. I guess it's a bit like death.
And that day is drawing ever nearer for me now.
After five event-filled years, I am now doing final edits for my geopolitical historical fiction thriller, inspired by the true story of my family going back 140 years.
Set between the World War II years of 1943 to the post-JFK years of 1963, the story dips back to the 1920s and even before, laying out the groundwork for the birth of the CIA and its more elegant sister in the US State Department and its intelligence arms.
During the past five years, I learned to shoot (well), met experts in military and civilian intel, researched hundreds of Agency and State Dept. memos and historical data, and wrote some 95,000 words of what I hope will be a bestseller when it comes out.
And now--as I look up at the almost-there summit--I am overwhelmed--not with relief or satisfaction so much as ... grief.
Why? I ask myself. And in discussing it with friends, I understand it better: it really is like losing a piece of yourself. Like giving birth. Like losing the most valuable parts of your heart and mind. I cry daily.
Although this is my second novel, I didn't experience this with my first one. It was a romantic suspense thriller, and reflected my recent experience (then) with a major spinal fusion surgery. It was a turning point in my life.
Six months later, the covid epidemic hit and all our lives changed.
I bought my first firearm. I'd shot before, but not with confidence or any regularity. This time, I decided, I would take lessons--one-on-one and with intent--until I felt confident I could use a piece if I had to.
Along the way, I discovered a self-confidence and a skill level I had no idea I possessed. Taught by a retired E9 Marine who patiently bolstered my belief in myself, I slowly went from fearful to fearsome. It was one of the greatest adventures of my life, and still is, and I continue to practice and improve even now.
Throughout that time, I was writing and researching the historical fiction novel.
Then almost a year ago, Oct. 7th happened in Israel, and once more, my life fell on its ass. Like most American Jews, my entire world turned upside down. And I am still grappling with its fallout as the first anniversary of this horrendous atrocity against Israel approaches.
So, what's next?
I am not sure, to be honest. I have a sequel started, but I certainly need a break first. And I have to finish editing and get this unique story out into the world.
I hope you are excited to read it. For me, I will be sitting up here at the crest of Mt. Writing Everest for a bit ... just catching my breath.
Miranda Armstadt
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