Things I’d do differently if I were debuting again
Yet another numbered list.
It’s been . . . a while . . . since I was a debut author. And while I’m sure the demands and expectations on debut authors have changed over the last decade or so, I think still fair to say that being a debut is one of the most confusing and emotionally taxing times in a career. You just . . . don’t know what to expect. You can read newsletters (hi, thanks!), hear from friends, and follow careers, but nothing is going to truly prepare you for your own personal experience.
And now, fifteen books into my career (with sixteen and seventeen later this year!), I feel like I can look back at my debut self with a little clarity. My gosh did 2012 Me feel like her whole life depended on INCARNATE performing well. Glad that’s over with.
So, anyway, on the off chance that this helps anyone going through the Debut Experience (big hugs), I thought I’d share a few things Past Me got really hung up about . . . and probably shouldn’t have.
Obviously, this isn’t a comprehensive list. And obviously not every author will agree with everything on it! That’s okay. As usual, I’m not writing about every author. Just m’self.
Here’s a cat picture.
1. I wouldn’t bother with the really expensive giveaway stuff
“Really expensive” depends on the author, of course, so I’m not going to try to define that with numbers. But I think most of us know when we’re approaching our limit of what is comfortable and what seems reasonable.
One of the things I did as a debut author was . . . knit a bunch of fingerless mitts. (You can get the pattern here for free.) Why did I do this? Well, I think you know me well enough by now that I love an excuse to knit things. But boy was this a lot of work. I bought the yarn (on sale, thank goodness, but nice yarn on sale is still not cheap!), and then I spent weeks knitting these things. I probably made about 20 pair of mitts. Maybe more.
In all, with time, supplies, and labor, each pair of mitts probably cost at least $50-60. And that’s assuming my time isn’t worth much.
Was it fun? Sure! And I think the people who won my mitts really appreciated them. Which, as a knitter, is what you always hope for. But as far as ways to spend time and money to promote my book . . . it wasn’t very useful. When I do the math with my first-week sales for that book, it doesn’t work out in my favor.
That’s not to say I won’t knit again on behalf of my books. Obviously I will. But when folks asked me about a giveaway for the massive wings I knit for NIGHTRENDER . . . lol no. ILY but no. (There was one exception I would have made.)
2. I wouldn’t worry about anything Goodreads
Oh gosh. If I could go back and tell my debut self one thing, it would be to ignore Goodreads as completely as possible. I know how I got there, though — it felt like one of the few things I could monitor with regards to my book’s performance. So I did: I monitored it. I cared about where I was ranked on various lists, how many adds and reviews my book had, and even what shelves people were using for it.
It’s embarrassing to admit all that now! But as authors, we often feel like we have so little control over our careers and anything that looks like a metric to judge our success by feels important. Even when it’s ultimately not.
As I’ve (hopefully) matured, I’ve found there’s really nothing I need to do on Goodreads as an author. In fact, the less I look at the site, the happier I am.
The only thing I’ve found that is worthwhile (to me!) is a Goodreads giveaway, which publishers should do. It’s cheap for them to get one. And it forces readers to add the book to their to-read shelf, so they’re likely to get an email about the book on release day, even if they don’t win the giveaway.
But that’s it. And again, it’s low-hanging fruit. And it’s not something I, as an author, actually have to do anything about. So just ignoring the site as fully as possible — from the start! — would have been a much better choice for me.
3. I wouldn’t take anything my publisher did or didn’t do personally
For me, one of the hardest things early on was learning to judge a publisher’s choices as business choices that didn’t have anything to do with me as a person or a writer. Their decisions weren’t based on how good they thought my books were, but how well they thought the books would sell.
And I know, that distinction isn’t fun to think about, either. But it helped a lot once I was able to insert that emotional distance between what my books meant to me . . . and what they meant to my publisher.
I think the first time I realized this was when I saw the marketing plan for ASUNDER, my second book. For INCARNATE, I felt quite supported. I knew I wasn’t among their top authors (I could see what was happening for others!), but it was good enough for me and I’d have loved the same attention for the sequel. But a few weeks after INCARNATE released and I knew the sales numbers, I spotted the catalog listing for ASUNDER and realized . . . they weren’t giving that book the same resources and support. Not even close. To me, it looked like they’d completely dropped the series.1
That led to a lot of feelings. Initially, I’d felt like I’d let them down. I wanted to email my agent and editor to apologize for disappointing them. But after chatting with some friends, doing a little math, and allowing myself to finish feeling those feelings, I realized that this was pretty normal for a lot of authors. Debuts got a good push. And unless an author was lucky, that was usually it.
It was never about me.
4. I’d have given up the idea of having all my books at one house faster than I did
I don’t think I’m alone in the fantasy of having an entire career with one editor, one imprint, and one house. My whole backlist on that “also by” page.2 The dream of stability!
But after editing my fourth solo book, my first editor left the house. After my fifth book, my second editor left. And after my sixth book, my third editor left. (Insert nervous laughter here.) And after my eighth (solo) book and the completion of those contracts, I left.3
While I do know authors who’ve had the same editor and publisher their entire careers, it’s not the norm. To get more support or higher advances, sometimes the best move for an author is to go somewhere else. Give that first publisher some competition. If they want you back, they’ll offer a better deal next time.
As I said in number 3, publishers are businesses doing business things. And that means we have to be strategic, too. (Or our agents do.) We have to put our business ahead of whatever loyalty we feel toward a publisher.4 Every author I know has bills. Exposure doesn’t pay them; neither does fondness.
And this is really where having a smart, business minded agent is key. It’s their job to help you find the right house and right editor for every single book. Sometimes that’s the same place! Sometimes it’s not. Getting an editor who’s truly invested in your book is so much more important than staying in one place.
And just like people change jobs, the fantasy of having everything with one house for all of eternity just . . . isn’t real life for a lot of authors. And that’s okay.
5. I wouldn’t have worried about social media
Honestly, looking back at social media when I was debuting, it was a different world. Practically the dark ages. Feeds were chronological. (RIP chronological feeds.) And while I think publishers liked authors to have some kind of presence, the expectations were different then.
So I know that I can’t truly grasp what current debuts are dealing with, as far as the pressure of social media goes, but if I could give my debut self advice about socials, I’d tell her to Do Less. And keep Doing Less. The only thing that matters is writing another book.
Here are a few posts I’ve written about social media.
All right, that’s probably enough for now. I know you’ve got other things to do.
But man, if you’re a debut and you’re feeling overwhelmed, anxious, a little afraid — you’re not alone and you were never alone. Sending hugs. Let me know if anything from this list helps you.
And for authors on the other side of debut, do you agree with my list? What would you add?
Now, I don’t think this is actually true. My publisher was still doing behind-the-scenes stuff for the books, but it wasn’t as author/public-facing anymore. But also . . . yeah. It was a sequel to a book that did okay but not great. With few exceptions, your best bet with sequels is always to sell the first book more. Not many readers are going to buy the second book without the first!
Interesting note: I just checked the also by page on MY IMAGINARY MARY and it doesn’t have any of our solo backlist books, only the other Lady Janies books. Even though most of those books are from the same publisher! So even when they’re all at the same house, it might not go like you think!
Not because of my fourth editor. She was great. I enjoyed working with her — as I’ve enjoyed working with all my editors. But one thing I’ve found is that you’re never in as strong of a position as you were with your acquiring editor. They chose you. They already fought for you and they’ll do it again. But someone who inherited you . . . it’s a maybe maybe-not situation. I’ve been lucky with editors who inherited me. But that’s not always the case.
This is tough when we like the people we work with. But they know how it is. Honestly, they do. And moving on doesn’t mean you’ll never work with those folks again. Maintain a good relationship with them! Maybe you will have the opportunity to go back.
Does anyone have advice for a debut coming out from a small publisher (like, zero marketing dollars)? Other than social media, I can’t think of how to market the book in ways that extend beyond my small physical community.
Thanks so much for sharing this, Jodi! I'm nine months out from my debut, and it's already easy to fall into that trap of worrying I'm not doing enough. Sometimes we need a little reminder that most of the things we stress over don't matter that much in the long run.