No Great Awakening

…just a quiet realization.

Have you ever felt like everything is always just out of reach? Like you decide on something and miss out by only a few seconds on another thing that could have been better. You buy a car today with a 3.9% locked-in interest loan, and two days later the rates drop. Today you purchase a big screen TV, and next month the manufacturer offers a $200. rebate.

These fear-of-missing-out (FOMO) feelings are overwhelming and undermine our sense of judgement and well-being. It is difficult to avoid getting jerked around when we become slaves to FOMO. We want to be included among those whose moves and timing land them on the right side of the door while we remain stuck on the outside.

Before you knock yourself out trying to get a foot in the door, make sure it’s a door you want opened. Spending precious energy trying to get in only to find you are somewhere you don’t want to be is a waste. Such was the experience I had in the author/publisher industry.

This morning my publisher sent notification that they are exercising Clause 22 of the contract we signed for my book, A Little Dog’s Adventures in a Big Dog’s World. The sales numbers weren’t reaching their standards despite their promotions and marketing efforts.

Difficult as it is to accept this disappointing news, I didn’t spiral. With my books, my writing, my muse, the journey has been fraught with emotion. Authors like me, who pour their hearts into the creative process, are reluctant to put their work through the scrutiny of a publisher, the editing routine, and beta readers.

Back in the olden days, before the digital age, when authors had to submit query letters, synopses, and sample chapters in words on paper, we also got back the standard formatted rejection letters in hard copy. I had an inch-thick stack of such letters, and it was hard to ignore the reality. The publishing industry was brutal. It took me years to recover from the initial pain of rejection after having submitted my novels to publishing houses and literary agents.

The submission process was like swimming in a pool of chocolate pudding. Releasing my grip of the legal-sized envelope containing my submission material into the outgoing mail receptacle took courage. Getting rejection letters was worse than receiving not a word from the publishing houses. The worry-filled nights spent not sleeping took a toll. I decided I was too sensitive to handle it. Writing was the part I enjoyed. This submission game was not for me.

With no knowledge or expertise in publishing, I wanted to stick to what I knew, and that was writing. Creating characters with whom readers can identify. Having relatable life experiences with stories that play out in well-described places. Stories that are shown rather than told with believable action and drama. For nearly thirty years, that had been my jam.

During this time away from the industry, I wrote for fun and to fill up free time. There are things I must get out of my head; writing was y therapy. Upon joining the digital age, I started publishing my stories on a blog. I enjoyed sharing the work, and people enjoyed reading it.

Friends and acquaintances read my blogs and commented either online or directly to me when we saw each other. “These stories are great.” People would say. And, “You are a fantastic writer. You should write a book.” When people found out I had written two books, they said, “You should be published.”

Three years ago, I tried the self-publishing route, which wasn’t even a thing when I first started dipping the toe of my boot in the industry door. I did not know what I was doing, but I muddled through and, by trial and error, I managed the ins and outs of Kindle Direct Publishing.

I employed a professional to do the structural and developmental editing on my manuscript. The company that designed the cover formatted the files. My aptitude for technology is right there with my cooking skills; I can boil water as long as someone else fills the pot and turns on the burner. At last and after much frustration, I submitted the material. The result was a self-published book; a non-fiction compilation of stories sharing my experiences doing Nose Work with my dog.

Little Winnie looking mighty powerful on the cover of our book.

Shortly after I published the book, a publishing house that offered a hybrid contract approached me through email. Not a big house, but a publishing house nonetheless was interested in my work. They encouraged me to submit my files, and they would bring the material up to their house standards for publishing.

A babe in the woods was I, a succulent piece of fruit ripe for the picking. And so began my journey down the rabbit hole. I believed I was stepping through the door I had long thought would never be open to me. The publishing house wanted to publish my book, and with no logic applied, I thought, Why not? Wouldn’t my book have more credibility with the publishers’ insignia printed on it? Unfamiliar with what I was getting into, I paid the company for the services. Visions of success flipped through the pages of my mind.

With a publisher, I expected my book would be on shelves in bookstores everywhere. There would be signing events and interviews. Maybe some hosts of K9 podcasts would invite me to speak about Nose Work and my remarkable connection with my dog.

For all I paid, I received a second edition of the original book, with no changes. They slipped the content I added, sharing updates on our journey, in with the meta-data before the title page or the table of contents. No additional professional editing or rewriting. Nine months later, I got a box of books, a stack of order forms, and an announcement poster depicting the cover art. In my estimation, the package I received was worth less than half of what I paid.

As far as promoting the book, which was to be part of the contract, the only thing done was to include my book on the website along with the hundreds of titles they offer. With no help from them, I arranged for myself three signing events: two bookstores and one private venue. I did all the work promoting these events and spent money on costs. Disappointment is too soft a word to describe my feelings. I was also confused. I took responsibility for the outcome in order to move on.

Okay, so that is what they did with the book I had already published. I told myself they delivered on their promise, but I didn’t believe me. When they wanted to publish my next book, Sun-Kissed Mountains of Home, with glee, I submitted the PDF of a second draft version. Here was their chance for redemption. Now, with this book, they could use their resources to bring my rough draft up to their standards for publishing. This time I would get my money’s worth. My second book, Sun-Kissed Mountains of Home, would be a piece of work I could be proud of.

I went into contract with them for a second time. During the production period, I imagined the staff hard at work on my draft. I hoped for advice about structural changes. Surely there would be some tweaks to the subplots, some tightening up of storylines. I hoped they would have input on the authenticity of the dialog. The scene and action descriptions might need to be improved for better flow.

The cover design process began, and it was excruciating. I gave them a very descriptive idea of my vision of the cover and hoped for their professional input. I wanted a silhouette of a couple standing close together, looking across the valley, surveying their ranch with pride. Sent to me for approval was an image of a man in a twisted-backwards baseball cap wearing flip-flops and a woman wearing leggings and canvas sneakers standing together on a log with Yosemite Falls in the background. Nothing on the cover image had anything to do with the story. The people depicted weren’t in any way representative of the characters.

The first of many proofs. A very nice cover image with a couple admiring Yosemite Falls.

My entire story takes place on a cattle ranch in Montana. The story is about an old-school cowboy and a woman from the big city who builds and operates therapeutic riding academies. My cowboy would never wear flip-flops or be seen without his cowboy hat. This was all wrong. I wrote back with some more details of what the characters should look like. They sent me a second rendition. It was an image of man wearing a cowboy hat, but the woman was wearing Uggs! And they were still standing in front of Yosemite Falls. Back to the drawing board. Third time is the charm, right? You be the judge.

Left is the second proof they sent. And on the right, version three, Broke Back Mountain?

I wiggled in my chair, scooted up to the screen so I could focus, and opened the file to see an image of two clean-cut men standing on a mountain ridge wearing plaid shirts but no cowboy hats. The men were standing side by side as they surveyed the scene before them, the valley and their ranch below. What the staff came up with was worse than the first two tries and even more perplexing. The characters in my romance novel were not a gay couple.

Using photo software on my own computer, I created a cover image and sent it to them. To my relief, they created what would become the cover. The struggle was over.

On the left is what I made and sent to them as a blue print. The proof of what would become my cover design is here on the right.

So stressed over the cover issues was I that I forgot there had been no editing of my manuscript. They formatted the contents with no changes and completed the metadata. I sent them an image I created for the cover, a silhouette of a man and a woman standing beside a horse with the sky lit up by a setting sun beyond. The book went to print before I realized it. They were publishing my rough draft!

Again, this was my fault for having expectations. When they promised to bring my work up to their house standards, I did not know how low those standards were.

My second book went live on the market, and I have infused little energy into it. I don’t believe there have been many sales. Forcing myself to be flattered that my raw, unedited material met their standards, I am not proud of Sun-Kissed Mountains of Home. I can’t wait for the publisher to end the contract according to Clause 22 for this book, too.

So now they have discontinued my first book, and with any luck, my second book should follow suit by the beginning of next year. Then I will update the non-fiction book and include what we’ve been doing over the last three years. I will self-publish what will be the third edition.

And when the publisher gives me back the control over my published but unfinished manuscript, they call my second book, I will give it the treatment it deserves. My professional editor will do her magic and make the content thrive. The cover will be what I envision in my dreams. I will spend the time to create a piece of work I can be proud of. Then I will publish it myself. Getting back in control is what I dream of now.

When you have a dream and you apply yourself day in and day out to no avail, you must ask yourself, is this what I am supposed to be doing? Am I headed through the door that is right for me?

As we journey on the path to self-discovery, sometimes we get what we want only to find out it isn’t what we should have wanted. Sometimes you have to come to realize when to cut your losses. When a door you scratched and clawed your way to open closes, lock it. Decide for yourself; it was the wrong door, and find a window to open. The door they closed on my books is locked from the outside. It wasn’t part of God’s plan. But I have already opened a windows and through it I see a door chosen for me by God.

I know your deeds. See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut. I know that you have little strength, yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name.—Revelation 3:8 (NIV)