Matthew Keith – Indie Authors: It’s About Enjoying the Ride

I can still remember the day I hit Amazon’s “publish” button for the first time. Afterward, I told my wife, “If even one person reads this book and likes it, that’ll be enough for me.”

That was in November of 2013. I’d just finished my first novel, a one-hundred-ten-thousand-word, year-and-a-half-long project that had been one of the most fulfilling endeavors of my life. Not fulfilling because I believed it was a bestseller, I most definitely didn’t think it was but simply because I had done it. Finally. My entire life, I had dreamed of writing a book. It had always like such a monumental task, so impossible. And even if I wrote one, who’d read it anyway? And the time spent on something like that? Who has that kind of time?

I’d finally set aside the time, and now . . . I. Had. Done. It.

Not only had I done it, but I’d gone all out. It was a full-length novel bordering on “epic” in size (that was before my editor got her evil red pen on it, of course). I was proud, so proud. A natural introvert my entire life, typically the quietest guy in the room, with this one creation I wanted everyone—anyone—to experience the world I’d created in my book, told by me. My words. Wow! What a rush to think someone else might be interested in the story I had to tell!

“If even one person reads this book . . . ”

When I said that, I meant it with all my heart. I was like a kid again, wide-eyed and proud, holding up my project in both hands for everyone to see—look what I made!

So, I went to work on finding my “one person”—because I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that it would get read by accident.

I joined Facebook promo groups and networked with other authors. I built and built and built my Twitter following through endless nights of search-click-follow-repeat.

A week later, a box of my books—real books!—arrived from Createspace, complete with my homemade cover and unedited, first-edition manuscript. It was ugly, but man, I have to say at that point it was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever held in my hands. I was naïve, I was giddy, and I didn’t care! Everyone got a copy. I was real. Legit.

Then, through the mentoring of an author friend I’d met on Facebook, I learned about sites like Bookbub and Ereadernewstoday. I learned you need an editor, even though, of course, I argued at first (come on, that first book . . . admit it, we all had some pride issues believing all our commas weren’t already in the right place).

Bookbub accepted me, first try. That campaign netted five figures in the bank.

What? That’s right. First book. Crap cover. Five figures. Bookbub should have laughed at me, but instead, they ran it and it was a success.

I couldn’t believe it. I was an author, a real bona-fide author making real money.

On the immediate heels of that initial success, I was in a fever to get another book done as quickly as possible. If my first novel was that good and made that much money from just one campaign, holy crap! I could be rich! I could quit my job! I didn’t have to be that wide-eyed kid anymore—look what I made! No, now it was the other way around. People wanted what I had. Their hands were held out to me—please, tell us what you made! I had to write more, more, more!

At that point, early on, of course, that’s what I thought. All I saw were dollar signs. Book signings. Movie deals. With all that money rolling in, it was easy to believe it.

But people are fickle, especially people who pay you for something. The reviews were now rolling in. Much of what people said was kind, positive, but a few were downright hostile. Humiliating in their criticism.

As every writer knows, you can get a thousand great reviews, but it’s the one negative one that you don’t ever get out of your head.

So now I had something to prove. My next book wouldn’t just be as good as the first one, it would be better, so much better. I wrote like a surgeon on that second novel, dissecting every word, agonizing over the placement of each comma. I spent big bucks on a custom cover, then spent twice as much again on another cover when I decided the first one wasn’t good enough. I polished and polished and polished that manuscript.

I must have refreshed my KDP sales dashboard at least a hundred times the day my second book released. Writers, I know you’re with me on that. We’ve all done it. There were some sales, but nothing like what I’d hoped, or, if I’m being truly honest, like what I’d expected.

Where were all my fans? Hadn’t they been waiting with on pins and needles to read the next amazing work of fiction by Matthew Keith?

No.

No, indeed.

I was crushed, and suddenly, now, my second book made me feel exactly the opposite of the way my first one had. I was a hack, a wannabe, a failure. I couldn’t stand that. I couldn’t accept it.

After all, I was supposed to be damn near rich by now!

So what did I do? Did I learn humility? Did I realize I could still find the same joy that I’d found in writing my first book each and every time?

Nope.

I tore through a third novel. I wrote it in just three months, and immediately began work on a fourth.

If I couldn’t cultivate sales through a loyal fanbase, I’d do it through sheer volume of titles.

Night after night, I stayed up writing, sometimes all night. I stopped spending time with my friends. I saw less and less of my wife, my kids. I just stayed locked in that basement, determined to prove to everyone else that I was worth reading.

That lasted for two years.

Two years of ignoring the people I love. Crazy, right?

Thank God they love me too.

It took a chance remark from my father-in-law for me to realize what should have been plain as day—I wasn’t proud anymore. Not of my writing and certainly not my reason for writing. That first book, it was all about the joy of telling a story. Of proving to myself I could do it, sharing tiny snippets of my life through the characters I’d created. That first novel had truly been a labor of love. It had been work, for sure, but it had been fun work.

All it had taken to change all that was a single, short burst of success. It changed everything, made my writing all about ego, money, and notoriety.

Now, all you indie authors who aren’t big names like Jasinda Wilder and Hugh Howey, you know you’ve been in the same boat. Even now, after realizing I had the wrong motivation for two years, there is still always that tiny piece of me, every I hit that “publish” button, that dreams of a runaway success story.

It’s okay to get excited, but don’t let it overwhelm you. Remember to enjoy the ride. Remember to be that wide-eyed kid—look what I made! Be proud of your success no matter what level you have achieved. Remember how you felt when you wrote THE END for the very first time, and the endless possibilities you knew were waiting within your next story.

“If only one person reads this…”

Recommended Articles:
Michael W. Huard – What It’s Like to be a Sci-Fi & Fantasy Author in 2018

Atty Eve Interview: Writing the My Beautiful Suicide Series

J.A. Snow – I Have a Story to Tell

LC Champlin – Truth is Stranger Than Fiction: Using History and Real-Life Events in Fiction