Yes, there are people who look at an independent author with a sort of pity. The poor schlub simply couldn’t get published by a traditional publisher and now they’re just toiling away at this pipedream. If you’re one of those folks, please, from the bottom of my heart, go f**k yourself.

If you’re NOT one of those folks and you’re still with me, I will admit that part of that perception is true. I gathered my fair share of rejection notices from various agencies and small publishers. It’s cold comfort that most of those came from entry level employees who didn’t read the manuscript and may or may not have even read the query letter. For me, it was hard to be stuck in neutral when I didn’t have to be. I wanted to work and produce content and if that meant doing it myself, I’m enough of a control freak to be okay with that.

But I DID have an opportunity to be traditionally published, and I passed on it. Here’s the story:

I’ll call the company Goat Press, just for storytelling purposes. I’d actually heard of them when I stumbled across one of their books at a Barnes & Noble. It looked like a fun little mystery from a local author and the company’s actual name (which I will not mention here, obviously) indicated they were Minnesota-based. I looked up their website and found they were willing to take submissions from previously unpublished authors. Their requirements were a query letter and three sample chapters. That was easy enough to put together, so I sent it all in.

I was thrilled to get a positive response and a willingness to meet with me about the possibility of publishing DEATH IS A CLINGY EX. A meeting was set up, and I was expected at their offices on an appointed day. I was less thrilled when I realized the address was in a rural community about an hour outside the Twin Cities. As a character in a Sherlock Holmes TV series once remarked, after looking at 221B Baker Street on Holmes’s card, “It’s not a very inspiring address.” But hey, they were willing to meet with me. That was MUCH better than another rejection letter.

At this point, I need to take a quick side journey and talk about my friend, Ellen Hart. Ellen was a published mystery author who taught three writing classes I had taken, and was the first to tell me I had the talent to be a published author. During one of those classes, she told the story of publishing her first novel. She was approached by a small press that seemed eager to publish the book. But Ellen got some uneasy feelings about them, feeling they were a little too eager and that the quality of their work wasn’t the highest. She decided to pass on the offer. (She would eventually find a more reliable press and would go on to publish more than 30 mystery novels.) When I heard that story, I wondered if I would have the courage to do the same in her position. After all, being published by a traditional press was my dream. Could I really turn it down if it was staring me in the face? Okay, back to the main story.

So, the day arrived, and I drove to the meeting. And drove. And drove. See, Goat Press might have had an address in this rural community but said community apparently covers a large swath of territory. At one point, I may have left the country. (I could swear I saw some road signs in French, but maybe I’m making that up.) At last, though, I managed to find the place and discovered…it was located in a converted barn on a goat farm. (Hence, the fake name I gave it.) You ever smelled a goat farm? If you get the opportunity: don’t. Still, I’d come this far, physically and emotionally. I had to see it through.

I met with three people that day. I’m not going to give you their actual names because A, I wish to protect their privacy; and B, I have long since forgotten what they were. The head of the outfit was an older, hardbitten sort of woman I’ll call Jane. We’ll call her two younger assistants the Bobsey Twins, since they don’t really factor into the story. It should be said they were nice enough to meet with me, even though I discovered, to my mortification, I had shown up on the wrong date. (The meeting wasn’t supposed to be for another week.) They must have realized I had driven roughly three continents to get there, and they weren’t going to make me come back. It also, as it turned out, saved us from delaying the inevitable.

When they explained their terms for publishing, I found a few things disquieting. First, I would be expected to pay $300 for a couple boxes of my books. I could then sell those books and keep all the money. (It would add up to a small profit.) However, this went against the first rule stated by EVERYONE who talked about trying to get published: NEVER give somebody money up front to either publish your book or to represent you. Next, I would be entitled to ten percent of the profits from the print book and ten percent from the e-book. The print book terms were fine, but ten percent for the e-book? There is barely any overheard with an e-book. Why did they need 90% of that? Finally, it was understood that I would do all my own marketing, which had become standard even among the large publishing houses (unless your name was King or Rowling). While all of this gave me food for thought, none of it was a dealbreaker. That was still to come.

When glancing through the print pages of my sample chapters, Jane and I had this exchange:

JANE: I noticed a couple of times, it slipped into present tense. You’ll have to be careful about that.

ME: Um, it’s ALL in present tense.

JANE: (snaps me a look) It will be in past.

No “Are you sure that’s the right choice?” No “Well, in my experience…” No “Let’s talk about that.” Just “It will be in past” in a tone that brooked no disagreement, invited no discussion. To Jane’s credit, she must have (correctly) read the look on my face and realized her remark went over like a fart in church. She relented slightly and gave me some gobbledygook explanation about how present tense doesn’t leave you any place to go and past tense does. (And that is garbage, because it’s not hard to temporarily switch tenses and keep the reader with you, no matter which one is the primary tense.) I didn’t discuss it further and maybe I’m remembering this wrong, but it felt like some of the air went out of the room. (Though, sadly, the aroma of the goats did not.)

On the way home, I took a wrong turn, making the drive even longer. (Cell service was such that my GPS was useless.) This turned out to be a good thing, as it gave me plenty of time to think. I had left the meeting with the impression they were willing to publish my book. But I was no longer certain I wanted that. The “tense” argument was, well, the source of my tension. It might sound like I’m being petulant, but I have a very good reason for writing in present tense, at least for the Joe Davis books. I want the reader to feel as if they’re sitting around with a friend who’s telling them a cool story. When I’ve told stories in that setting, I usually tell them in present tense. There’s an immediacy to it that heightens the tension. And in a mystery, that tension is key. I’m not saying every mystery has to be in present tense. But every Joe Davis mystery does.

I added up everything in my head. What was Goat Press offering me that self-publishing would not? I’d have to spend money. The profits would be minimal. I’d have to do all my own marketing. The only difference, as far as I could tell, was that Goat Press could get my book into a Barnes and Noble in Bugscuffle, Nebraska whereas I could not. And THEY would be in charge of editing the book. It didn’t seem to make sense. If I was going to spend the money and do all the marketing, shouldn’t the book at least adhere to my vision? By the time I pulled into my driveway (several days later), my mind was made up. If Goat Press made me an offer, I would turn it down. I’d rather go it alone. The next day, they emailed me an offer. And I politely declined.

Have I regretted that decision? No. Even in my lowest moments of feeling like this independent author thing is a waste of time, I haven’t regretted turning down Goat Press. It’s entirely possible they would have published only one of the Joe Davis titles, and I would have wound up buying back the rights and doing exactly what I’ve done since then. And I would have been stuck with a boxful of books I would rather disown than sell. 

Thankfully, Ellen validated my decision shortly after. When I first told her I was talking to Goat Press, she got a look on her face similar to the one you might give a friend doing something questionable. “Oh, you and Elizabeth are getting back together? That’s…great.” When I told her I had turned them down, she let out a sigh of relief, finally able to speak freely. “You didn’t miss anything,” she told me. “Their editing has a TERRIBLE reputation.” So, I probably dodged a bullet there.

Even if being an independent author sometimes feels like a mistake, it’s MY mistake. And I’ll own it.