An Apology to the Indies

Thoughts on community and publishing.

I owe the indie author community an apology. 

But first, a bit of background. I have a rebellious soul and a community-building spirit, so when I jumped on the online writing scene, I found an instant connection with the indie writing community. Here was a group of people who had decided to push back against gatekeeping practices and put their art into the world. People who created just to create, with no real guarantee of success. This made more sense to me than any other path since it reflected my own values (and my controlling nature - lol), and soon, I found a home.

Quill & Crow’s beginnings stayed true to this indie spirit. We provided poetry prompts and contests, put together anthologies that welcomed all; we even created a magazine specifically geared toward new writers beginning their careers. I was driven by a strong urge to give to this authentic community of creatives. But, as with most of my ‘brilliant’ ideas, I eventually burned myself out. The massive workload I’d taken on, coupled with my ability to attract the worst type of people (who expected me to work for them so they could benefit from my labor), I began to build boundaries that pulled me out of the social scene.

I also found myself with a growing company and no clear direction of what would come next. I hadn’t expected it; therefore, I had not adequately prepared. So I took notes from other moderately-sized independent presses who’d found success and educated myself on the traditional path. This seemed like the next logical move. And while I focused on the business side of things, I gradually pulled away from the indie writing community and into the trad publishing space.

Instantly, I felt inadequate. First, I did not have the start-up capital as a lot of these presses had, which instantly set me back. Every cent I made from writing went into the house, which meant I couldn’t afford the things other presses indulged in (like spending thousands on reviewers and marketing campaigns) while ensuring my authors and employees got paid. These companies are also primarily focused on financials; books are a commodity and are treated as such. I tried to adopt this mindset and soon found myself drowning in projected sales figures and P&L sheets. Don’t get me wrong—my Virgo self loves me a spreadsheet. But what I cherish most about publishing is getting my hands dirty: working directly with authors and artists to help create something uniquely beautiful. Focusing on the business side of things robbed me of that. 

Then there’s the competitiveness in the publishing industry. Those who hang out in the middle are caught up in a mass scramble for the top. I watched people steal each other’s ideas, go at each other’s throats, and other despicable things I don’t even want to talk about. But that is the very nature of business, is it not? We see it played out in books, movies, and television shows—and we all love to root for the guy who climbs his way to the top. Society rewards the go-getter. But, as I’ve said in other posts, none of this fed my soul. I am not a blood-sucking capitalist, nor am I a fan of industry politics. It soon became clear to me that this was not my path. So what was? 

During this time, I fell away from the indie community. I was distracted by industry bullshit, and whether or not I could keep up with what was expected of a successful press. I had my frantic eye on the prize, working my ass off to the point where I was too tired to pleasure read, let alone interact with fellow writers. I became detached from creativity—from my humanness—becoming someone I never wanted to be.

Sure, I’m a shapeshifter when it comes to my appearance, but one thing will never change—I have a grassroots soul. I missed interacting with writers in that space where we laugh, grow, and make mistakes together. Once I had this revelation, I tried to find it again on Twitter. But things had drastically changed. The app had chased many creatives away, spreading us out across platforms. I fell into a bit of a depression; it felt like that magic was long gone. 

Enter Threads. 

Say what you will about it—I’ve been more active and had more engagement on that platform than anywhere else. I found a host of writers, creatives, and artists riding that delicious indie vibe. There’s been no animosity, no ruthless competition, no outrage. It’s given me back that vibrant community I’ve been missing. One I will not take for granted again. 

So please, accept my apologies, indie writers. While I was busy trying to keep up with the publishing Joneses, I neglected my roots. I got lost in a world I don’t belong in, forgetting what it’s all about—keeping the creative collective alive and thriving, however I can. And I’m just so grateful to be back.