Get Somebody Else to Do It

Every writer, whether we want to admit it or not, is an entrepreneur. We create a product—a book—and then we turn around and sell it. Sometimes we sell part of our interest to a traditional publisher like Simon & Schuster or HarperCollins. Sometimes we go the indie route, selling directly to readers through a website or through a behemoth like Amazon. But no matter the path, one truth remains unshakable:We are in business for ourselves.We are the CEO, the marketing department, the shipping department, the PR team, and the person answering emails at 2 a.m.We promote the product lines. We show up to the events. We handshake and livestream and book club ourselves into the good graces of the reading world.I’m doing that now. As we gear up for the launch of Fire Sword and Sea, I’ll will be heading to D.C., Severna Park, Virginia, St. Louis, Mo, Austin, Texas, and of course Atlanta and all her glorious suburbs. Meeting readers is actually one of my favorite parts of the job. There’s nothing like seeing that gleam in a reader’s eye when they tell you what moved them, confused them, or delighted them.There’s nothing like digging into the myths and the hidden histories that shaped a story.And when I say hidden, I mean hidden. I will chase a fact to the end of the earth. I will travel to the places I’m writing about. I will battle through foreign language and archivists to get firsthand accounts. I want to return these people to you whole—the people who lived the stories I’m writing.For Fire Sword and Sea, I boarded an old-time frigate—one that very easily could’ve been a pirate ship back in the day. I wanted to feel what it was like to sleep in a hammock practically touching tens of others, to understand how close the hull was to the crew cabin, to hear the groan of wood and water the same way they did.There is no way you couldn’t hear the moans of the enslaved in the cargo hold. In the 1600s, human beings were the universal coin. People traded enslaved bodies like currency. That’s how they moved stolen property.Moreover, the 1600s were wild. Theft was legal if you called it piracy. Danger was so normal it barely had a name. But it was also a time of reinvention. A time when you might have to disguise yourself—your gender, your class, your entire identity—to have the life you dreamed of.And honestly? It doesn’t feel that far from being a small-business owner today. We change disguises, the various roles, to get our jobs done. And sometimes we forget why we got into this in the first place. We forget passion. And focus on market shifts. We ignore hunger to unleash something new into the world and get stuck in all the boxes that have to get checked—editing, research, marketing, PR, scheduling.Recently I found people fight you or deprive you of resources when they don’t want your story told. In business, a Walmart will come and undercut you to price you out of the market. In the writing world, it will be the use of algorithms or the lack of oxygen to starve a book.Sadly, some folks don’t want the truth. They don’t want to hear of a world where everyone could become a slave. They definitely don’t want to hear women who escaped and became pirates who led and commanded ships. I really think, some wanted me to write about a jolly old male crew singing sea shanties all day.In Fire Sword and Sea, you’ll get adventure. You’ll get sailing crews. You might even get a spirit filled song asking for God’s vengeance. I wrote the truth. You’ll see the complicated leadership choices women in disguise had to make. You’ll see the danger of wanting something so badly that you risk everything to get it.You’ll see the success, the heart break, and the compromises that may rot the soul.Back to my small business.Right now, I’m negotiating dates, confirming travel, juggling time zones, sorting release-week logistics—not to mention championing every other author whose book is coming out in January. It’s prime season. Prime real estate. Everyone wants and needs attention. I am no exception. If you preorder Fire Sword and Sea, I hope you feel the stories worth, believe the hassle, the grind, the late nights, and the tears.But Lord… how many times have I said to myself, “I wish I had somebody else to do this”?Let me bust a myth: even if you’re traditionally published, for the most part nobody is swooping in to handle your career or your new shiny book. You will still grind. You will still hustle. Traditional publishing gives glamorous promises—books everywhere, audiobooks, store distribution—but it does not give you a full marketing staff or sometimes the feeling that they give a damn.Indies wear about 50,000 hats. Traditional authors wear about 32,000. Either way, your neck and back are still tired.And that is why every writer—I don’t care which path you choose—has to ask:What are you willing to do to have what you truly want?What are you willing to carry?How ...