Trials and Tribulations of Self-Publishing. And the Odd Magic Moment.
I saw an episode of ‘Countryfile’ earlier this year where the presenter was taken round Agatha Christie’s garden by the author’s grandson. At one point the latter said, ‘Of course she lived in the days when all a writer had to do was write.’ The man must be a writer himself; I’m sure a lot of people still believe that that is what writers do. They write. If only…
Last year when my first book came out, I thought I knew what to expect. As the days and weeks passed I found how wrong I’d been. Going to talks, workshops and writers groups, listening to those who’d ‘been there’ just didn’t convey the reality at all. But while it would be easy to descend into a series of grumbles about all the stumbling blocks, I won’t be that self indulgent. Besides, I’d like you to carry on reading this rather than do the electronic equivalent of crushing it in your hand and tossing it in the bin. If there is an electronic equivalent, like just closing or even deleting the page, I don’t suppose it’s quite so satisfying.
It’s the self-publicising aspect that I find hardest. I’m a writer, and I’ve never been good at selling myself. Nonetheless, as the months have gone by, I find that I’m changing. To slightly misquote the Bible, to those that have, even more shall be given.
I worked in public libraries for thirty years, and St. Just, my local library, had begun holding talks, book related one way or another, organised by the Friends of St Just library. They gave me a slot, and a friend helped me set up a table with copies of my book surrounded by a rainbow scarf she’d knitted for me. (Both books have rainbows on the cover.) I had a lovely audience. Some of them I knew from writers groups, but most I didn’t. They nodded in agreement or sympathy, laughed in the right places, asked pertinent questions and some bought books at the end. So I was happy to arrange another talk, at the Morrab library in Penzance. The Morrab is that very rare thing nowadays, a subscription library, and the room where I gave my talk had floor to ceiling dark wooden shelves of books, many leather-bound, a glorious background. And to my delight it went as well as the first.
Living in the far west of Cornwall, where tourism has largely replaced fishing, mining and farming as the way to make a living, there are plenty of tourist venues which have shops and some sell books. I tried half a dozen, including two art galleries, a sculpture garden, the village centre and my favourite airport. It’s where you fly to Scilly, which takes 15 minutes. There are only two check-in desks, one passenger lounge, and they serve good coffee. Which you can drink while watching the tiny planes arrive and leave. Most planes hold 16 passengers, and a few smaller ones hold six.
But I digress. As said, I don’t do sales. I hate going in somewhere and asking if they’d like to stock my book, and also don’t like going in to see if they’ve sold any. The arrangement is that informal. Two tried for a while then decided they weren’t selling. Some do better than others; the numbers are very small, but add up over a year. Though I have to say that second time round was easier. I could go in and say they’d got my first book and would they take the second. All but the two who’d already pulled out said yes straight away. First time round, though, a massive disappointment was discovering that all the local National Trust sites, unlike in the past, have their books supplied from a central company. I approached that company and was told that if, repeat if, they took the book they would want a thousand copies. That was out, and bang went my hopes of seeing my book on the shelves at St Michael’s Mount, which is on the cover of the first book. And seeing it at the local mining centres, gardens and the forty or so other N.T. sites all across Cornwall.
As for the bookshops, I will skim lightly over that. Even the local one in Penzance, which always had a policy of promoting local authors, said no. Word is that because they have just bought new premises, they need to recoup their expenditure and unknown authors don’t point that way. But that was a bigger blow than the National Trust. All the years I’ve been here, I assumed one day I would see my book/s in their windows.
However, I did say at the head of this that there have been magic moments. I was pleased that Cornwall lending libraries bought copies of Book 1 for each of my four nearest branches, and as the issues were good they were happy to buy four of Book 2 too. I’d love to know who’s been borrowing them, but of course you don’t. Except for one woman who borrowed it from St Ives library, found my author page on Facebook – I’m the only Victoria Osborne-Broad, which helps – and put a lovely message to say how much she’d enjoyed reading it. I’ve messaged her to let her know the sequel is out there now too.
There was the day in February we were walking in Trewidden gardens, admiring the magnolias and camellias. There’s a pond where we once saw a mother duck shepherding a line of ducklings to the water. Sitting beside this pond on a bench was a woman sitting reading. She was Reading My Book. I introduced myself, signed the book, and selfies ensued. She’d bought it at Tremenheere, the sculpture garden mentioned above. At Easter, the week after Book 2 came out, the weather was glorious and we went to Tremenheere for coffee. The same woman just happened to be there, having lunch. I always keep copies of the book – both books now – in the boot of both of our cars. So she got another signed copy and we all got beaming pictures.
Back in January I made two applications. One was to the Penzance Literary Festival, or Litfest, which I’ve been attending since I stopped working for the Council eight years ago. I helped as a volunteer one year, and helped organise the volunteers another time. Which turned out to be vastly more complicated than I’d expected. But anyway I applied to them, offering to talk on the difference between what you think will happen when you get published and what actually happens. After all, some of my own expectations had come from talks and workshops at the Litfest, so I thought it was only fair to disillusion, sorry, enlighten, the next round of hopeful would-be authors.
The second application was to the Holyer an Gof book awards. These are organised by the Gorsedh Kernow, Cornwall’s Bards, and are open to books about Cornwall, set in Cornwall, or written in Cornish/Kernewek. There are about a dozen categories, fiction and non-fiction. I submitted my book in January and the shortlist was announced in June. Sadly, I wasn’t short-listed, but I discovered that the awards are actually for publishers, though nominated authors get to appear and receive a certificate. And as a self published author, I qualify for attending the ceremony. So though I was very disappointed not to be nominated, I still went along, and it was an enlightening experience.
The wait wasn’t so long for the Litfest though. I was thrilled to receive an email at the end of February offering me a slot for this year’s Litfest. To add to the pleasure, the email came in during the lunch break when I was at an all day course on self publishing. So I was delighted to share the news with my fellow attendees. What the Litfest actually offered was a shared slot, with an author from east Cornwall called Darcie Baylis, who writes as DL Baylis. Her latest book is about the ghost of Daphne du Maurier haunting Menabilly, the house which Manderley in Rebecca was based on. In the story there’s a writer living at Menabilly, and both he and Daphne are having trouble with their latest books. It’s called Daphne’s Ghost, and it’s great fun.
We were paired, as her book and mine both have a supernatural element. Mine don’t have a ghost. They are set in the present day – almost, it’s 2014. So along with cars, smartphones and the internet you get magic, time travel and telepathy. As this year’s Litfest theme was Borderlines, I’ve ditched my planned complaints about all the negative sides of self-publishing, and decided to enjoy myself talking about the borderline between the real and the supernatural and what happens when, as in my books, the two collide.
The first book ends on a cliffhanger. I can say without spoiling anything that by the last page everything appears to be over. Until in the final sentence a letter arrives from someone who can’t possibly have sent a letter. Book 2 begins with the postman coming down the drive to deliver it.
So I had several people already wanting to know when Book 2 would be out. The ones immediately round here got their copies straight away. I’m not selling through Amazon any more; the warehouse costs for paperbacks were prohibitive, and Amazon keeps almost all the money from eBooks. Once Book 2 had been accepted for printing, I realised that would mean double the warehouse fees. Even without Amazon’s hefty commission, I’d have been better off just giving them all away.
I said above that I hate trying to sell by going into places and asking them. However talks are different, and I have been happily lining them up. So far this year I had one at the local W.I. and one at the local U3A. Both were enjoyable, I’ve got my name down for another W.I. and am looking for more of each within reasonable distance. There was a fringe event at the Litfest as well as the main event, and I did another talk at the lovely Morrab. I’ve also got my name down for another public library and am waiting to hear from the one which has had building works.
So a lot has happened in the last year. I’ve passed over most of the tedious stuff which followed my decision to be my own distributor. They included, but were not restricted to, websites to register my books with, getting my own website, getting in a stack of jiffy bags. Legal deposit copies. Set up a new bank account and taking the plunge into online banking. Arranging to put details on the site that libraries buy from. There have been so many small things I’d had no idea of. It’s like the mythical Hydra; every time you cut off one of its heads, two more would grow. That really is what it feels like.
Recently someone asked me, if I’d known beforehand what it would be like, would I have ever got started? Without a second’s hesitation I said, No. So it’s just as well I didn’t know. Because look at what I’d have missed. The heady feeling when someone tells me how much they enjoyed reading my book – and now, the second book. The stock editor at the library department spending half a minute checking the issues of book one and immediately saying yes, we’ll take the new one. The encounter in the park. And the day I was walking up the main shopping street in Penzance and a woman hailed me from the bus stop. I didn’t recognise her – I’m not good with faces at the best of times – but she said, her actual words were ‘I’m one of your fans.’ She’d been to one of my library talks last year and was sure that the sequel would be out by now.
So someone has stopped me in the street because they recognised me as an author and wanted to know if they could have my next book. It was worth all the grief.
Chalice of the Rainbow and Guardian of the Stones are now available in paperback and eBook format from my website: https://www.victoriaosborne-broad.co.uk
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