The Lonely Life Of An Indie Author
I started off as a little girl in primary school convinced I would turn the tables on being mocked. I promised myself that I would grow up and become a journalist first and an author later.
I attended John Bisseker Senior Secondary School in East London, South Africa and my poetry adorned the board at the back of the class. My geography teacher, Mr Khandoo was impressed but he insisted that I take the poems down as they couldn't possibly be my work. He suspected that the poems had been written by Nadine Gordimer. Satisfied with this compliment, I took down my poems and went about my business as though nothing had happened.
I left high school with my proverbial tail between my legs. I scraped through matric with a School Leaving certificate meaning that I couldn't enter university. My father was elated as he felt that journalism in Apartheid South Africa would be a risky career choice. The racial complexities of my family didn't help either. So mom, who was a professional nurse, or registered nurse as they were then known, arranged for me to start nursing. I enjoyed the training and sailed through an Integrated Diploma in General Nursing & Midwifery cum laude. My desire to write, temporarily buried.
However, my life took a series of dramatic twists and turns and my late sister, Portia, encouraged me to write my memoirs. She insisted that the book be entitled, Odyssey of A Woman. The news of memoirs written at the tender age of 28 was met with some degree of scepticism, if not scorn and ridicule, but, it didn't stop me from writing the book (in my mind at least).
I met Fred Khumalo in 2001 when he was editor at Sunday World and he insisted that I write. He added that I couldn't claim to be the author of an unwritten book, so I made an effort. The project was subsequently derailed and I abandoned the manuscript. Besides, I was not in the right frame of mind to be penning a book. Fikile Ntsikelelo-Moya was next, he interviewed me on two or three occasions and that project too was adandoned.
In 2014 I was invited by Arise News Networks in London to provide commentary and ongoing legal analysis on the Pistorius trial. The fire in me had been reignited. In some twisted way it felt as though my dream to become a journalist had been realized, albeit in diluted form. I was after all reporting on the trial, albeit with the unique focus on legal aspects.
My writing bug was back. One morning I picked up my computer and started writing my memoirs. Thirteen chapters were dusted in less than a week in what appeared to be one long, emotional and drawn-out 'Dear Diary' session. I passed the manuscript on to a few friends, some were horrified by the contents, others were pleasantly bemused and my closest friend and confidante of many years felt that I had skirted the more dramatic and poignant moments. He further added that the autobiography shone a brutal light on how I was smart at everything but relationships and he suggested I approach the narrative from a different paradigm. My partner was shell-shocked and he suffered a bout of ante-dated jealousy. My professional assistant never quite looked at me the same way thereafter. He was a nervous wreck asking me repeatedly whether I'd really been through all that. I stuffed the manuscript back in a Manila envelope.
I searched the Internet for editors a few months later and stumbled upon an author and ghostwriter. She reviewed the manuscript and advised that I needed to decide what it was that I really wanted in the book so that it was focussed and not a number of books condensed into one. I was happy that she regarded my style of writing as entertaining and intriguing. When I received the quote for the editing, website and publishing I suddenly realized that it was not the kind of money I had. Someone else in publishing asked to pass the manuscript on to someone who was a publisher and ghostwriter and today, two years on, I still await a response. It suddenly struck me that I wasn't quite ready to publish the tell-all book anyway. The wounds are still fresh so it's a project I'll complete soon and keep in a safe for publishing fifty years after I pass on.
But, as I sat in court listening to the case of the State versus paralympian, Oscar Pistorius, I suddenly decided that I had to contribute to the world's understanding of South African law. Besides, I had entered university by virtue of a mature age exemption only to complete three law degrees in three years with twelve modules cum laude. I had in any event set my sites on a Doctor of Laws degree and I wasn't going to sit back and not write.
I made the mistake of sharing my enthusiasm with a journalist and author who, unbeknown to me, was also writing a book on the trial. I didn't give a damn really because I knew that there was probably no other Black female, South African who was going to pen a book on the trial. I was better placed than any other to immerse myself. So when he warned that countless books were being written on the trial, I told him that I would write regardless.
I didn't even bother searching for a traditional publisher because I suspected that I would be given a million reasons why I shouldn't write. Self-publishing was thus my only option and navigating the indie author waters has not been easy. My book needed a cover, it needed to be formatted. I needed to market the book, have the book edited for technical accuracy and thereafter have it edited for grammatical or language proficiency. I was told about typsetting and paragraph alignment. I was even told about drop caps this and indentations that. I was suddenly at sea.
I signed up for free courses on how to market one's book and forging ahead with very little and sometimes no resources led to many sacrifices being made. I decided on the crowd-funding option through www.publishizer.com thinking that 250 pre-orders in 50 days was an easy task but it is not. I needed a professional website and got a great one. I have a few more steps to go before the launch and book trailer premiere on January 29, 2015 but I have no doubt that this labour of love will pay off.
So am I an author? Of course I am. One author out of the millions of authors around the world. We each have our own story. Some stories brew and ferment within us until we have no option but to write them or even tell them, some stories are told because like volcanoes they threaten to erupt.
So, whatever your reason for writing, don't be discouraged. Whatever your reason for reading, don't be perturbed. In each story, poem or book there's a unique lesson, something to be learned, something to be understood, something to be gained, demons to be buried, perhaps, even a hazard to be avoided.
I am lousy with these codes on the write so I decided to embed tags in the post. I am on Twitter as @BrendaWardle, on Instagram Brenda_Wardle, on LinkedIn and my websites are www.brendawardle.com and www.wardlecollege.co.za
I attended John Bisseker Senior Secondary School in East London, South Africa and my poetry adorned the board at the back of the class. My geography teacher, Mr Khandoo was impressed but he insisted that I take the poems down as they couldn't possibly be my work. He suspected that the poems had been written by Nadine Gordimer. Satisfied with this compliment, I took down my poems and went about my business as though nothing had happened.
I left high school with my proverbial tail between my legs. I scraped through matric with a School Leaving certificate meaning that I couldn't enter university. My father was elated as he felt that journalism in Apartheid South Africa would be a risky career choice. The racial complexities of my family didn't help either. So mom, who was a professional nurse, or registered nurse as they were then known, arranged for me to start nursing. I enjoyed the training and sailed through an Integrated Diploma in General Nursing & Midwifery cum laude. My desire to write, temporarily buried.
However, my life took a series of dramatic twists and turns and my late sister, Portia, encouraged me to write my memoirs. She insisted that the book be entitled, Odyssey of A Woman. The news of memoirs written at the tender age of 28 was met with some degree of scepticism, if not scorn and ridicule, but, it didn't stop me from writing the book (in my mind at least).
I met Fred Khumalo in 2001 when he was editor at Sunday World and he insisted that I write. He added that I couldn't claim to be the author of an unwritten book, so I made an effort. The project was subsequently derailed and I abandoned the manuscript. Besides, I was not in the right frame of mind to be penning a book. Fikile Ntsikelelo-Moya was next, he interviewed me on two or three occasions and that project too was adandoned.
In 2014 I was invited by Arise News Networks in London to provide commentary and ongoing legal analysis on the Pistorius trial. The fire in me had been reignited. In some twisted way it felt as though my dream to become a journalist had been realized, albeit in diluted form. I was after all reporting on the trial, albeit with the unique focus on legal aspects.
My writing bug was back. One morning I picked up my computer and started writing my memoirs. Thirteen chapters were dusted in less than a week in what appeared to be one long, emotional and drawn-out 'Dear Diary' session. I passed the manuscript on to a few friends, some were horrified by the contents, others were pleasantly bemused and my closest friend and confidante of many years felt that I had skirted the more dramatic and poignant moments. He further added that the autobiography shone a brutal light on how I was smart at everything but relationships and he suggested I approach the narrative from a different paradigm. My partner was shell-shocked and he suffered a bout of ante-dated jealousy. My professional assistant never quite looked at me the same way thereafter. He was a nervous wreck asking me repeatedly whether I'd really been through all that. I stuffed the manuscript back in a Manila envelope.
I searched the Internet for editors a few months later and stumbled upon an author and ghostwriter. She reviewed the manuscript and advised that I needed to decide what it was that I really wanted in the book so that it was focussed and not a number of books condensed into one. I was happy that she regarded my style of writing as entertaining and intriguing. When I received the quote for the editing, website and publishing I suddenly realized that it was not the kind of money I had. Someone else in publishing asked to pass the manuscript on to someone who was a publisher and ghostwriter and today, two years on, I still await a response. It suddenly struck me that I wasn't quite ready to publish the tell-all book anyway. The wounds are still fresh so it's a project I'll complete soon and keep in a safe for publishing fifty years after I pass on.
But, as I sat in court listening to the case of the State versus paralympian, Oscar Pistorius, I suddenly decided that I had to contribute to the world's understanding of South African law. Besides, I had entered university by virtue of a mature age exemption only to complete three law degrees in three years with twelve modules cum laude. I had in any event set my sites on a Doctor of Laws degree and I wasn't going to sit back and not write.
I made the mistake of sharing my enthusiasm with a journalist and author who, unbeknown to me, was also writing a book on the trial. I didn't give a damn really because I knew that there was probably no other Black female, South African who was going to pen a book on the trial. I was better placed than any other to immerse myself. So when he warned that countless books were being written on the trial, I told him that I would write regardless.
I didn't even bother searching for a traditional publisher because I suspected that I would be given a million reasons why I shouldn't write. Self-publishing was thus my only option and navigating the indie author waters has not been easy. My book needed a cover, it needed to be formatted. I needed to market the book, have the book edited for technical accuracy and thereafter have it edited for grammatical or language proficiency. I was told about typsetting and paragraph alignment. I was even told about drop caps this and indentations that. I was suddenly at sea.
I signed up for free courses on how to market one's book and forging ahead with very little and sometimes no resources led to many sacrifices being made. I decided on the crowd-funding option through www.publishizer.com thinking that 250 pre-orders in 50 days was an easy task but it is not. I needed a professional website and got a great one. I have a few more steps to go before the launch and book trailer premiere on January 29, 2015 but I have no doubt that this labour of love will pay off.
So am I an author? Of course I am. One author out of the millions of authors around the world. We each have our own story. Some stories brew and ferment within us until we have no option but to write them or even tell them, some stories are told because like volcanoes they threaten to erupt.
So, whatever your reason for writing, don't be discouraged. Whatever your reason for reading, don't be perturbed. In each story, poem or book there's a unique lesson, something to be learned, something to be understood, something to be gained, demons to be buried, perhaps, even a hazard to be avoided.
I am lousy with these codes on the write so I decided to embed tags in the post. I am on Twitter as @BrendaWardle, on Instagram Brenda_Wardle, on LinkedIn and my websites are www.brendawardle.com and www.wardlecollege.co.za
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