By Barbara Linn Probst
It’s a cliché that becoming a published author is like becoming a parent. The astonishing reality of this new creation, after all the months—or even years—of preparation. The swift change of identity. The joy and vulnerability.
As a parent by adoption, I’ve always been sensitive to this metaphor, finding it both illuminating and constraining. Unlike some who choose to adopt, I didn’t try every available means to conceive a biological child but switched paths fairly quickly because I believed—and still do—that raising a child was far more important to me than how that child arrived in my arms.
Even so, there were plenty of moments, especially in the beginning, when I heard myself grow defensive—“explaining” and justifying my choice, even though no one had asked.
It was a bit like that when I decided—after a single agent query that seemed destined to be the “one-in-a-thousand” exception to all the stories I’d heard, until it wasn’t— to publish with a hybrid press. As with motherhood, I had the means and the temperament to take this path.
Bringing my book to life felt more important than how, exactly, it got there. Once out in the world, its fate would depend on its merits and reception, not on its pedigree. Kind of like my kids, now that they’re grown.
My journey has been immensely rewarding, a lot of work and a lot of fun. Still, I couldn’t help wondering if my experience was like that of other new authors. Being a former researcher, I did what comes naturally. I asked.
Recently, I posed three open-ended questions on several Facebook groups for writers, offering the option of responding by email or in a phone call. I didn’t specify genre or path to publication; my only criterion was the recent publication of a first book or its imminent launch in the next few months.
I explained that I was looking for themes and discoveries that might be useful for future cohorts. No one would be singled out by name. Rather, I hoped to cull through the stories and identify common experiences, caveats, and discoveries.
- What was/is the best part of being a debut author?
- What was/is the toughest part?
- What was/is the most surprising part?
I ended up talking, on the phone or by email with thirty-six people from every stage of publishing, with every kind of press—from The Big Five to tiny “traditional” presses to a large and well-established hybrid press. As it happened, none were self-published.
Of the thirty-six people who responded, thirteen had published within the past twelve months, eight more than a year ago, and fifteen were “almost there,” launching in the next couple of months. Only one man volunteered; the rest were women.
The responders represented a variety of genres, with the majority publishing women’s fiction. I’ve summarized their responses below, with a few direct quotes as examples and a word or two from my own experience.
What I Learned
The Best Parts?
There was a clear consensus among the thirty-six authors on the three best parts of the debut experience.
The sense of accomplishment, including the thrill of the object itself—actually holding the physical book in their hands. Several also mentioned the initiation into a new identity, a new way of being, as they passed each milestone: the first image of the cover, the first blurb, the first Amazon review.
The connection with readers, knowing that you had touched someone’s life.
- Nothing is more gratifying than to know that something you wrote truly landed with people, that they got what you were trying to say.
- Knowing I’d touched someone and helped them understand something new.
- Knowing that something I wrote resonated with another human being.
- I’ve never been a joiner, so it’s been really surprising to me how important this tribe of writers has become to me.
The welcoming and supportive community of authors—the kinship, kindness, generosity, and mutual support; the sense of being part of a sisterhood or tribe.
- The camaraderie of other authors, the deep relationships that have formed.
- Writing is such a solitary endeavor, so I imagined that authors were all just existing alongside each other without really interacting—and that was so wrong!
A note: I located respondents through Facebook groups, so it makes sense that the people I heard from were those for whom community was important. There may be plenty of other debut authors for whom community isn’t so important. In my own case, being more solitary, this was less salient than the first two points.
The Tough Parts?
The three toughest aspects were also consistent across respondents.
Managing the roller coaster of emotions, including the anxiety, self-doubt, “imposter syndrome,” and fear of not doing enough. Some spoke about the peril of comparing oneself to other debut authors—the pangs of jealousy, and the guilt that followed. Many also expressed how important it was to give themselves permission to have all these feelings.
- The “pinch me!” feeling, followed by the letdown afterward.
- I had to work really hard to manage my expectations, my anxiety, and the endless compulsion to do more.
- It’s hard when other people are getting things you didn’t even know you wanted and posting about all the lists they’ve made. It’s okay and I hope even normal to feel a little bit jealous while also being genuinely happy for the person.
Having to do the endless marketing, a daunting and unforeseen challenge! Most had not realized how much promotion they would need to do—the time and energy required, the entirely new skill set they had to acquire, and the discomfort with the whole notion of self-promotion.
- It took a lot more time to promote and be responsive on social media than I’d expected. It’s another round-the-clock job that requires attention and follow-up and organization to do it well, even with a publicist.
- It’s not my personality to say, “Hey look at me, buy my book!” It’s so time-consuming, having to learn about social media and put all that energy into marketing yourself.
- It’s overwhelming to see what other authors are doing. This whole marketing and promotion thing is so new for me, and my own sense of being a novice/am I doing enough/doing it right led to so much anxiety.
The pressure to write another book—quickly—and having no time to do that while promoting the first. The demands of promotion took precious time and energy away from working on the next book, which was what so many really wanted to be doing.
A note: I definitely resonated with the first two points, especially the roller-coaster of emotions! Each bit of “good news” made me soar with elation and, yes, heightened ambition. Each disappointment or Facebook post about someone else’s “good news” made me sink into misery—and then reprimand myself for feeling that way. I kept thinking I ought to be “better than that,” more generous and centered. So that was a struggle for me.
The Surprising Parts
These parts overlapped the great and the difficult. There were pleasant surprises and unpleasant ones.
Many people were pleasantly surprised by:
- The warm, welcoming, supportive community of writers
- The care and respect they received from their publisher
- The support from friends and family, including reconnecting with people from the past whose genuine excitement they hadn’t expected
Some were unpleasantly surprised by:
- How hard it is to sell books (and get people to review them); the overall lack of control
- How much it hurt to experience the callousness of people who posted negative (“snarky”) reviews behind the cyber wall— how casually people can rip a book or its author to shreds as if there wasn’t an actual human being behind the book.
What Can Their Experience Offer Us?
What I really wanted to know, when I asked these other debut authors about their experience, was: Am I “normal?”
Was my own experience typical of anyone going through this intense and identity-changing experience—or was it the reflection of an overly ambitious and anxious personality? My compulsion to keep “doing things,” as if stopping would mean my book would fail. The seesaw between ecstatic surges of joy when something good happened and despair when it didn’t. The feeling of being in the throes of an addiction.
Was it me, my personal craziness, or was it the debut experience itself?
My conclusion? A bit of both—because, of course, there’s no single “normal.” Yet there are patterns and tendencies—in the debut experience, as in all experiences—and it can be an enormous relief to know that others have felt what I’m feeling, gone through the same highs and lows. And survived.
If you’ve already had your debut, what was it like? Which of the points in this essay rang true for you? Did you experience something different, that wasn’t captured here? If your debut is still ahead, which of the points resonated … terrified … reassured you?
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Barbara Linn Probst is a writer of both fiction and non-fiction, living on a historic dirt road in New York’s Hudson Valley. Her debut novel, Queen of the Owls (April 2020), is the powerful story of a woman’s search for wholeness, framed around the art and life of iconic American painter Georgia O’Keeffe.
Endorsed by best-selling authors such as Christina Baker Kline and Caroline Leavitt, Queen of the Owls was selected as one of the 20 most anticipated books of 2020 by Working Mother, one of the best Spring fiction books by Parade Magazine, and a debut novel “too good to ignore” by Bustle. It was also featured in lists compiled by Pop Sugar and Entertainment Weekly, among others. It won the bronze medal for popular fiction from the Independent Publishers Association, placed first runner-up in general fiction for the Eric Hoffer Award, and was short-listed for both the First Horizon and the $2500 Grand Prize. Barbara’s book-related article, “Naked: Being Seen is Terrifying but Liberating,” appeared in Ms. Magazine on May 27.
Barbara is also the author of the groundbreaking book on nurturing out-of-the-box children, When The Labels Don't Fit. She has a PhD in clinical social work, blogs for several award-winning sites for writers, and is a serious amateur pianist. Her second book releases in April 2021. To learn more about Barbara and her work, please see http://www.barbaralinnprobst.com/
An earlier version of this article appeared on Writer Unboxed.
Top Graphic formed by Kris Maze