Learning How By Actually Doing

What I'm doing with my short story collection, and why

The Dream of Publishing

I’ve been picturing it for five years – holding a copy of my own book in my hands. I can smell the pages, feel the sharp snap as I crack the spine (I’m allowed to commit such a transgression – after all, it’s my damn book). For a long time, that was the dream: something physical, real, proof that I wrote the thing and saw it through. Lately, the fantasy has shifted. Now I find myself thinking about file formats and metadata, uploading PDFs at midnight, refreshing my inbox for an email from a cover designer. Less dreamy, maybe, but somehow more thrilling. Because I’ve finally decided to say the proverbial “fuck it” and publish something for myself.

My First Project

That something is a short story collection called A Mouthful of Earth. It’s dark, strange, a little mythical – definitely not mainstream – but it feels like the right place to start. The genre isn’t at all the same as my upcoming novel, but my voice is still my voice. Publishing this collection on my own gives me a way to start moving forward, to figure things out by doing them instead of just reading about them

Don’t worry - the novel is still coming. It’s my baby , the art project of my life. That one’s bigger, more personal, and something I’m desperate to get right. But I’ve realized that if I want to do it justice, I need to learn how to put a book into the world. So this is the project I’ve picked to start.

Learning the Ropes

There’s so much I still have to figure out. I’ve read the books, taken the courses, and listened to more podcasts than I can count (Joanna Penn, I love you), but at a certain point, learning has to become doing. That’s what this is. A way to get my hands dirty.

It helps that the short stories didn’t take as much out of me as the novel has. I’m proud of them – deeply - but the emotional stakes feel lower. That makes the whole thing a little less terrifying. Still, the learning curve is steep. There’s the technical stuff: formatting, cover specs, ISBNs, metadata, distribution platforms I hadn’t heard of until six months ago. And then there’s the business side, which feels like an entirely different language. Pricing, blurbs, keywords, categories, author bios. Learning how to sell the thing I made without cringing.

I’ve started a Substack. I’ve dusted off my instagram. I’m poking around the world of newsletters and content calendars and wondering, constantly, whether I’m doing it right. Most days, it feels like I’m winging it. No, most days I am certain I am winging it.

Facing the Fear

And then there are the fears – big ones, heavy, shitty ones. I’m most afraid of silence. I know better than to expect a flood of readers just because I hit “publish”, but the idea of putting this book out there and hearing nothing? That terrifies me. No feedback, no reactions – just a void.

Worse though, is the idea that someone does read it and hates it. That someone puts into words exactly what doesn’t work, and I won’t be able to stop thinking about it. Or that someone understands exactly what I was trying to do and still thinks it’s awful.

It’s that double edged fear: judgement, or no judgement at all. It makes me feel so exposed, like I’ve peeled away a private part of myself and left it out in the open, unsure if anyone will even notice it – let alone care enough to stay something.

Embracing the Journey

But, I think it’s worth it anyway. Even with all the unknowns, even with the fear. That fantasy of holding something I made, start to finish, it still matters. I want a book written by me to exist in the world. Not in theory, not someday. Now.

And this feels like the right time to figure out how it’s done. Not just from the outside, but from the inside. I want to learn what it takes to publish somethig – not just write it, but shape it, package it, and offer it up. I want to demistify the proccess, for myself and for anyone else watching who wants full creative control but doesn’t know where to start.

If it goes badly, it’s still mine. If it goes well, I’ll know how to do it again, and do it better. Maybe I’ll even make a little money. But honestly? That’s not the point. The point is that I followed something through. I made the thing. I learned.

This is my prep course. My practice round. The warm-up before the real hot potato hits the pan: the novel. The one I’ve been holding close for years. And when I’m ready to release that one, I want to know exactly what I’m