The Glamour and the Grind

Let’s cut the fantasy and talk about reality. Being an independent author isn’t just late-night writing sprints, romanticized coffee shops, and fan art. Though that’s nice when it happens. It’s exhaustion. It’s a constant juggle between being an author, marketer, publisher, accountant, web designer, social media strategist, and if you're lucky, not completely losing your mind while doing it all.

You want the truth? Good. Because here it is.

I Am the Team

There is no PR agency backing me. No marketing department running ad campaigns. No literary agent whispering industry secrets in my ear. It’s just me. Me, my PC, and a relentless drive to make my stories heard in a world where attention spans are measured in seconds and TikTok trends expire faster than unrefrigerated sushi.

Every trend I chase? I had to find it first.

Every caption, every post, every ad campaign? I wrote it.

Every ounce of momentum I build is hand-crafted from nothing but grit, caffeine, and stubborn hope.

Let's Talk Numbers

I’ve spent thousands. Literal thousands. Not on vacations. Not on luxury handbags. But on building this dream.

$2,000 for the original dust jacket art

$2,000 more for an updated hardcover art for the second edition of Forged in Blood $2,400 for my website including copywriting, hosting, design, and edits

$2,000 or more in character art (See below)

$1,000 or more on advertising

And those are just the expenses I actually remember. There’s probably more tucked into receipts and digital invoices I haven’t dared to total because I value my blood pressure.

Oh, and profits? I split them fifty-fifty with my editor and best friend. Because good editing is sacred and loyalty deserves a paycheck.

The Fantasy Ball That Nearly Broke Me

You want to know how far I go to bring my world to life? I threw a fantasy-themed ball. Think costumes, decor, ambiance, the works. Tickets were sold, yes, but not nearly enough to cover the fifteen thousand dollars I poured into it.

Ticket sales brought in $5,400.

Complaints? Plenty. About the price, the venue, the date.

Support? Scattered at best.

But here's the part that stings the most.

That money didn’t come out of some mysterious event budget. It came from the paychecks I earned as a scientist. The same money my husband and I had been setting aside for a real honeymoon. One we were supposed to take after he finally got out of the army. Two knee surgeries, fighting with doctors and eventually getting med-boarded out later.

We didn’t take that trip.

Because I was too busy covering expenses to give the people of Manhattan something fun. Something magical. Something they would remember. I sacrificed to give others a night to escape into fantasy while quietly losing a dream of my own. Yet if you asked me today, I'd do it all over again. Because it did bring smiles to peoples faces, it brought something unique to our small town. It also showed me who were really my friends and who never were to begin with.

Writing the Book Was the Easy Part

You heard me.

Writing Forged in Blood was hard. Rewriting it? Brutal. The hours spent editing, formatting, proofreading, uploading, troubleshooting issues, fixing metadata? Soul-numbing. You think the words just float from my fingertips, perfectly polished and market-ready? That’s cute. How I wish it was reality. Authoring actual work instead of utilising ChatGPT or AI takes time, patience, a metric ton of caffeine and bottom sores. Sometimes forgetting to eat. Okay... more often than not, forgetting to eat.

I bled for this book.

Then I bled again.

And again.

And again.

Then I marketed the thing. Built the website. Grew the socials. Watched metrics. Adjusted pricing. Responded to every comment, every message, every email. And when I didn’t know what I was doing? I researched until my eyes crossed and ended up with glasses. Literally. Look at the photo on the right. Glasses. These sly devils that give me headaches but I can't write without them.

The Part I Didn’t Want to Say Out Loud

I’m on the verge of giving up.

Since moving to Qatar, I’ve dropped my e-book price to 99 cents. I’ve tried every strategy I can think of. And still, nothing moves. No sales. No traction. Just silence.

And when you’re screaming into the void for long enough, eventually your voice cracks.

I have poured my heart, soul, and bank account into this world. I’ve sacrificed sleep, money, time with my partner, time with friends. I’ve done it all alone.

And right now? I’m wondering if I made a mistake.

Maybe the ball was an error in judgment.

Maybe the hours I’ve spent revising the same manuscript again and again were wasted.

Maybe I need to stop fighting to be seen and go back to writing only for me.

Because at least when I write for myself, I don’t have to watch my dream get ignored by the algorithm.

But Here’s the Thing

Even with all of this, despite the heartbreak, the burnout, the bone-deep fatigue, I still believe in these stories.

Even now, part of me refuses to lie down.

Because somewhere out there is a reader who will get it. Who will see the blood I’ve spilled on the page and feel something stir. And maybe they haven’t found me yet, but they will.

And when they do, I want my stories to be ready.

If you’ve ever bought my book, shared a post, told a friend, or just believed in the world I’m creating, thank you. You’re helping me fight a battle most people don’t even know exists.

And if you’re an indie author too?

I see you.

We may be exhausted, underfunded, and wildly over-caffeinated, but we’re still here.

Still writing

Still pushing

Still fighting for the dream

And that is worth everything.