The Hidden Cost Of Getting Published

And what you can do about it.

Hello dear writers-in-arms,

I first wrote this week’s post last year, but was too shy to share it. It felt too exposing, too honest. It wasn’t what you’re supposed to say as a published author trying to build a career. It didn’t fit the acceptable narrative. Plus, I’m a writing coach, helping writers to reach their dreams of becoming published authors – maybe it would damage my reputation, even destroy my business?

Well, a year on and I have no more f***s to give. Honesty is important to me and I want to be 100% transparent about my own writing journey with the gorgeous little community that’s growing here (that’s you 😊). That means sharing my experiences without adding a palatable spin, or a glossy Instagram filter. We get enough of the shiny stuff elsewhere.

So, this is the story of what really happened when my writing dreams came true.

Last year, the UK’s industry trade magazine, The Bookseller, published results of a survey about authors’ mental health. They found that more than half of authors responding (54%) said their experience of publishing their debut book had negatively affected their mental health.

Wait… what?

Most writers I work with aspire to be published, if they aren’t already. It’s the BIG DREAM that motivates them. It was for me, too. So how can it be that when this dream finally comes true, it can be a negative thing?

But the fact that over half of these professional authors had serious mental health repercussions – including anxiety, stress, depression and lowered self-esteem – didn’t come as a big surprise to me. After all, I was one of them.

After my debut novel, The Crimson Ribbon, was published in 2014, I developed anxiety and panic disorder, experienced paralysing self-doubt, and my confidence, which was scrappy in the first place, took a massive nosedive. If I hadn’t had a second book under contract, for which I had already spent the advance money, I’m not sure it would ever have been written. This happened while wrangling that second book, promoting my first novel and presenting a picture of happy, glowing success to the world. I didn’t speak about it publicly; very few people knew I was struggling. I was living the dream, wasn’t I?

The reasons, in my case, were complex and varied. Some were deeply personal and some were the result of the way the publishing industry works. The conversation sparked by The Bookseller survey blamed a lack of communication and support for authors entering the industry, caused by problems with under-resourced publishing staff, the impact of a rapidly changing book market, and the essential nature of the publishing business model, in which publishers expect commercial failures and flops, propped up by guaranteed bestsellers that fund the losses.

All of this is true, and all of it is a problem, but for me it went deeper than the challenging realities of disappointing sales figures and the awkwardness and sudden exposure of self-promotion, right to the heart of who I was.

Being a published author had been my dream for so long that I had defined my sense of identify and success by this thing that was totally outside of my control. My dream had come true, but ultimately, what happened next lay in the hands of others, and in the mysterious commercial forces of the publishing industry. And if I defined my own sense of success and self-worth by this thing I couldn’t control, then I was doomed to disappointment and disillusion. Which was what I got.

The book was well-reviewed and sold a few thousand copies but – let’s be frank – in commercial terms, it was a flop. It was as if I had put everything I had into creating this thing, and the world had gone, ‘Meh, so what?’ The book was a failure, and by extension, so was I. Publicly, I pretended to be on top of the world. Privately, I experienced a profound crisis. Over the course of the following year, as I spiralled into anxiety disorder, I became disillusioned, hopeless and totally disconnected from any sense of joy in my writing. I had failed. The last thing I wanted to do was write another book.

I’m well aware how entitled this might sound. Believe me, I know the world owes me nothing, but at the time I couldn’t see the bigger picture – I was too crushed by my shattered hopes and the disintegration of the relationship I had previously had with my writing. My sense of who I was in the world was broken. If I had failed at the one thing I wanted to do with my life, where did that leave me?

My experience was not unusual, or especially bad (believe me, I’ve heard some horror stories). Plus – I want to be clear – there is no blame here. My publishing team were great, there was no lack of enthusiasm or commitment, they did all the right things. It’s just that, each year, only a few books will fly. Most books don’t. This is the way the industry works.

I think there’s a dichotomy at the heart of every artist. We put our whole souls into the things we make and we want to share them with the world, but every time we do, we risk excruciating rejection and failure. It takes guts and a whole lot of courage to pick yourself up and keep going. And it might not even be failure that shakes you to your core – it might be success.

Bestselling author Jessie Burton, whose huge international hit, The Miniaturist, was one of the biggest debuts of that same year wrote eloquently and thoughtfully about her own post-publication mental health issues, proving that it’s not necessarily about commercial success – every dream you have can come true, and you can still struggle. She said, ‘Success can be as fracturing to your sense of self as failure: it just traumatises in a less qualified way.’ (Her original blog post has now disappeared, but it’s referenced in this article from 2016.)

I’m not suggesting this is everyone’s experience, but it was mine. And I know, after many years of talking to published writers, that it’s not uncommon for first publication to be followed by a period of difficulty and readjustment, whatever the reasons.

So, what can we do about it?

I’m glad to say that the industry has listened – a bit. Since the flurry of press coverage in 2023, many agents, publishers and trade organisations have taken steps to address the issues in the industry. There’s a greater acknowledgement that we need to look after the very people that this industry depends on. But, the problems are fundamental and won’t be solved overnight.

In the meantime, it’s up to us – collectively and as individuals – to prepare and protect ourselves, to come together to demand better treatment, but also to increase our own knowledge, build our support networks and our personal resilience. We writers need to stick together.

Ultimately, I had to rebuild my relationship with writing and redefine my own version of success. This took some time, but eventually I realised that the creative urge I had to tell stories had very little to do with making money, or ‘being successful’ or any other external type of validation. I had to learn to separate the creative act – the writing itself – from the business of publishing.

Professional authors must become adept at both. Yes, it’s important to educate yourself on how the industry works. Yes, it can help to be aware of trends and where your book fits in the market, but such things can be a massive block to getting words on the page. All too aware of them, we shut down our most creative thinking. Creativity needs freedom – it doesn’t (usually) respond to limitations.

I had to learn to write regardless of outcome. I had to learn to let go of the ‘business’ stuff and allow the creativity in. I had to learn to write for myself again, just like I had in the beginning. Just like that eight-year-old who read under the covers and wrote stories just for fun. I had to rediscover the joy.

And here’s the twist – once I no longer had so much of my self-worth tied up in the outcome, I wrote a book that became an Amazon bestseller and is now in development for TV.

Go figure.

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be traditionally published or being wildly ambitious about the accolades that might one day come your way – I wholeheartedly encourage those big dreams, but it will help you in the long term if those dreams are underpinned by solid foundations.

That’s why I do the work I do now. I passionately believe that authors deserve better treatment, but it starts with us. Putting your creative work out into the world is always going to bring challenges. It’s our job to be clear in our vision, practice persistence and self-advocacy, build resilience and find the support systems we need to help us along the way.

Later this month I’ll talk about some practical things we can do to start defining success on our own terms and building the resilience that will keep us afloat for the long term. Watch this space.

And if you’d like to explore these things in a safe, welcoming and private space, join me for this month’s live workshop on Rejection & Resilience, Thursday 25th July 2024, at 6pm - 7pm (UK time). Workshops are for paid members of The Inkwell – I’ll be sending out the Zoom link next week so make sure you’re subscribed 😊

More soon,

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