What I've Learned 6 Months After Self-Publishing

Six months ago exactly, I published my debut novel, DUSK. I chose September 5th because it was the anniversary of the Voyager 1 launch, and a key thread of my book is about the Golden Record, which was onboard Voyager 1.

I expected a few sales, a few good reviews. I hoped for more, but set my expectations low. I purchased professional reviews, I hired a social media expert, I spent hours—nay, days—creating content and AI-generated promotional videos, I scoured over analytics to see what was resonating in the market, I tracked my orders and KENP read, I engaged in Goodreads writers exchange forums, I contacted all my local bookstores and library asking them to host signing events, I purchased ads on Amazon and ran A/B campaigns, and I actively promoted my book to my networks.

I treated it like running a small business, thinking if I invested in myself and my promotional materials, it would convert to revenue.

I never imagined it would be such a wildly unsuccessful venture.

That it would take so much energy to promote it that I would eventually stop trying.

That I would become unmotivated editing my next book (the prequel to my debut), wondering if any of it was worth it.

But this morning, making coffee in my kitchen, I found myself humming that song I love by Bonobo, one of my favorite musicians. He’s my go-to for chilling out, such a relaxing, peaceful artist. And I thanked him in my head for producing that work, because while he might never know how much I appreciate his music or think about it, or play it aloud (or in my memory), I know it’s always there if I want to listen.

He can never take it back now that it’s been put into the universe. It’s had a chance to impact others like me, and for that, he should be proud. More on that shortly.

Here’s the honest financial assessment of this 6-month venture:

Revenue from Amazon Sales:

• November (incl. Sept-Oct revenue): $106.43

• December: $36.04

• January: $28.66

• February: $10.96

Total Revenue: $182.09

Expenses:

• $499: BookLife Review (I got Editor’s Pick, so can’t be mad at that)

• $103: Publishing the BookLife Review in Publisher’s Weekly Magazine

• $450: Kirkus Review

• $50: Reedsy Discovery Review

• $1,050: Social media expert for 6 weeks at launch to set up and run my Instagram and TikTok accounts

• $162.54: Purchasing hard & soft copies of my book

• $264.81: Other random Amazon expenses, including Amazon Ads Sept 2025-Jan 2026

Total Expenses: $2,579.35

Net Loss: $2,397.26

I think of artists. I think of musicians. And I think of The Creative Act, by Rick Rubin, which I listened to last year while pacing around the soccer fields where my daughter was practicing.

A soft gong sound separates each chapter, calming our overstimulated minds and inviting us to refocus our attentions as Rick calmly informs us that creating art is a gift to the world. He says artists of all media capture and translate ideas that are constantly available to those willing and able to sense them, pick them up, and transform them into something other humans can appreciate. He says it’s okay to embrace the unknown—that’s where the best ideas are found—and encourages us to be kind to ourselves and the creative process, removing judgment and embracing intuition.

Maybe that’s the lesson I’m learning the hard way, as a trained product professional whose entire career is built around identifying, building, and selling products people love.

Creating art is not the same as creating a product, from that perspective.

In my thirteen years doing product management, I’ve been ultra-focused on adoption and engagement rates, so I’ve been treating my book as a product, which it is. I’ve spent money on ads. I’ve spent countless nights and weekends crafting content for a social media audience that has barely reacted and hasn’t substantially grown, which is why I’ve all but abandoned it, refusing to cave to the algorithms. I’ve spent days reading others’ books in exchange for a review.

But a low adoption rate doesn’t mean I’ve failed. A net loss doesn’t mean I’ve failed. I’ve only failed if my goal was to make money, and that wasn’t the primary motivator. If it were, I’d be writing full-time instead of as a hobby, and I’d be writing for the masses instead of flirting with alternative ideas and genre mash-ups.

When you look at art as a product, maybe just the simple launch or production of the piece is all you need as a measure of success. As long as it’s out in the universe for the world to see, whether that’s now or in thirty years—or someday when perhaps I’m no longer around—no one can take it away.

You’ve put your idea out there and given others the chance to react to it, to sit with it, to ponder it as they’re going about their days.

The best books, ideas, music, and art make an impression. You can’t shake them. They rest in the back of your mind, waiting to be investigated, considered, and debated.

When you impact people that way, you’ve done your job, even if it was unprofitable. Since I’m writing about the future, speculating on a world where humans, technology, and society intersect, and asking tough questions about how we might evolve, plus the ethical and moral implications, I know these ideas will resurface (read the headlines every day and you’ll see we’re closer than you may think). When they do, I hope my readers will talk about them.

This is perhaps the greatest lesson learned: In our capitalist economy, profits are the indicator of success, but in the artists’ economy, embracing vulnerability and intuition to harness those ambiguous ideas and express one’s perspectives is the indicator of success, and that requires no profit.

Don’t be dissuaded. Move with confidence. If your ideas haven’t been discovered, it’s because the right person hasn’t seen them. The human algorithm, where ideas take flight through emotional resonance, is the only one you need.

#noregrets