The Challenge of Self-publishing

So I took the plunge. After long resistance, I signed on with Booksurge to self-publish a novel.  That means Crossovers should be available by Christmas after languishing for years in the proverbial drawer, rejected by publishers who don’t think they can sell a book about a boy who figure skates.

Why did I resist?

Self-publishing means the author takes on not only the financial responsibility of printing the book, but also the roles of editor, book designer, and distributor.

It can be a shortcut to avoid polishing a manuscript to the level a commercial publisher requires.  But I already have five commercially published titles and have actually been paid for editing other people’s work.  The Crossovers manuscript has been read by several critics—writers, figure skaters and even a former hockey commissioner.  My daughter who used to keep the typists of an insurance company in proper grammatical form is currently going over it.  Her father has instructed her to be brutal.  (I think that is revenge for my editing of his self-published book, Excellence in Theological Education.)

The book design problem will be handled by Booksurge’s templates.  I need only slot my information into their templates, and out pops a book cover.  Of course, that means choices are very limited.  The Booksurge people assured me that there are literally millions of stock photos available on the Internet.  Unfortunately I haven’t found anything appropriate for a juvenile novel about a hockey player who wants to learn to figure skate.  An enthusiastic adult skater has lined me up with a photographer.  We have an appointment to meet at the rink with a pile of skates right after they finish giving the ice its highest shine.  We shall see how realistic my cover dreams are.

The biggest problem in self-publishing is usually distribution.  Bookstores avoid self-published books like a first-time goalie scared of the puck.  A public speaker has a built-in audience that heads straight for the book table after the meeting.  Fiction is more problematic.  Too often the author ends up with a garage full of unsold books.  In this day of print-on-demand I don’t risk a garage full of books—just a lot of money spent and nothing to show for it.

The way I figure it, Crossovers will appeal to the niche market of figure skaters and hockey players.  They all hang out at the same place—the ice rink.  And they shop at the same places—the skate shops.  My marketing plan is to drive from ice rink to skate shop with a trunk full of books.  Whitepages.com lists 27 within ten miles of my daughter’s house.  I can do this.  It’s an Olympic year with an American men’s World Champion.  What better time to try?

Figure Skates and Hockey Players

Life was a lot simpler when I was a little kid. There was family and hockey and school and hockey, and in summer there was hockey camp and my paper route and mowing lawns to get money for hockey equipment.

So what happens when thirteen-year-old Ben Bradley decides he wants to learn to jump and spin? With a dad who went through the U on a full hockey scholarship and high school cousins already watched by the talent scouts, there’s a lot of pressure to follow where they lead. What will they think if they find out what Ben is doing at the ice rink in the early mornings? And what will the other guys on the hockey team say?

So far my manuscript, Crossovers, about Ben and his sister Denise (who wants to be the first girl in Rum River to make the varsity hockey team) has not found a publisher. “Boys won’t buy a book about a figure skater.” “Stand alone titles lack visibility.” It’s frustrating to think that the need for a book about being artistic and male, is the very reason it won’t sell. But since I know Ben’s whole life down to what his kids did when they grew up, turning it into a series seems to be the way to go.

Consequently, I have spent this week volunteering at the U.S. Figure Skating Championships in Saint Paul, Minnesota, to get a behind-the-scenes view of what Ben will encounter when he makes the big-time. My assignment was transportation at the gate where the skaters, families and coaches entered the arena. I held the door for Johnny Weir and his coach, Victor Petrinko. I answered a question about the bus schedule for Tannith Belbin. I found a newspaper clipping with her son’s picture for Charlie White’s mom. The mother of one of the skaters (who shall remain un-named, but you saw her on the medal podium) apologized to me for the rude behavior of her daughter’s coach. I bought tickets for the last event so I could sit in the arena and watch my man, Evan Lysacek, get his gold medal in a tie-breaker finish. All the while I made notes on 3 by 5 cards of the kinds of details that will make Ben’s trip to Nationals feel real.

The monitors over the bar next to the gate showed far more of the competition than I could have seen at home on TV, and I had the fun of being in the middle of the excitement. When Ben goes to Nationals, he will definitely encounter a rude coach who says he’s nothing more than a hockey player in figure skates. Who knows? There may even be a tie-breaker finish.

Ben, I mean, Evan, gets his gold medal