Liquid Fear, Chronic Fear, and the rebirth of a writing career

By Scott Nicholson

Today, Dec. 21, marks both the solstice and the two-year anniversary of my indie publishing experiment. On a gray day as the sun reached its nadir across my northern sky, I clicked a button that sent Burial to Follow into the digital world.

I had no idea what I was doing, only that I had nothing to lose. Part of me was afraid, as those old whispers came. You know, the ones drummed into writers since the dawn of time: (“Only hacks self-publish! You can’t do anything without an agent! Just keep sending out query letters and focus on writing the next book! Self-publishing will kill your career.”)

In truth, the original act was a mix of desperation and inspiration. Despite six books in traditional publishing, I was basically dead in the water, haunted by midlist numbers. New York thought it knew what I was and had the data to prove it. I knew better in my heart, but I was unsuccessful in convincing my potential partners, and the world of publishing had grown harsher and colder, to the point of “Only responds if interested.” All I could think was “Maybe you’re not interested, but I sure am.”

The Burial to Follow novella was respectably published in a hardcover by Cemetery Dance, so it had provenance. I figured I’d hedge my bets against what my peers thought (not that peers were paying any attention at all to me in 2009) by self-publishing backlist so I would have a built-in defense. I created a terrible but sincere cover with art from my DIRT comic book and hit the Amazon button.

I believe I got one sale through the final nine days of the year, but it was fun to wonder about that one stranger who had clicked and purchased. So I prepped The Red Church, a novel that had been successful in its short life but had fallen out of print for five years. Again, I had the self-defense of prior publication. “See? I’m a REAL writer and I am just making these ‘legitimate’ books available again.” And then sales started trickling in, and the book steadily rose up the charts. People liked it! But the most immense satisfaction was in being able to reach readers years after New York was done with it. The story was still fresh, maybe even timeless. At least timeless enough for now.

Cool things happened. My daughter was most impressed when I hit #1 in “Christian Science Fiction & Fantasy” (boy, the categories were wild in those days), not because I was above Stephen King but above C.S. Lewis. I think that was the first time she ever viewed me as a “real writer,” despite the stack of my dusty paperbacks in the closet.

I was still sending stuff to publishers and agents during this time, because I was a “real writer” and that indie stuff was just a sideline until I got a “real deal.” My goal at the time was to earn enough to pay my power bill. So I clumped together some stories that had also been professionally published, and the nickels turned into dimes. There was also an exciting and growing indie community, writers either frustrated by the traditional system or new to the entire game and having no pre-conceptions. That was matched by the enthusiasm of readers who saw a whole new world of choice open up to them. The universe was opening to possibility in odd and thrilling ways.

By mid-2010, I stopped sending stuff out to agents and publishers because the power structure had shifted. Readers now ran the industry, although none of us really understood the concept, or maybe it was too large and simple for us to grasp. Readers created bestsellers, they created careers for writers, they created new genres and cross-genres and niches and book blogs. The whole job for a writer shifted from finding the intermediaries who would deliver an audience to removing as many obstacles as possible between you and your readers. I uploaded original novels that I had been sending around, and I wrote new ones with the sole intention of self-publishing.

By the dawn of 2011, I was able to leave my day job and fulfill the only personal goal I’d ever had as a writer. I had some luck with a couple of bestsellers, and Amazon picked up Liquid Fear for re-release, and the sequel Chronic Fear. Amazon is awesome to work with and has been the most enthusiastic partner of my entire publishing career.

I don’t know if there is a “next level.” I certainly don’t need any more to be happy, and I am incredibly grateful and humbled. All I did was do what I love and click a few buttons, and I happened to be doing the right thing when the right time came along. I wish I could make ego claims of genius and talent, but it’s simply the blessings of good fortune, simply doing what God made Scott to do that no other person can do.

Today, Amazon launches Liquid Fear and Chronic Fear. Two years after the sun hit its lowest point and started ascension. Two years to the day after I first hit a button and said “Yes.”

I still say it today. Thank you, God and the universe. Thank you, readers and friends. Thank you, my wonderful, beautiful family. Yes.

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Liquid Fear and Chronic Fear are $2.99 for Kindle, also available in paperback and audio. Current freebie  through 12/25 is Transparent Lovers for Kindle. Thanks for your support and friendship, and tell your friends about the freebies. My pledge is always: The more I get, the more I give away.

What happened to your heart?

My friend and artist/writer Lee Davis had read the first part of The Red Church (my first published novel) and emailed me with his initial thoughts:

"Your understanding of humanity is crucial, ranging from complexities of the young boys' mind to the conflict of a deteriorating marriage and then on to the law that is trying to maintain the peace and keep the town from falling in on itself. I immediately felt empathy to Donnie's young and troubled thoughts at life in general as he goes inside his mind and looks at the nature of his being vs. the world. I could go on and on about that topic as it's practically the story of my life! Then the drama between Linda and David, the pain David feels, the intensity of the conflict and pain of betrayal, and Linda's harboring of a secret that she's not purged for the sake of the morality and healthiness of modern Christianity."

And it made me think about how I felt while writing that novel. The fourth I had written, and at a time when getting published was still a burning dream. But back then, I didn't want to "just" get published. I had something to say. I had stories I thought were important, that I wanted to share with readers, and which I also felt were well-crafted and important enough to reach a commercial audience. I was writing with my heart.

I had no way of knowing it would ever be published. I'd sold some short stories and won some awards, so I thought I had a decent chance, but I didn't know much about the publishing industry. But that book was a hit--alternate selection of the Mystery Guild mail-order book club, Stoker Award finalist, second printing, an amazing sell-through of 90 percent (an average of about 50 percent of all shipped mass-market paperback copies go unsold). Now it's doing well in Kindle, hitting #1 on the "Christian fantasy" bestseller list and as high as #2 in "Ghosts." Some people say it's the best book they've EVER read, including a couple who aren't related to me.

I wrote that book scared. All the fears, conflicts, family lessons, spiritual questions, pain of being human, joy of hope--all I knew about being a human being was in those early books. Even with their structural flaws, the typical internship mistakes, I still felt their power. They affected me, and my chest hummed as I typed, and I felt perhaps that vibe would transmit to the reader. I can't control that end of our transaction, as your response is your own. But I opened up and laid my heart and soul out there. Take, eat.

Somewhere along the way, I had this idea of "a career." I've always believed writers should educate themselves on professional matters, but too much attention to sales numbers, print runs, market conditions, and all the things "you should be doing" somehow become cholesterol that can clog your arteries. Your heart slows a little, perhaps seeing some publishing trend that you should have capitalized on, or some writer near your skill level and genre who gets the big break and push. Or your heart races when you jump into some publicity stunt that's bound to sell some copies. Somewhere along the line, if you're not careful, it becomes more about selling books than sharing stories. The drumbeat of "better keep your numbers up."

I developed a little cynicism that seemed to mirror the growing cynicism of the publishing industry--easy to look for blame in others. Where was my big marketing push? Where was the agent endlessly advocating? Why were my partners failing me? Of course, I was failing them in equal measure, and there's a parallel melodramatic personal story to go along with that publishing internship. I am grateful and fortunate to have been published and connect with readers. It's one of the profoundly satisfying achievements of my life, along with being a decent father and an occasionally good husband.

But the internship is over, and Act II is underway, and today we have an industry where publishers won't consider unagented manuscripts and many agents don't even bother responding to queries. The frenetic rush to cash in on a trend--or change its name, as "paranormal romance" became "urban fantasy" when the former was polluted by too many rushed, mediocre books--is coinciding with a rising do-it-yourself era, where bestsellers will still do very well but midlist writers will have to make tough choices about trying for the brass ring or going indie.

But now, even doing it myself, I say "I'd better write something that sells, so the other books get noticed and purchased and read." But that's not the reason I got into writing in the first place. I want to make a living, but I want to do it with my vision, the things inside me that make me a crazy human, insecure of rejection and egotistical enough to think my vision matters. I don't want to write a cash-in, vapid book, because all that would let me do is buy stuff. It's the reason I've avoided tie-in or corporate-owned fiction, though I've had some chances. That's just a job.

I want to write a book with heart. The kind of books I want to read, and the kind of books I think will survive when trends fade. It's amazing to me that 10 years later there's a new audience for The Red Church. The book still feels fresh. It is, because it was true, and held all the timeless things I wanted to say to the world.

My other books have it, but maybe with a little too much eye on market conditions. My least-successful novel was one I tried to make widely likable, and my last New York novel was written almost in a tooth-grinding state of passive aggression. The sum of the professional industry advice I received can be reduced to:
1) "Write it more like Stephen King"
2) "Write a thriller. They sell."
3) "Have you thought of writing a vampire novel?"

That's it. Now, I'm convinced New York knows better than me how to sell books to one another. They know their industry. I am not so sure they know how to sell books to a reader, or everything they publish would be a bestseller. I am not so sure I know how to sell books to a reader, or I would probably be writing the types of books more readers want--those trends emerge for a reason.

But the one thing I do know, and which NY probably doesn't know or care about, is my heart. All I can write is the truth inside, and let the microchips fall where they may. It's something I often forget. It might be my heart's message only gets to one reader. Maybe a few hundred or a few thousand. Maybe more.

Never once has anyone in the publishing industry asked, "Which idea inspires you? What book are you dying to write? What book would you want to leave as your epitaph? What book would you dedicate to your daughter?"

Maybe other authors have heard it, but not me. And sometimes it makes me woozy that I ever let such a philosophy hold sway over me. I forgot what I was here for. So I ask myself the question: "What happened to your heart? And what are you going to do about it?"

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