This week, I didn’t write a single word of fiction.
Not because I didn’t want to
Not because the ideas weren’t there
But because a mountain of paperwork held me hostage.
There’s a persistent myth that being an author is mostly about sitting around dramatically, staring out windows, occasionally typing inspired sentences while drinking something artisanal. And yes, sometimes it is that, although in my case the beverage of choice is coffee, and being in New Zealand, the chances are it will be artisanal. We’re nothing if not coffee snobs.
But an alarming amount of the job is actually… admin. This is the unglamorous reality of being a working author in the age of indie-publishing. Endless publishing admin that turns writing into a small part of a much larger business.
Admin that is endless, creeping, and quietly eats your creative brain.
~ Metadata
~ Backmatter updates
~ Cover files
~ Blurb tweaks
~ Retailer requirements
~ ISBN tracking and lodgment
~ Pen name separation
~ Release schedules
~ Pricing consistency
~ Promo copy that has to exist in twelve different formats
For the past week, I’ve been pulling eight-hour days doing nothing but getting everything up to date. No exaggeration. I’d sit down thinking, I’ll just fix this one thing, and look up to realize the day had vanished into a vortex of tabs, folders, notes-to-self, and increasingly unhinged spreadsheets.
Ah yes. The spreadsheet.
Once upon a time, my “monster Excel spreadsheet” was a thing of beauty. It tracked everything. It made me feel competent. In control. Like a proper professional author with her act together. So many pretty colors.
What was beautiful now resembles a pixelated Jackson Pollock on a bad day.
To read the remainder of this blog, and hear about these beauties, you can check it out on SUBSTACK
Writing, indie-publishing, creative admin, and the tools that keep it all from collapsing.
