No More Gatekeepers
Twenty years ago, when I drafted the first two chapters of what would become The Veiled Core Chronicles, publishing felt simpler. You wrote the book, found an agent, pitched a few editors, and hoped someone with a key would unlock the gate. Most of us stood outside, manuscripts in hand, waiting to be chosen.
Now I’ve come back to finish the story, and the landscape—and my options—are entirely different.
I understand the pull of traditional publishing. There’s real validation in having a major house bet on you. The fantasy is seductive: a sharp edit, a gorgeous cover, your book stacked on front tables, a publicist lining up interviews. But after two decades of watching how this really works, I’ve learned how rare that full-court press is, especially for a debut that bends genre expectations. More common is an advance that, spread across the years of writing, comes out to less than minimum wage; a brief promotional window; a safe, look-alike cover; notes nudging the book toward the middle of the road; and, if the launch doesn’t spike, a quiet fade while the rights remain elsewhere.
Self-publishing used to be shorthand for giving up. That’s no longer true. Indie authors are running lean, one-person publishing houses. The tools exist—and they’re good. You can hire world-class editors and designers, distribute globally with print-on-demand, and use innovative tooling (including AI) to prototype covers, pressure-test marketing copy, and streamline production. But independence isn’t romantic. It means you are the publisher and the author. You fund the edit. You decide the timeline. You learn ads, metadata, categories, formats, and budgets. You fight for visibility in a flood of new books. You run a business and protect the spark that made you write in the first place.
So why choose this road? Because of the stories I’m telling.
The Veiled Core Chronicles is odd—in the best way. It opens like military SF and walks, unapologetically, toward the mystical. It starts with a grizzled sergeant and ends with an Oracle wrestling with divinity. Try shelving that neatly. Station 13 takes a different approach—compact and unsettling, it's science fiction that feels like a ghost story, trapping its characters in a place where the rules keep shifting. The Shepherd Descends is more marketable on paper—first contact is having a moment—but it's also a book that could grow beautifully through word of mouth, where readers pass it on to others because they felt something true.
I have two finished manuscripts and a choice to make. For months, I stood at the intersection, weighing credibility versus control, reach versus ownership, patience versus momentum. Here’s where I landed: I’m self-publishing. Control matters more than permission. I want to set the schedule, choose the edit that preserves the book’s soul, commission a cover that actually fits the story, communicate directly with readers, and make adjustments quickly when I learn something new. If I fall short, it’s my miss. If I succeed, it’s ours.
This doesn’t mean I’m closing the door on every traditional opportunity forever. If a great partner shows up later—a translation deal, a special edition, an audiobook collaboration—I’ll listen. But I’m not waiting at the gate. I’m building the road.
If you’re wrestling with the same decision, here’s what I’ve learned: there’s no shame in either path, or in changing paths; your first release doesn’t lock you into a lifetime strategy; success has many shapes; the “best” route is the one that fits your goals, resources, and temperament; finishing the book is the start of a second creative act—getting it into readers’ hands. The gatekeepers no longer hold all the keys. You can make your own door.
So that’s what I’m doing. The Shepherd Descends goes first, independently, on my timeline, with my team. The Veiled Core Chronicles will follow. I’m choosing the path that gives me the most control over the work and the reader experience.
After twenty years, I’m done waiting to be chosen. I’m choosing—now.
