It used to be that self-publishing wore a kind of stigma. if a real publisher didn’t want you, you clearly lacked both talent and a solid grasp of semicolons. Today, self-publishing is practically a badge of honour. Like saying you “don’t even own a television.” But for people who spend three hours a night on Scrivener.
So I’d suggest you figure out how to self-publish. To me, submitting to the Big Five is like auditioning for a reality show where most contestants never even get on camera. Self-publishing, by contrast, might just be your smartest move. It can save you from a lifetime of politely waiting for someone else to approve your dreams.
The Old Dream vs. The New Reality
For decades, the traditional path ruled all: write book → find agent → get huge publisher → become literary legend → buy castle. But that pipeline was designed in a different century, one with rotary phones and gatekeepers who didn’t worry about TikTok trends. A world where the only algorithm that mattered was how long your manuscript could survive in a slush pile.
When I left advertising to write books, I envisioned a smooth glide into the establishment. I looked forward to my book magically appearing in window displays while I practiced graciously pretending not to check sales numbers.
Here’s how it actually went. Fifteen months of querying. Over 260 emails. More different kinds of samples demanded (the first five pages, first ten, first chapter, first three chapters) than there are actual pages in my book. A caffeine level that turned my blood into espresso. Somehow, I secured an agent, someone who said my book was “interesting.” Or maybe was it “different.” It doesn’t matter. I took the description as a compliment. I don’t think it was meant that way. What followed proved it. Eleven publishers said “thanks, but no thanks.” My hard-won, recently secured agent bowed out. And I was left with stony silence. Just the sound of my hopes deflating like a sad balloon.
It took me a while to realize something. I was playing by rules written before email existed. And even if a publisher had picked me, I was still going to be doing most of the work. So if I’m apparently the engine that has to power this locomotive, why not just drive the train myself?
The Rules Have Changed
Sure, the Big Five still launch bestsellers. Yes, landing a deal is impressive. No, they don’t get to decide whether your book deserves a place on Earth anymore.
Readers aren't waiting for publishers to tell them what to enjoy. They discover books because a stranger yelled about it on TikTok. Readers click “Buy Now” after a friend posts a midnight rave in a group chat. They stumble onto gems via newsletters, indie bookstores, personal recommendations, podcasts, and online platforms that would make a traditional acquisitions editor clutch their pearls.
Sending your masterpiece off to a traditional publisher is basically like waiting at a remote train station where trains haven’t run since 1987. Self-publishing, on the other hand, lets you grab the controls. Sure, the locomotive might cough a little smoke at first. (It might even be missing a wheel.) But it moves. And the view from the front is infinitely better than the view from the platform
You’ll Market Your Book Anyway
Here is the cold, unvarnished truth. Even if you score a traditional deal, you’ll still be the main marketing department. Debut author budgets tend to be, let’s say… shy. Occasionally invisible. If you’re lucky, you might get a mention on the publisher’s social channels (posted by the intern, right before their lunch break).
Meanwhile, the publisher pours its real money into the authors who are already selling a gazillion copies because those authors generate the income that buys publishing CEOs the fuel they need for their yacht.
Self-publishing, on the other hand, lets you set the launch date instead of waiting eighteen months for a vaguely “seasonally aligned” slot. You choose your pricing, your promotions, your email strategy. And your level of willingness to dance awkwardly on TikTok. And when your effort leads directly to a sale, you get to enjoy a small celebration, maybe fist pump, in my case a cookie.
Learning how to market self-published work can be painful. It feels like performing standup comedy in a mall food court where the only audience is a teenager wearing noise-canceling headphones. But it’s also where you grow. Learning how to self-publish, you learn to pitch your book to engaged readers, and to become the advocate your story deserves.
Creative Freedom (See also: “No Suits in Your Brain”)
Traditional publishing can feel like writing by committee. Notes pile up. Trends dictate changes. Editors want you to cut the quirky scene you loved because it “doesn’t fit house style.” Eventually, you start trimming your personality right out of your story, until what’s left is technically good. And thoroughly bland.
Those of us who have ventured into the realm of how to self-publish a novel, know the self-publishing process lets you write the book you want.
Have a chapter told entirely from the villain’s pet tarantula’s perspective? No one can stop you. Want to play with structure, tone, pacing, or genre boundaries? Go wild. Your only limit is your imagination, and possibly the sanity of anyone trying to follow it. Hey, if someone claims your subplot wanders like a tourist without a map? Congratulations, at least it’s an interesting wander
Speed and Flexibility
Traditional publishing runs at a speed best described as “geological.” Between querying, editorial schedules, design cycles, seasonal catalog windows, and sales meetings, years can pass before your book exists in the real world. By then, trends have shifted and you’ve emotionally moved on to three new book ideas.
The self-publishing process, on the other hand, can be startlingly fast. Write, edit, publish. All in the same year your enthusiasm still exists.
And you can keep adjusting. Change a typo? Done. Update the cover? Upload a new one. Release a second edition before the first one fossilizes? Absolutely. Your book evolves with you, not with a boardroom agenda.
A Direct Connection with Readers
Traditional publishing adds layers. Typically, this involves publisher to distributor to retailer to reader. By the time feedback reaches you, it’s filtered through more humans than a game of literary telephone.
Self-publishing removes the middlemen, those guys who like to keep their middle chair with its easy access into your pocket.
You get direct reader emails. Direct reviews. Direct joy when someone says your book changed their day. Or their life. You can send signed books, create bonus chapters, offer tucked-away lore, and build a community of people who actually care what you’re writing next,
It’s No Shortcut
Self-publishing isn’t a shortcut. It’s not easier. It’s just yours. You get ownership, control, speed, and connection. You get to watch your book live in the world because you made that happen. And no one, absolutely no one, gets to tell you your story isn’t worth sharing.
We’re no longer in the era when authors wait for permission like obedient children in a Victorian boarding school. If you believe in your work, self-publishing hands you the baton and says: “Run.”
Plot Twist: The More Direct Route
Self-publishing isn’t the “backup option” anymore. It’s the direct route. The path with fewer velvet ropes and more open doors. Yes, sometimes you’re also the one building the door. And the hinges. And maybe the doormat. But it leads somewhere real.
So don’t wait for someone else to call you a writer. You already are one. Publish boldly. Market awkwardly. Learn constantly.
In my view, permission slips are for kindergarten, not authors
This essay is one of a collection of pieces documenting the bedlam involved in writing and self-publishing my ongoing genre fiction series: The Misjudgements of Andy MacKay, available on Amazon.