I Published My First Book. I’m Still a Little Terrified.

On September 21, I published my first book, Blackthorn: An Audit.

I’m incredibly proud of it. I also still have moments when I wonder whether it’s good enough, whether I missed something, whether I should have read it one more time before letting anyone else see it.

Considering how many times I read it, that last thought is probably unreasonable. But it’s there.

Before Blackthorn, I queried two other books. If you’ve never tried to get a book traditionally published, querying is a whole education in itself. You research agents, learn their submission requirements, write a query letter, rewrite the query letter, and try to convince someone that the manuscript you’ve spent so much time with deserves a closer look.

Writing a book and learning how to pitch one turned out to be very different skills. I’m sure I need a lot more practice writing a good query letter.

I’m still learning the process. I sent the queries. I waited. I received some rejections, but mostly I received no response at all.

I understood that agents receive enormous numbers of submissions. I knew a rejection didn’t necessarily mean the book was bad. Knowing that didn’t keep me from wondering.

The silence was difficult, too. There’s nothing to work with. You don’t know whether the premise didn’t appeal to someone, whether the query needed work, or whether you were simply one of far too many people asking for their attention. I checked my email a dozen times a day, even when I told myself I wouldn’t.

By the time I finished writing Blackthorn, I wanted to give publishing it myself a try. I loved this strange household and their problems. I wanted other people to meet them. It felt like the right book to learn with.

So, I gave myself six weeks to publish it.

I had not edited the book yet. No big deal, right?

In hindsight, that detail should have received more consideration.

At the time, six weeks felt like a deadline I could work toward. I knew there was a lot to do. I just didn’t understand how much of it I still had to learn, or how often finishing one task would reveal three more.

I had written a book. Now I needed to edit it, format it, sort out the cover, research the publishing platforms, order proofs, build a website, and somehow tell people it existed. Nearly all of this was unfamiliar to me, and I was trying to learn it while working toward a date I had already committed to.

If I could go back and give myself one piece of advice, it would be to finish editing before announcing a release date.

I would also suggest allowing more than six weeks.

Possibly in capital letters.

I edited Blackthorn. Then I edited it again. I read it on a screen, read it in proof copies, and listened to it aloud. Hearing the manuscript revealed things my eyes had become very good at skipping. Awkward wording. Repetition. A sentence that made perfect sense in my head and no sense at all when spoken.

I changed things, checked them, and found other things. I wrestled with formatting and creating the perfect cover. I ordered more proofs. I accumulated files with names that suggested a level of finality they had absolutely not earned.

My archives filled up with versions called “final draft 1,” “final final,” “edit copy 10,” and so on. Organization became a priority when I started uploading to the publishing sites and couldn’t remember which file was the actual version I wanted to upload. It got very messy.

There were days when I felt good about the work. There were also plenty when I had been inside it for so long that I couldn’t tell anymore.

That was one of the hardest parts. I wanted to give readers the best book I could, but eventually I had to decide I had done enough to let it go. I could always find another sentence to examine. I could always imagine that one more pass would make me feel completely certain.

I never reached completely certain. I doubt I ever will. I’m a bit of a perfectionist. It’s a blessing and a curse.

I published it anyway.

It takes a particular kind of courage to put something you made into the world. I don’t think I fully understood that until I was doing it. These characters had lived in my head, where I knew their histories and heard their voices. Now someone could buy the book, open it, and decide for themselves whether they wanted to stay.

I wanted that. It also scared me. I can take criticism personally, and I’m still scared some readers won’t connect with it.

Even after all the editing, I still felt the urge to explain myself. To tell people it was my first published book, to quietly ask for clemency, just in case. To somehow soften the possibility that they might not like it.

I’m trying to let the book speak for itself, because underneath all that doubt, I do believe it’s a good book. I basically know it by heart, and some scenes still make me smile.

Release day came and went with no fanfare or celebration. I had to work at my full-time job, in a NICU with the tiniest humans, who needed my full attention. It felt very anticlimactic. I had finally accomplished a dream I’d had since I was a teenager, and I couldn’t say I felt much different than before I sent it out into the world.

The day after release, I had to work again. But I got a notification that evening that made me so happy.

Someone on Threads had read my book. Not only had they read it, they’d finished it in one day and said they couldn’t put it down.

For me, that was everything.

That review went straight on my website.

After all those weeks spent looking for what needed fixing, I got to experience it, briefly, from the other side: a reader meeting the story I had worked so hard to tell.

I needed that more than I realized. Days later, I’m still clinging to it.

One review didn’t make every doubt disappear. I still have plenty of those. But it gave me a moment to stop worrying and enjoy the fact that Blackthorn was out there, being read.

I’m still very new to this. I made mistakes, and I’m sure I’ll make more. Next time, I want to leave myself room to learn without a release date rushing toward me. I want the editing done before I start the countdown.

But I’m glad I followed through.

Blackthorn: An Audit is published. I can hold it in my hands. Other people can read it.

For years, I wanted to be able to say that about a book I had written.

Now I can, and I love that I can add “author” to my name.

—Amy