I Accidentally Built a Publishing Team

I have accidentally assembled the most amazing team to push my memoir, And So, She Rose, across the goddamned finish line.

It’s incredible.

In three days, I’ve gone from draft cover proposals to final cover design, interior layout with edits, a final page count, and sending that back to the cover designer so she can calculate the spine width and finish the graphics.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, I also navigated the world of ISBNs.

Now, before this week, I didn’t really know what the hell an ISBN was. I mean, I’d seen the number on books before, but I never stopped to think about what it actually meant or where it came from. Apparently, it’s the publishing industry’s way of giving every book its own unique identifier, basically a serial number that follows a book across the entire ecosystem.

A standard. A registry. A universal tracking system.

Or, if you’re feeling cynical, a goddamned ploy for some rogue company to make money off my fucking book.

Whatever.

Publishers and distributors won’t touch your book without one, so there I was, buying not one ISBN, but ten.

Why ten?

Because every format needs its own number. Paperback? ISBN. Hardcover? ISBN. Ebook? ISBN. Audiobook? ISBN. If you change the format, the trim size, or the edition, boom, another ISBN.

And like any good gatekeeping system, the pricing is hilarious. One ISBN costs $195. But ten of them? Well, that’s just $295.

What’s it going to take to get you inside this ten-pack today?

The fake salesman in my head practically leaned across the counter as I hit the purchase button.

Side note: if anyone needs an ISBN, I currently have several extras sitting on my kitchen counter collecting dust. I’d happily trade one for a decent cup of coffee.

See?

That sounded negative.

Here I am on the cusp of publishing my first goddamned book, and I’m still finding something to bitch about.

The truth is, I’ve learned so much in the past few weeks I can barely keep track of it all. The entire process has been incredibly rewarding. Every step of it.

But the real reward will come when a box of printed copies shows up on my doorstep and I get to hold that motherfucker in my hands. The real reward will be handing copies to people who matter to me. Carefully. Reverently. Proudly.

And that moment is coming soon.

The funny part is that when you “assign” an ISBN to your book, you don’t just attach the number. You have to fill out a whole bunch of other information too: categories, subcategories, description, audience, format, publisher name, publication date, price, and a bunch of other details.

Which raises a pretty obvious question: What the hell do you put for publication date when the book isn’t even published yet?

“Chat,” I asked. “Can you help a sister out here?”

Pick a date in May, it said.

Okay, fine. May it is.

Status: forthcoming.

I’m hoping I can change that date later when the book actually goes live, because let’s be honest, this thing might be published well before May 8. It might be March twentieth.

Just saying.

Then there was the question of price.

“Hey chat,” I asked again. “You verbose motherfucker, can you help me out here too?”

Apparently the answer is simple. You can choose any number on that imaginary number line we learned about in kindergarten. Literally any number. So I picked one that seemed reasonable.

At that price point, I’ll only need to sell about a thousand copies to earn back what I’ve invested in this project.

And honestly? That’s okay. Because I didn’t write this book for the money. I didn’t publish this book for the money. I wrote it because I’m a writer. And that’s what writers do. They write. And eventually, if they’re brave enough, they publish.