Let’s get this out of the way: being a “starving artist” isn’t a flex. It’s not romantic. It’s not noble. It’s not a marketing strategy or a badge of authenticity. It’s just hard. And expensive. And exhausting.
I’ve published two volumes of my book, and every single one took money, time, sweat, and a lot of careful budgeting. There’s no rich patron in the wings. There’s just me, some freelance jobs, and a spreadsheet that gets a little too personal at the end of every month.
Indie Publishing Costs Money (Even the “Free” Kind)
People act like you can just slap your book online and call it a day. But even the friendliest platforms have their fees. Lulu is a godsend compared to Amazon/KDP—way less stress, more transparency, and the comfort of knowing I won’t get blocked just for correcting a typo. But proofs, distribution fees, and ISBNs still add up.
And no, a free ISBN from Lulu doesn’t get you worldwide distribution or a spot in every indie bookshop. Those “premium” ISBNs are $125 a pop. You know what else is $125? My monthly grocery budget if I’m lucky. That’s a week of heat in the winter.
You Can’t Eat a Proof Copy (And You Shouldn’t Have To)
There’s a reason I don’t order a print proof until I’m damn sure the manuscript is right. Every order is a commitment: this is the one, because that’s $6-$10 for a small zine sized piece. I can’t just throw even that little sum around. The budget is tight these days.
And when I see people acting like “starving for your art” is some kind of rite of passage, I want to scream. I’ve done the starving part. It’s not a flex, trust me. There’s nothing romantic about skipping dinner so you can hold a physical copy of your book. You can’t eat exposure, and you sure as hell can’t eat a hardcover.
Indie Is Real—And Really Hard (But Worth It)
I’m proud to publish indie. Not because it’s easy. Not because it’s “stick it to the man” hipster stuff. But because it’s honest. It’s what I can afford. And the minute I can afford to upgrade, I will. But for now? I publish at the pace of my paycheck. I choose food and heat and a few small joys, and the book comes out when I can pay for it—no shame in that.
And you know what? That’s freedom, too. I get to call the shots. I get to keep the rights. I get to write the way I want and share it with the people who actually want to read it—not some invisible tastemaker on the other end of an algorithm.
The Elitism Isn’t My Problem
Maybe one day I’ll get picked up by a big publisher and let someone else wrangle with Amazon’s endless blocks and arcane rules. For now, I’ll let Lulu be my indie imprint and keep my integrity (and sanity). You don’t have to sit at the “cool kids table” to make something real and good. You just have to be able to pay for dinner and a little bit of distro.
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