There's No Such Thing as Self-Published

I’m in the process of writing two children’s books. And I’ve been telling people I’m planning to self-publish.

It’s the honest, industry-standard way to describe it. I’m not going through a big traditional publisher. I’m bringing the books to life outside that system.

But the more I say “self-published”, the more it feels like a lie.

Because I’m not doing this myself. Not even close.

Here’s one small example of what I mean. For a few months I was trying to find an illustrator. This is a big decision. The right illustrator can bring a book to life, and the wrong one can flatten it.

I didn’t find my answer through research. I didn’t find it by hiring some service. I found it through a chain of relationships I never could have planned.

It goes like this.

My friend Elmer has known me for a long time. A while back, he thought I’d hit it off with a guy named Kenneth, so he introduced us. Kenneth and I stayed loosely in touch. Recently, Kenneth reached out wanting some feedback on a project. I asked if we could push it a few weeks, because I had a lot going on, including writing two children’s books.

And he said, oh, I’ve got someone you need to meet.

That someone was Justine. That conversation was amazing. And somewhere in it, Justine told me about Reedsy, the marketplace where I found my illustrator.

So follow that line back with me.

The book that will one day have my name on the cover exists, in part, because Elmer knew Kenneth. And Kenneth knew Justine. And Justine knew about Reedsy. Pull any one of those people out of the chain, and I’m not holding the same book.

I didn’t build that chain. It was built by years of other people staying connected.

That’s when the word “self-published” fell apart for me.

We love a good self-made story in this country. The lone genius. The founder in the garage. The author who did it all on their own. It’s a fear-based story, if you look closely. It says I owe no one. I stand on my own. I did this alone.

But nobody makes anything alone. Not a book. Not a business. Not a life.

The truth is quieter and a lot more beautiful. I’m held up by an ecosystem. A web of relationships, most of which I didn’t engineer and can’t fully see. Some of the people holding up my work have never even met each other.

And here’s what that changes for me. If the relationships are what make the work possible, then tending them isn’t a distraction from the work. It is the work.

I don’t mean networking. I don’t mean collecting contacts to use later. I mean the slow, unglamorous stuff. Staying friends with Elmer for years with no agenda. Kenneth being generous enough to say, you should meet this person. Justine sharing what she knew, freely. None of it was transactional. All of it mattered.

So I think I’ll keep saying self-published, because it’s the word people understand. But in my head, I’ll know it isn’t true.

So, here are some thoughts to sit with. Think about the thing you’re proudest of building. Then trace the line back, past yourself, to the people who made it possible. How far back does it go? And who’s holding it up that you’ve never even thanked?

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