That's a LOT of Words

More Dumb Adventures in Publishing

I still visit Facebook, although I rarely actually communicate with anyone. I’m mainly there to receive updates on my daughter’s 4H and find Onion posts to share with my friend (a neurodivergent tale for another time). I love getting the Facebook Memories, especially as I get older and more sentimental.

Although I’m not officially admitting it, Facebook’s main draws are witnessing grandstanding, virtue signaling social stances, and unfiltered dramatic rants from people I’ve never met.

And the memes.

One of my favorite memes relates to those unhinged rants, typically provided by an “over-sharer.”

In related news, I just approved the proof of my debut novel. It’s a quick read, clocking in at 663 pages (I just missed out on demonic 666, which could have proven problematic.)

Clearly, I’m new to the world of book publishing, since I assumed my 387-page PDF manuscript would contain roughly the same number of pages. That’s what Grok told me, at least.

But in the divine words of Mr. Show-era Bob Odenkirk, “I was worse than right. I was wrong.”

The new, adjusted for idiots page total is a whopping number, and a too-late realization that I wrote a LOT of words (north of 116,000).

Now, I have a book that rivals all the Brandon Sanderson fantasy books that I will never finish.

Now I see why authors release a string of short stories or novellas, rather than putting EVERYTHING into one largely anonymous book.

I spent some two years writing the book, and actually cut out a LOT. I now realize it could have been close to a thousand words. My wonderful developmental editor helped me in this process, but it’s still very difficult to let go of scenes you love (or at least like).

If you’ve spent any time in this space, you’ll know my neurodivergent urges can push me to extremes. This novel (which I am incredibly proud of) rivaled the time I re-entered college with a vigor and gave a twenty-minute speech on Citizens United. (The time limit was five minutes.)

I get so laser-focused that I don’t consider the reality of my situation. I only desire to reach a specific goal, which is always part of some less-attainable, grander vision that I realize I may never obtain.

After receiving twenty (and counting) publisher rejection letters, I realize I wrote a stupid long book. This is why publishers stress writing no more than 75,000 words (a few chapters for me).

The book already faces critical challenges, regardless of its length. It’s a slow burn, as the first chapter introduces the main character and general plot driver (which doesn’t happen for some 60 pages.)

Then, the novel jumps to an entire chapter featuring secondary characters. So of course, I have to tell their whole story, before tying back into the main narrative a chapter later, before departing for an entirely separate chapter devoted to the main antagonist.

But then, once you’re about 300 pages in, the story really takes off.

I joke—it’s a great read if you like diving into how past events shape a person’s present. I explore the intersection of dreams and desires, jumping from gritty desert to heightened leaps of metaphysical fancy.

You know, like any other Western.

It’s a remarkable book, at least in terms of how unmarketable it is. Since I was too busy cramming in every essential detail, I never considered how to actually market the book.

Some of you who are neurodivergent may be familiar with my personal axiom: “I never fit into one category.” So it goes without saying (as I’m saying it"), that naturally, my debut novel doesn’t either.

It’s mainly a Western, although classic Western readers likely don’t want to delve into whole chapters dealing with trauma-influenced pop philosophical pseudo-psychology.

Similarly, the novel features accessible fantasy, at least in terms of the main character struggling to cast a spell. However, magic or witchcraft is NOT what defines the book (although the main character is called THE WITCH).

It’s probably best described as “literary fiction.” However, it’s likely not high-brow enough to fit this genre. After all, there is pulpy violence throughout (it’s a Spaghetti Western after all).

It’s not procedural enough to be a psychological thriller. There is a lingering spiritual mystery unfolding throughout, something I never quite understood but hope to further explore in a future book.

The book makes perfect sense to me. So does my tagline, “Sergio Corbucci meets Hans Asperger.”

Does that not scream New York Times bestseller?

In the meantime, I’ll keep pounding away on Substack (which I enjoy) and strive to build an organic audience with the hope of eventually writing more books (and possibly even selling a few).

A writer friend (I have a really dumb story about him to tell one day) has been sharing what he’s learned after releasing his book.

Which, by the way, is really good. Buy it here.

One of his more successful strategies is to use promotional e-book giveaways to get the book in readers’ hands.

Or, as I’m slowly learning, you “give away” the book that’s already being given away on Kindle Unlimited.

Who knows? There may be someone out there who finds it intriguing. There has to be an audience out there somewhere.

It’s probably better if people find the e-book version. Simply picking up a 663-page paperback takes some effort, let alone deciding you want to pay actual money to read it.

And then there are the words.

“I ain’t reading all that.”

I don’t blame you.