When people ask me what the weirdest part of becoming a published author has been, they usually expect me to say something dramatic.
Signing the contract. Seeing my name next to a publisher. Knowing my book will be on shelves.
Those moments are surreal. But they aren’t the weirdest part. The weirdest part is realizing that writing the book was only half the job.
For years, my focus was simple. Write a better sentence. Fix the chapter. Strengthen the dialogue. Cut the scene that wasn’t working.
Everything pointed inward, toward the manuscript.
Now, for the first time, I’m thinking outward. How do readers discover a new author? What should my website say in the first five seconds? What belongs in a newsletter? How do I introduce myself to someone who’s never heard my name before? What colors feel like my stories? Which fonts feel like me?
Those aren’t questions I expected to spend so much time answering. And yet they’re part of the job. Publishing isn’t just about marketing. It’s about connection. A book can’t mean something to someone if they never know it exists. That realization has completely changed the way I think about this stage of the journey.
I’m not trying to become louder. But I am trying to become clearer.
I want readers who find me to know exactly what kind of stories I tell. Stories about hope. Healing. Found family. The people behind impossible dreams.
Everything I’m building now—this newsletter, my website, my social media—is really just an invitation. No, not to buy a book. But to begin a conversation.
And hopefully, somewhere along the way, to discover a story that stays with you long after you’ve turned the last page.
If you discovered a new author today, what would make you stick around before their book even came out?