In my defense, I had engaged in some high-level strategic planning before this point. Essentially, I self-published my book while simultaneously learning how to self-publish. Do not send me out into the world embarrassed, ok?’ – alongside the iPad with Catherine Ryan Howard’s ‘Self-Printed’ guide, the instructions of which I followed religiously until I got every bit right (or right-ish, one can live in hope!).
At any given time, I would have my laptop open with my manuscript open, glaring at me ‘Don’t forget there’s a typo in Chapter 8! Sinead didn’t proofread it for no reason, so get on it. You see, it’s a lot of work, very time needy and quite tedious at times, particularly if, like me, you were learning precisely how to do it on the fly. (Come on, everyone ‘Hiii Sharyyyynnnnn’) We should have monthly meetings for everyone who has been through this process to work out our feelings of guilt for neglecting our partners/laundry/pets/feeding the kids ham sandwiches for dinner for a month so that we could get the blasted thing done. My name is Sharyn Hayden and I am a self-publisher. I’ve been at this for the last seven hours, or in Parent Speak since the children went to bed. But then, self-publishing does funny things to you. I took my measurements whilst eating a Crunchie as my partner slept in the bed next to me. It would appear that I ordered a wedding dress online while I was waiting.
Between uploading files, waiting for them to process, checking, making changes, re-uploading for process, I must have become slightly delirious, because ‘In Process’ does not relate to the book I am trying to self-publish, no. Ass Monkey is snoring next to me, a discarded Crunchie wrapper lies crumpled on the bedclothes and wait, is that…a measuring tape? I rub my eyes and re-focus them on the computer screen. I sigh, relieved, relaxing back against the pillows and take a look at my surroundings.
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