Disclaimer: This reflection on the year gone by isn’t exactly easy. But it’s honest. And to any independent author or creator who’s felt this way, it’s okay to feel shit – and still somehow get on with it.
Intro
Where do we go from here? I don’t know; that’s the honest answer.
Unsettled, I guess, is the start of 2026. That crackling undercurrent of anxiety that exists in all of us, but which is not-so-gently yet acutely awoken every time your Facebook screen pops up with another new story about a Reform candidate, World War III or the EHRC toilet police.
I paused to reflect (I always do this time of year), and strangely, I find myself drawn to the gloom. First, how the hell do we stay writing hope in a world that’s lost it? Then, the only logical thought that can follow – am I already Eeyore?
Where is Everyone?
Of course, you’re not here for my meandering take on world polities – even if I do a fab impression of Diane Abbott. Well, I’ve drunk canned mojitos on the Overground before, anyway. So I’ll segue back into talking about writing then.
So I guess the big question is, where is everyone?
I love every single person that’s ever read or engaged with anything I’ve done, that goes without saying (but say it repeatedly, I shall). But 2026 has seen me trying to expand into new markets, new ways of communicating and create ‘funnels’ (I think that’s what they’re called; I still have horrifying flashbacks to Year 9 chemistry lessons). I’ve released two books and dabbled in recruiting ARC readers. I even made a reel. Yes, a video-thing. And redid my whole website.
And crickets.
The Sound of Silence
Oh, no, I must be honest – I have increased my followers to include bots and/or Christian-themed groups that may or may not be here to call me the antichrist. I have also had plenty of direct messages from people who have ‘read my book’ or ‘noticed my book’ and want to promote it if I will DM them. With my credit card and National Insurance number, very likely.
I’ve also learnt about ARC reading and Reviews and had the soul-crushing realisation that independent authors make up a big chunk of profits for self-publishing outlets, but are apparently hampered repeatedly by review-culling algorithms. And that social media networking sites are no longer using hashtags, but instead engagement in a way that rewards 2-second attention spans rather than depth.
Grrr Argh (Feelings)
Yes, little demon at the end of every Buffy credits, grrr argh indeed. Kind of like the climber who reaches the edge of the ridge, only to see he’s barely anywhere up the mountain – I have taken more notice of the indie world, and its various machinations – to realise how small I really am.
But do not mistake me yet again for Eeyore – like any storyteller worth their salt, I’m making a point. Even if I meander like a drunken goose. True story.
I did think about quitting; I’ll be fair. Not quitting writing, because damn it, these stories are just never gonna let me go. I was banging them out in my bedroom as a teenager, creating whole imaginary worlds YEARS before Big Bang Theory made being a nerd cool. And yes, okay, I could have gotten more fresh air and exercise instead, but honestly, as a big gay bear, that’s probably worked out in my favour in the long run. So not quitting writing and imagining, but publishing.
Now before you run for the hills, abandoning a sinking ship, I want to be clear – I’m not going anywhere. I said I thought about it – and if anyone else out there who writes says they never had the same feeling or doubt at any point, I’ll eat my hat. Which I’m not wearing. I’ll buy a hat.
9 years. 10 books. 19 ratings/reviews across Amazon & Goodreads. I don’t even want to go into the profit/loss calculation.
And I am still here.
Choose Wisely
So when it seems like the whole ride is rigged, and in cyberspace no one can hear you scream, what’s the option? Get off. No, not like that – rude – I mean, get off the ride. Change your mind. Spank your inner monkey or whatever the mystics of the world would say. I guess my biggest takeaway from the first eight months of this year has been that doing what everyone says are the ‘right things’ in an industry built for someone else (I mean this in terms of traditional authors and not-exactly-friendly towards queer authors sense, dually), isn’t the right thing for me.
I am here. Social media outlets may bury me under bureaucratic algorithms designed for quick consumption, online self-publishing distributors may prioritise risk-averse shiny trends such as a remarkable amount of werewolf erotica, and maybe the only ones popping into my DMs are ScamBot42. But I. Am. Here.
Online, as in life, I’m going to keep trying to connect. I’ll keep popping posts on, so people can get on down to the website and have themselves a mosey around. I know how the internet works; people’ll still miss every update in favour of a pygmy hippo. Oh, such a cute pygmy hippo. Sorry, where was I?
Oh, right, I’m going to keep trying. Writing is my go-to; it’s my release, it helps me ignore the dumpster fire that seems to be going on in the wider world right now. And more than that, I’m good at it. I know I’m good at it. I know these stories are ones worth telling, because they’re the ones I never got growing up. Yeah, they’re often dark, but they’re queer, and they’re strange, and they’re damn funny at times (often very inappropriately so). They’re there. They matter.
19 people thought so, at one point or another. Enough to make a comment or drop a rating. There was a change, however slight, in the world because someone took a bit of time to read one of my books. They took a chance on an indie author. 19 people is not nothing. It’s something. Which means it is everything.
And I have to keep coming back to that.
‘til the End
Rick Rawes
Leeds, West Yorkshire
18th September 2026
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