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An Author's Moment of Self-Doubt.  I guess what pushed me over the edge was all the AI bots. They invade my inbox, my direct messages, and now they're invading my Goodreads product pages. Recently, my novel The Golden Princess got a glowing five-star review. The review was well-written—perhaps too well-written. It smelled fishy, and after a little investigation, it was obvious the reviewer account was fake and the review was AI-generated. I fight hard for my reviews, good or bad. If I'm lucky, I might get one a year. Now that AI spammers can muddy up my product pages at will and without repercussion, I ask, "What's the use?" It's like slaving over a hot stove all day, laying out a feast, and no one comes to eat it. And then you have to watch the flies gather and crawl all over the food you worked so hard to cook. That's all I'm attracting now: AI flies. I haven't sold a book in three months. I've been at this since 2011, when I started writing my first novel and first published in 2013. I sell no more books now than I did then. By any measure, I have failed as an author. I'm not saying this looking for pity or to feel sorry for myself. As a pilot, I deal in cold facts and realistic assessments of challenging situations. This is just reality. It's the situation. It's been 16 years since I started writing, and the time has come to reassess and ask myself some difficult questions. <deep breath> So here I go... Why did I get into writing? I had a story in my head that I wanted to get onto paper and share with others in the hopes they would read it and enjoy it. That's it. I have no delusions of literary grandeur. What do I want to write? I want to write my books. I don't want to write for the market, chase trends, or get published just for some damn ego trip. My books are The Chronicles of Fu Xi. It's a unique tale, and one that has no comparable book on the market (but more about this later). What do I want to get out of all of this? I want to find an audience who might enjoy what I'm writing. It doesn't have to be a big audience, and I don't have to make a lot of money. It would be nice just to find maybe a dozen people each year—out of the several billion English speakers who have access to the internet—who might enjoy my novels. And that's the rub, and this rub leads me to some disheartening conclusions. Again, I must face the age-old question that plagues every author at some point: Am I a bad writer? If the answer is yes, it would explain much. I try to be objective, to be my own worst critic. I've taken online writing courses, attended seminars, joined writing groups, and even paid people to critique and edit my work. If I was truly a bad writer, maybe along the way someone I trusted would have told me this, but they haven't. I had three reviews this year from absolute strangers: two really liked my novels, and one thought they were "meh." Since 2013, my novels have received over 200 ratings, with a four-star average. I've won several writing awards. I've published traditionally, albeit nonfiction. By those metrics, one could reasonably conclude I can have some confidence in my literary ability. For my own sanity, I'm going to set this conclusion aside for now (but I don't think I can ever dismiss it until the day I die).  The second disheartening conclusion is that I'm not reaching the right people. So, what have I done thus far to reach my audience? Everything—or at least everything within reason. Since 2011, I've aggressively marketed my books, including starting a business, paid advertising, online platforms, giveaways, book signings, book fairs, contests, and reviewing other authors' books. I've got a website, two blogs, and multiple social media accounts. I've won several writing awards, too. Yet none of this has had any long-term impact on sales. I've had good reviews, but they really don't seem to have any lasting impact, either. My novels have gained zero traction, created no fandom, and attracted no followers. I think the SETI project is having more luck finding aliens than I am finding an audience. All this online presence has only attracted a swarm of spammers and AI bots. Few living human beings have actually read The Chronicles of Fu Xi. Which leads me to my next conclusion. There are no "right people" for my novels. I might have written books that are so far off the literary beaten path that they appeal only to a small fringe of readers. This brings up the question of "labels," otherwise known as genre and subgenre. Labels are legion in literature, especially indie lit: dark fantasy, YA fantasy, romantasy, world-building, high fantasy, low fantasy, sword and sorcery fantasy...I could go on forever. Labels come with built-in fandoms. Herds of indie authors crowd around labels in social media circles. With labels come tribes. In my online writing groups, I see other authors cluster together around these labels like campfires, exchanging ideas, fan bases, and talking about their favorite books and authors in their tribe. What labels are attached to The Chronicles of Fu Xi? The only truly accurate label is "speculative fiction." After that, maybe "epic fantasy," but the label "fantasy" really isn't accurate. Today's fantasy genre is heavily Tolkienesque, with well-established tropes. When you say "fantasy," that's what readers expect. Oh, there are others, like tabletop RPG-based fantasy (which is also Tolkien-based), but they generally gravitate to world-building, magic systems, swords, magic, elves, etc. While that's awesome, it isn't necessarily the reader who might enjoy my novels. When I go to a book fair or join an online writing group, the first thing I look for are books and writers that are similar to myself. I don't find them in fantasy. Strangely, the closest I come to finding them are in literary fiction, due to that genre's character-driven aspects. When fantasy readers review my novels, I get responses like, "I didn't know what to make of this," or "I usually don't read these kinds of books." A publisher once asked me where my novels fit on the shelves. I didn't have a good answer and still don't. When people ask me what my novels are about, I reply, "It's about a man and a demigod desperately trying to save all they love as the world is coming to an end," or "It's The Odyssey meets The Ten Commandments meets Clan of the Cave Bear meets Kung Fu." I walk the aisles of Barnes & Noble or scroll the Amazon best-sellers lists, and conclude that all best-sellers (indie or trad) are firmly in a tribe. Outliers don't sell. Standard labels don't fit my novels—and therefore don't fit (or appeal to) any established tribe. I am tribe-less and will remain tribe-less. Sadly, there is little I can do about this. I didn't chase trends and labels when I wrote The Chronicles of Fu Xi. I chased an idea. Sixteen years after starting the first manuscript, I still can find nothing quite like it—no clear tribe I can call my own. Looking back, if I had understood the literary market and the importance of genre in finding an audience, would I have done anything differently? I'm well established in writing the final installment of The Chronicles of Fu Xi. The check-engine lights are starting to go off regarding my health. I just came off a procedure, and it was a wake-up call. Do I really want to spend another year chained to this laptop, writing and marketing books no one wants to read? It's a legitimate question. Yes, I'm discouraged, and I don't see an easy way through this, but there is a way through this nevertheless. .I've never quit anything in my adult life. I'm not saying I'm quitting now. To hell with the market and labels. If I can't find my tribe, I'll make my own tribe. There is nothing wrong with my novels. They are what they are, and I am what I am. So let's go back to the question of where the hell does The Chronicles of Fu Xi fit on the shelves at your local Barnes & Noble? I'll tell you: all by itself, with its own display, right up by the front door and the coffee shop where everyone can see it. It doesn't have a comp. It is the comp.  Join My Tribe. I can't chase labels or write for the market. I can't spend hours working on a book that my heart isn't excited to write—or reading. It's not in me. I must accept that my novels may never have broad appeal and finish this series. There is a line in Black Sea Gods that is appropriate to how I feel: The only way home is forward.
It's time to swat the flies away, cover the dishes, and start cooking the next meal. Here's my pitch: Join my tribe. Pull up to the table. Try something different. Take a chance on a well-written, original story that takes you off the beaten path. They are good and nourishing, and you've never tasted anything like them.
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