Traditional vs. Self-Publishing: Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Accept That Both Paths Will Cost You Your Soul (Just in Different Currencies)

Let’s be honest about something the publishing industry doesn’t advertise, probably because it would tank morale faster than reading Goodreads reviews on a bad day: getting rid of the gatekeeper costs you time and money, but keeping the gatekeeper does too.

There’s no free lunch here. There’s barely a reasonably priced lunch. The question isn’t whether you’ll pay—it’s how you’ll pay, what currency you’re using (time? money? sanity? all three?), and whether that price aligns with what you’re actually trying to accomplish versus what you saw in a heartwarming indie author TikTok at 2 AM.

The Gatekeeping Tax Works Both Ways (And Neither Way Includes Dental)

Traditional publishing charges you in time and opportunity cost, like a very slow, very literary layaway plan. You’ll spend months or years querying agents (form rejections arrive faster than pizza delivery). Then, more months or years on submission to publishers (silence arrives even faster). Then, 1-3 years from contract to publication, during which your book sits in editorial purgatory while market trends shift, your creative momentum stalls, and you wonder if you should have just gotten an MBA.

If you don’t land a deal—and statistically, most don’t—you’ve spent years on a process that leads nowhere, like getting a degree in philosophy. Except philosophy departments don’t send form rejections that begin with “Thank you for your submission, but...”

Self-publishing charges you in cash and labor, preferably both, and more than you budgeted. You’re looking at $2,000-5,000 minimum for professional editing, cover design, and formatting—and that’s assuming you don’t fall down the Instagram rabbit hole of “premium book marketing packages” that promise the moon and deliver a slightly optimistic LinkedIn post.

Then you become a small business owner, which is a phrase that sounds empowering until you’re learning about ISBN registration, tax forms, and Facebook Ads Manager at the same time. The gatekeepers didn’t disappear—you hired them as freelancers and now you’re managing the whole operation while also trying to, you know, write.

Both paths cost you something precious. The question is which cost you’re better equipped to pay, and whether you can pay it without developing a stress condition that requires more than herbal tea to manage.

The Marketing Reality No One Wants to Hear (But I’m Going to Tell You Anyway Because I Lack Boundaries)

Here’s the uncomfortable truth that every published author knows but nobody tells debut writers because it would be cruel: whether you go traditional or self-published, you’re doing the marketing.

I’ll say it louder for the people in the back romanticizing book tours: You’re. Doing. The. Marketing.

Traditional publishing might get your book into stores (where it will live for approximately six weeks before being returned to the warehouse like unwanted Christmas sweaters). But unless you’re a lead title with a marketing budget that exceeds the GDP of a small nation, you’re still building your own platform, booking your own podcast appearances, and grinding away on social media like a very literate content creator.

The publisher handles distribution and some publicity logistics—they’ll send out review copies, maybe pitch you to some media outlets. But the actual work of finding readers, convincing them to care, and converting strangers into people who will pay money for your thoughts? That’s on you, babe.

Self-publishing makes this explicit from day one, which is either refreshing honesty or a punch in the face, depending on your temperament. You’re running Facebook ads (learning why the algorithm hates you specifically), building email lists (discovering that “build it and they will come” is not actually a business model), engaging on Reddit (where someone will inevitably tell you your book sounds “mid”), or whatever works for your genre.

Either way, you need to learn how to take criticism without it destroying you—and I mean criticism from readers, reviewers, algorithms, your own mother who just doesn’t understand why you couldn’t write something “more uplifting”—and you need to figure out how to market yourself without selling your soul in the process.

Some writers can do this while protecting their creative core. They can post on Instagram about their book without feeling like a carnival barker. They can handle one-star reviews like meditation koans. They are probably lying, but let’s give them the benefit of the doubt.

Others find that constant self-promotion corrodes the very thing that made them want to write in the first place. The voice that could spin a sentence into gold suddenly sounds like a LinkedIn influencer. The ideas dry up because the creative well has been replaced by a content calendar. The joy dies.

This is the part that matters, so I’m going to use bold text like I’m shouting at a workshop: not everyone is cut out to be a “whole artist.”

Some people are brilliant writers who wilt under the pressure of being their own brand manager, publicist, and business strategist. There’s no shame in that. The romantic image of the writer-entrepreneur grinding their way to success makes for inspiring social media content (and sells a lot of courses), but it’s a terrible fit for many talented people who just want to write good sentences without also having to master Google Analytics.

If you’re someone who needs to protect your creative energy from the soul-drain of marketing—if the thought of posting about your book three times a week makes you want to lie down in a dark room—traditional publishing’s infrastructure might be worth the trade-offs. Even if that infrastructure is more modest than you hoped. Even if you still have to do more marketing than you wanted. At least you’re not doing all of it while also managing freelancers and learning Canva.

Go Traditional If You Want:

Distribution and credibility - Your book in physical bookstores (those still exist!), libraries (bless them), and with automatic consideration from major media outlets and reviewers who ignore self-published work like it’s wearing a sandwich board on the subway. This still matters, especially outside the biggest commercial genres and especially if you want your book taught in schools or discussed in literary circles that still care about these things.

Professional infrastructure - A team handling production, cover design, sales relationships, and industry connections you couldn’t build alone unless you have a truly impressive Rolodex and/or a trust fund. You’re not managing freelancers at 2 AM or learning Adobe InDesign through YouTube tutorials narrated by someone with an incomprehensible accent.

Validation and prestige - Traditional publishing still carries more weight in literary circles, academic settings, and for career credibility. Yes, this is changing. Yes, it’s arguably elitist. Yes, it still matters if you want certain doors to open. The world is complicated and unfair; I don’t make the rules.

Advance money - Getting paid upfront, even though advances have shrunk significantly (we’re not talking Gilded Age money here) and many never earn out. But there’s real psychological and financial value in being paid before your book succeeds rather than gambling on its performance like a very literary scratch-off ticket. A side note: I recently was involved with a deal from a traditional publisher who offered nothing in advance and wished to keep the rights indefinitely.

To focus on writing - You hand off most non-writing tasks, though you’ll still need to be an active collaborator in promotion because, again, you’re doing the marketing. But the burden is lighter, and you’re not solely responsible for every operational detail from ISBN to invoice. Your publisher handles the boring parts. You just handle the creative parts and the promotional parts and the existential crisis parts.

The trade-offs: You give up control over cover design (they will not use your friend’s beautiful watercolor), pricing (no, you can’t make it $3.99), and publishing timeline (you will wait, and you will like it). You earn lower royalties—typically 10-15% of cover price versus 35-70% self-publishing, which means you need to sell a lot more books to make the same money. The process takes 1-3 years from acceptance to publication, during which you will age visibly. And as many authors report with the haunted look of veterans, you may still feel like nothing was done for your book if you’re not a lead title getting the red carpet treatment. The support exists, but it may not be what you imagined when you dreamed of being A Real Published Author.

Go Self-Publishing If You Want:

Speed and control - Publish on your timeline (tomorrow, if you’re reckless; six months, if you’re reasonable), choose your own cover (please hire a professional), set your price (dynamic pricing is a thing now), make all creative decisions. No waiting for editorial committees to align or marketing departments to find time in their Q4 schedule. You are the committee. You are the department. God help you.

Higher royalties - Keep 35-70% of each sale instead of 10-15%. The math can work powerfully in your favor if you can generate sales, which is a big “if” roughly the size of an ocean, but when it works, it really works.

Direct reader relationship - You own your email list and customer data, which sounds boring until you realize this is the difference between renting attention (from Amazon, from a publisher’s marketing department) and owning it. You’re building an asset, not hoping someone else will remember you exist.

Niche topics - Traditional publishers avoid markets they consider too small, which is basically any market that can’t sustain a Target endcap. You can profitably serve 1,000 devoted readers in a way that makes no sense to a major publisher’s business model but makes perfect sense to yours.

Long-term rights - You own everything and can pivot strategy anytime. Your book doesn’t go out of print when a publisher decides it’s not worth their warehouse space, which happens faster than you’d think and feels worse than you’d imagine.

The trade-offs: You pay all upfront costs—editing, cover design, formatting, marketing. Budget $2,000-5,000 minimum for quality, and understand that “minimum” can easily become “significantly more” once you discover how much good editing actually costs and how many revisions your cover designer thinks are reasonable. You have almost no access to physical bookstores (they don’t want to deal with you, sorry) or mainstream media coverage (they don’t know you exist). You must learn marketing, advertising, and platform-building or your book disappears into the algorithmic void like that text you sent that never got a response. You handle everything yourself or manage freelancers, which is its own skill set involving diplomacy, firm boundaries, and the ability to send “just following up!” emails without sounding desperate. The stigma is fading but still exists in some circles, particularly outside commercial fiction and particularly among people who peaked in 2004.

Hybrid Publishing (Worth Mentioning Because Some People Are Greedy and I Respect That)

The binary choice is increasingly obsolete, like fax machines or the idea that writers should suffer for their art.

Many authors do both—traditionally publish some books while self-publishing others, or start self-published to build an audience then move to traditional (with leverage!), or vice versa (with experience!). Successful authors often use traditional deals for prestige projects and self-publish their backlist or rapid-release series.

The publishing landscape increasingly rewards strategic thinking more than loyalty to a single path. Monogamy is for relationships, not publishing models.

The Real Questions to Ask Yourself (Before You Spiral at 3 AM):

What’s your goal? Literary recognition? Maximum income? Getting your message out quickly? Building a long-term writing business? These goals point toward different paths, and “all of the above” is not a realistic answer unless you have superhuman energy or significant pharmaceutical support.

What are your strengths? Are you entrepreneurial (do you get excited by spreadsheets?) or do you prefer focusing solely on craft (do spreadsheets make you want to weep)? Can you handle criticism and marketing without losing your creative center, or do you need more insulation from the commercial side to stay human?

What’s your genre? Romance, thrillers, and sci-fi thrive in self-publishing ecosystems like particularly resilient weeds. Literary fiction and debut narratives still have structural advantages in traditional publishing, mostly because the people who review literary fiction don’t know what Kindle Unlimited is.

Do you have an audience already? Self-publishing works dramatically better if you can drive your own sales from day one. Starting from zero is possible but much harder, like learning to swim by being thrown in the ocean. Some people are natural swimmers. Most people are not.

How much money can you invest upfront? Quality self-publishing isn’t free, and cutting corners shows. Be honest about your budget, and remember that “I’ll just do it myself” usually means “I’ll do it badly because I don’t actually have those skills.”

How much of yourself can you give to marketing? This might be the most important question, and it’s the one most writers skip because it feels less noble than questions about art and legacy. But here’s the truth: some writers can hustle without it poisoning their relationship to their work. Others can’t. The ones who can’t but try anyway end up bitter, burned out, and writing Medium posts about how publishing is broken. Know which kind of person you are before you commit.

The Bottom Line (In Which I Fail to Give You a Clear Answer Because Life Is Complicated)

The publishing landscape has changed radically in ways that would make writers from 1995 weep with confusion. Neither path is inherently better—they’re different business models serving different needs and, crucially, different kinds of people.

The authors who seem happiest (relatively speaking; we’re still talking about writers here) are those whose choice aligns with their actual goals, their genuine strengths, and their tolerance for different kinds of stress—rather than prestige assumptions or romanticized ideas about either path gleaned from author Instagram accounts that show the highlights reel, not the 3 AM panic attacks.

Removing the gatekeeper costs you. Keeping the gatekeeper costs you. The only question is which cost you’re better equipped to pay, and whether you can pay it without losing the thing that made you want to write in the first place.

Because here’s what nobody tells you when you’re dreaming of being a Published Author: the hardest part isn’t getting published. It’s staying yourself while doing it.

What are you hoping to achieve with your writing?

(And please, for the love of God, be honest with yourself about the answer.)

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And now a cooking lesson, because apparently we haven't suffered enough, let's do this again, but with more measuring cups.

How to Cook Your Book Deal: A Recipe for Writers Who Enjoy Suffering

By Liz Dubelman

Description

A comprehensive guide to publishing your book, featuring two distinct preparation methods: the slow-roasted traditional approach and the DIY pressure-cooker method. Both will cost you something precious. Neither includes a money-back guarantee.

Serves: Your ego (portions vary dramatically).

Prep time

Traditional: 1,095-2,190 minutes (that’s 2-3 years, but “minutes” sounds less soul-crushing)

Self-Publishing: 180-365 minutes (6-12 months of frantic activity)

Cook time

Traditional: 525,600-1,576,800 minutes (1-3 years from contract to publication, during which you will age visibly)

Self-Publishing: As fast as you can throw money at freelancers and learn Canva

Serves

1 writer’s ambition Feeds: Between 47 readers (your extended family) and potentially thousands (if the algorithm gods smile upon you)

Equipment

• 1 functioning laptop (preferably not held together with duct tape and prayer)

• 1 completed manuscript (or something resembling one)

• 1 industrial-strength sense of humor

• 1 therapist (optional but recommended)

• 1 social media presence (size irrelevant; existential dread about maintaining it mandatory)

• 1 support system willing to hear about your book for the 847th time

• Thick skin (store-bought is fine)

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Ingredients

For Traditional Publishing (The Gatekeeper Method):

• 2-3 years of your life (prime years preferred)

• 100-200 query letters (pre-rejection recommended for efficiency)

• 1 literary agent (extremely rare; substitute with hope and desperation)

• 1 publisher willing to gamble on you (unicorn-level rarity)

• 10-15% royalty rate (pre-diminished)

• Infinite patience (cannot be purchased; must be cultivated through suffering)

• 1 advance payment (sizes range from “is this a typo?” to “I can pay rent!”)

• Low to moderate control over your own book

• Automatic access to bookstores and libraries

• Built-in credibility (shelf-stable, preservative-free)

• A team of professionals (quality and enthusiasm vary wildly)

• The persistent feeling that nothing was actually done for your book

For Self-Publishing (The DIY Method):

• $2,000-$5,000 (minimum; maximum approaches infinity)

• 1 professional editor (do not substitute with your English-teacher aunt)

• 1 cover designer (your nephew who “knows Photoshop” will not suffice)

• 1 formatter (unless you enjoy crying over margins at 3 AM)

• 35-70% royalty rate (pre-inflated with optimism)

• Complete creative control (comes with complete responsibility)

• 1 functioning website

• 1 email list (currently containing your mom and that guy from college)

• Moderate to advanced marketing skills (or willingness to learn while sobbing)

• 1 Amazon KDP account

• 1 social media strategy (YouTube tutorials recommended)

• The ability to describe yourself as an “entrepreneur” without laughing

• Unlimited impostor syndrome (organic, locally sourced)

Universal Ingredients (Required for Both Methods):

• 1 completed manuscript (actually finished, not “finished in my head”)

• Marketing labor (your own, unpaid)

• Emotional resilience (industrial-grade)

• Ability to process criticism without having a full breakdown

• Willingness to promote yourself without wanting to die inside

• Time you will never get back

• Dreams (pre-crushed for efficiency)

• Realistic expectations (extremely difficult to source)

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Directions

Method 1: Traditional Publishing (Slow-Roasted with Gatekeepers)

Step 1: Write your book. Actually finish it. Not “almost done,” not “just needs one more revision,” but done. This will take longer than you think. Much longer. Set aside 1-3 years, your dignity, and your belief that writing is fun.

Step 2: Research literary agents like you’re planning a heist. Read their wish lists. Study their Twitter feeds. Learn their favorite coffee orders if necessary. This is not creepy; this is “professional networking.”

Step 3: Write a query letter. Rewrite it 47 times. Have it critiqued by other writers. Rewrite it again. The query letter is a one-page document that will determine whether your 300-page manuscript gets read. Yes, this is insane. No, there’s no way around it.

Step 4: Send 100-200 query letters. Receive 95-195 form rejections. Receive 4-5 requests for the full manuscript. Experience brief, misguided hope. Get rejected by those too. Question every life choice that led you here.

Step 5: If you land an agent (approximately 1-2% success rate, like getting into Harvard but with worse pay), celebrate for exactly 24 hours. Then realize the agent now has to sell your book to publishers. This will take 6 months to 2 years. During this time, pretend you’re not checking your email every 4 minutes.

Step 6: If a publisher makes an offer (your agent is legally required to act excited even if the offer is disappointing), negotiate your contract. Your advance will likely be between $0 - $3,000 for a debut author (yes, zero is a number now; welcome to 2025). Yes, that’s for 2-5 years of work. No, the math doesn’t math. Accept it anyway.

Step 7: Wait 1-3 years for publication while your book goes through editing, cover design, marketing discussions, and the publisher’s mysterious internal processes that no one can adequately explain.

Step 8: Realize that unless you’re a lead title with a marketing budget exceeding the GDP of a small nation, you’re doing your own marketing anyway. Build your platform. Engage on social media. Book your own podcast appearances. Pretend you enjoy talking about yourself.

Step 9: Watch your book appear in bookstores for approximately six weeks before it’s returned to the warehouse like unwanted Christmas sweaters. Experience both pride and existential dread simultaneously.

Step 10: Earn 10-15% of the cover price per book sold. Do the math on how many books you need to sell to earn minimum wage for the time invested. Quietly weep. Start writing the next book because apparently, you hate yourself.

Method 2: Self-Publishing (Pressure-Cooker Style)

Step 1: Write and finish your book. Same as Method 1, but now you can’t blame rejection on gatekeepers not “getting it.” The pressure is entirely on you. Enjoy that.

Step 2: Hire professionals or accept that your book will look self-published in the worst way. Budget $2,000-$5,000 minimum. Hire a developmental editor ($1,000-$3,000), a copy editor ($500-$1,500), a cover designer ($300-$2,000), and a formatter ($200-$500). Yes, all of these. No, you cannot skip steps. Your friend who “reads a lot” is not an editor.

Step 3: Learn to become a small business owner overnight. Register your business. Get an EIN. Understand ISBN numbers. Figure out distribution. Learn about taxes. Discover that “passive income” is a lie told by people selling courses about passive income.

Step 4: Create your author platform from scratch. Build a website (learn WordPress, pay someone or join The Write Kit). Start an email list (learn Mailchimp, ConvertKit, or Substack). Master social media (pick your poison: Instagram, TikTok, Twitter, Facebook, or all of them while your soul slowly dissolves).

Step 5: Upload your book to Amazon KDP, Draft2Digital, IngramSpark, and wherever else you can get distribution. Realize you have more accounts and passwords than a hacker. Discover that each platform has different formatting requirements. Question why you didn’t just get a regular job.

Step 6: Learn marketing because Amazon’s algorithm will not discover you organically unless you’re already famous, which you’re not, or you’d have gone traditional. Figure out Facebook Ads, Amazon Ads, BookBub, newsletter swaps, and whatever new platform the kids are using now. Budget $200-$2,000+ per month for ads. Maybe make $47 back. Tell yourself it’s “building an audience.”

Step 7: Handle all customer service yourself. Answer emails. Process returns. Explain to your aunt why your book isn’t in her local Barnes & Noble. Manage your own inventory if you ordered print copies. Realize you are now a warehouse worker.

Step 8: Earn 35-70% royalties per sale, which sounds great until you realize you sold 12 copies this month and three of them were to your mom under different names to make you feel better.

Step 9: Release another book within 6-12 months because the algorithm rewards consistent output. Repeat this process while maintaining your sanity, relationships, and day job. (You still have a day job, right? Please tell me you kept your day job.)

Step 10: Experience the freedom of complete creative control and the crushing weight of complete responsibility. Realize that “entrepreneurship” is just “doing everything yourself” with better branding.

Universal Steps (Apply to Both Methods):

Step 11: Market your book relentlessly while pretending you’re not dead inside from constant self-promotion. Post on social media three times per week minimum. Engage authentically while your authentic self wants to hide under a blanket.

Step 12: Learn to take criticism from readers, reviewers, your mother-in-law who “just has some thoughts,” and random people on Goodreads who rate your book one star because they don’t like the font. Develop emotional calluses.

Step 13: Handle success and failure with equal amounts of grace while internally oscillating between “I’m a genius” and “I should have gone to law school.”

Step 14: Write the next book because apparently one round of suffering wasn’t enough.

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Metadata

Category: Soul-crushing career advice, Publishing realities, Creative writing (the business part no one told you about)

Keywords: Traditional publishing, self-publishing, author platform, literary agents, book marketing, existential dread, creative entrepreneurship, why-didn’t-I-just-become-an-accountant

Cuisine: American publishing industry (bitter with notes of false hope)

Diet: Not suitable for those with weak constitutions, romantic ideas about the writing life, or a need for financial stability

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Chef’s Notes

The authors who seem happiest (relatively speaking; we’re still talking about writers here) are those whose choice aligns with:

• Their actual goals (not the goals they think they should have)

• Their genuine strengths (not the strengths they wish they had)

• Their tolerance for different kinds of stress (all paths involve stress; pick your flavor)

• Their need to protect their creative energy from the soul-drain of constant self-promotion

Storage Instructions

Store your publishing dreams in a cool, dry place away from direct sunlight and Twitter discourse about the publishing industry. Best served with realistic expectations and a strong support system.

Shelf life: Your writing career will last as long as your ability to withstand rejection, criticism, financial instability, and the persistent question from relatives about when you’re getting a “real job.”

Substitutions

• Cannot substitute “passion” for “professional editing”

• Cannot substitute “confidence” for “marketing budget”

• Cannot substitute “talent” for “platform”

• Can substitute “traditional publishing” for “self-publishing” and vice versa, but the suffering remains constant, just in different flavors