There comes a moment in every indie author’s journey when you hold your breath, click “Order Proof,” and imagine the glorious arrival of your latest book baby.
I had that moment.
Then, several days later, I had another.
It involved a box, a sense of reverence, and a pair of scissors I use exclusively for Important Publishing Things.
I opened the box.
And discovered my book had arrived in what I can only describe as pocket-sized.
It was adorable.
Cute and tiny.
(I’m still squinting.)
Roughly the dimensions of a polite postcard, it looked like a prize from a cereal box. The kind of thing you’d hand to a toddler and say, “Here, darling. This is what Mommy’s heartbreak looks like.”
Now, let me pause here and say: I used the same trim size I’ve used for every one of my other books. I had a template. I followed instructions. I paid people. I double-checked dimensions. I whispered kind things to the PDF.
The result? A perfectly printed, impeccably formatted, miniscule novel.
I growled. (Internally. It was very composed.)
But the story doesn’t end in tragedy. No. This isn’t a Shakespeare play. This is indie publishing, which means we cry, we rage, and then we format again.
And again.
Then we stop to write this whilst waiting for another proof.
Meanwhile, I rolled up my sleeves, learned more about “bleed,” “spine width,” and “why my PDF has shrunken on me,” and I did what indie authors do best:
I fixed it myself.
I wrangled the margins. Wrestled the cover template. Outsmarted the printing platform (eventually, after it outsmarted me several more times). And then… I ordered another proof.
And this time—
It arrived.
Full-sized. Gorgeous.
The kind of book that sits proudly on a shelf and says, “Yes, I’m here. And no, I’m not the compact edition.”
I held it in my hands, and for the first time after more than a year of writing, editing, doubting, rewriting, designing, second-guessing, and formatting…
I had the book.
The real, proper, beautiful book.
I may have cried.
Or maybe it was just allergies.
Very emotional, book-shaped allergies.
So to anyone out there trying to do something creative and absurd and complex and personal — and doing it alone — let me say this:
You might get a miniature version of your dream at first.
Keep going. The full-sized one is coming.
And when it does, it will be worth every tiny page that came before it.
With gratitude (and full margins),
Sara Adrien
P.S. I’m in love with the cover and the story. Have you read it? Get it here: https://saraadrien.com/products/love-is-a-draw