Thinkingdog Publishing

There was a time—long, long ago, in a land of fluorescent lighting and lukewarm coffee—when my entire day was mapped out by someone else. Eight hours. Eight very structured, very supervised hours. Someone told me what to do, when to do it, and how to do it. Possibly even how to breathe while doing it. And I remember thinking, with the quiet desperation of someone staring at a clock that refused to move that there had to be more than this. Fast forward to now. I am an indie author. Which sounds wildly glamorous until you realize it means I am now the boss, the employee, the intern, the marketing department, the IT support, and occasionally… the person who forgets where she put her own coffee. That's the plot twist no one really talks about: When you become your own boss, no one tells you what to do anymore. At all. There is no helpful voice saying, “Today, Sabine, you will write exactly 1,243 brilliant words, post at the optimal algorithm-approved time, and experience measurable suc...