Every reader matters, no matter where they buy our books. But direct sales give independent publishers something special: the ability to invest more in new stories, create exclusive editions, and build stronger relationships with readers. Here’s why buying direct makes such a difference.
The Veilwardens have spent generations maintaining the portals between Terra and Aethryn, certain that the balance between the worlds must be preserved at all costs.
But what if the balance isn’t what they think it is?
In Quieting, old assumptions begin to crack, strange events grow harder to explain, and Riva Thorn finds herself questioning truths she has always accepted.
A letter from someone who should have been dead for centuries draws Sister Jacobine back to the ruins of Amesbury Priory and the place where her long, impossible life began. Bones of the Priory started as a contribution to a monster hunter anthology, but it quickly became something more personal—a return to one of my favourite characters and the secrets she has spent five hundred years trying to leave behind.
Discovery matters. Visibility matters. But the most valuable reader you’ll ever have isn’t the one who finds your book. It’s the one who chooses to stay connected after they do. Direct sales aren’t just about revenue—they’re about building relationships that can outlast platforms, algorithms, and marketplace changes.
Readers often wonder whether buying books directly from an author’s website really makes a difference. The answer is simple: it does. Direct sales help fund editing, cover design, and future books, while creating a closer connection between readers and the authors whose stories they enjoy.
One of the oldest arguments in publishing is whether writers should write quickly. Solar Sail Theory approaches the question from a different direction. Every book you publish becomes a discoverability asset: another doorway for readers, another wake spreading across the internet, and another opportunity for luck to find you. Fast(er) writers don’t just produce more books—they build bigger sails.
We spend a lot of time talking about launches in publishing. Launch week. Launch numbers. Launch strategies. But publishers eventually learn something authors often overlook: books aren’t just products. They’re plants. Some flourish immediately. Others take years to reach their full potential. The real strength of a publishing business isn’t found in a single launch—it’s found in a backlist that keeps growing, season after season.
Every story has a plot. A detective solves a murder. A spaceship crew saves a colony. A retired man plants tomatoes. But the stories readers remember long after the last page are rarely about those events alone. Beneath the plot lies a deeper story—the emotional truth, the question being explored, the reason the story resonates. As an editor, one of the most important questions I can ask is: What is this story really about?
Some of the most important things in life begin as something small and uncertain. A packet of seeds. A first chapter. A conversation. Standing in the garden this spring, watching green shoots push through the soil, reminded me that growth is often invisible until suddenly it isn’t—and that the things we plant today may become far more than we ever imagined.
Fantasy readers often trace the genre back to Tolkien, but fantasy’s history is far stranger and more varied than many realize. Long before epic quests and dark lords dominated the shelves, writers such as Lord Dunsany, George MacDonald, H. Rider Haggard, Arthur Machen, and Hope Mirrlees were exploring dream kingdoms, lost worlds, fairy realms, and mysteries lurking just beyond reality. Join me on a journey down the forgotten paths of fantasy and discover what the genre looked like before Tolkien’s road became the main highway.
