Hush

Latte And Now For That Latte
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I wrote this after self-publishing a book and watching nothing happen. No sales, no reviews, no visible response. I wanted to capture that strange silence after publication — not as failure exactly, but as a kind of stillness.

Hush

My book sits quiet at KDP.
Nights bury the unsigned days.

A desert of digits —
no one in sight.

You have a right to action,
not to the fruit —
a whisper wrapped in ancient dust.

My book breathes
in the empty space.

What peace,
to be left alone —
spared from stars
and all their wars.

If you tread here,
tread softly.

The unread pages
turn themselves.

A common thing happens after you self-publish a book.

Nothing.

This is not strange. It only feels strange because the book is real to you. You spent months, maybe years, with it. You carried it in your head. You cut sentences. You moved chapters.

Then the book enters the world and becomes one more object in the flood.

There is so much noise now that even a good signal can vanish. This is not entirely new.

Thoreau self-published “A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers”. He could not find a publisher, so he paid for it himself. He printed 1,000 copies. Over four years, only about 200 sold. The rest sat in a cellar. He lost 290 dollars, roughly equivalent to 11,000 dollars today. He had to work four years to clear the balance.

Van Gogh is said to have sold only one painting during his lifetime. One moth before his death. You might not be that lucky.

So what do you do when your book is collecting dust? It is not so much about what you do, but more about what you think.

Bhagavad Gita says: You have right to action, but not to the fruit. You have written the book, not a trivial task. Let it fly in the wind. If no one notices it, be at peace.

Pages do turn themselves. Books change by sitting in time. A sentence written five years ago means something different now, not because anyone read it, but because the world around it moved. Your book might not be read now, but its time might come.

Thoreau had his cellar. Van Gogh had his one sale. Your book sits quiet at KDP.

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Post obvi not relevant. Deleted.

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It’s the same difference…

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You are quite right, Twolane. Thank you for your practical advice :), distribution is important. I could have published on all those platforms, and one day I might even do it, if I can muster the energy. But the primary goal was to have written the book, not to sell it.

Here is a short memory that might explain my take.

When I was nine years old, my family moved to Sweden, where my parents
got low-paying jobs in a clothing factory.

One benefit of the move was that we got to rent an old house in the centre
of the town. It was large, with more rooms than we needed, and it had no
central heating. Each room had a tiled stove and we had to buy firewood. In
one of the extra rooms there was a table tennis table.

My two brothers and I played every day. We also invited friends over and
played for hours. Just the ball going back and forth.

Across from our house was a sports hall. One day, I saw they were holding
a table tennis tournament, so I decided to enter. I was eleven years old.
There were many good players, most of them belonging to local table tennis
clubs. It was a knockout competition. Somehow I managed to beat most of
them and reached the final, where I lost. Second place.

The day after, there was a medal ceremony and I was supposed to collect
my medal. I did not show up. The competition had been fun. The ceremony
sounded boring. The medal was not important to me. A classmate who had
been there brought it to school the next day and handed it to me.

I soon lost it.

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In highschool I was an outcast. Uncool. I lived in my own world, pretty much asocial. I never did extra-curricular activities. I never went to a dance, or date. Never got drunk, smoked pot. Never went to a party.

Came my final year. We’re supposed to go and get measured for cap and gown rentals. I finally come in to the office and tell them, “I’m not coming to graduation. Give my tickets to someone else who needs a pair for grandparents or something.

No wonder I write.

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Yesterday my book registered the first sale at KDP. If I manage to live one more month, I can proudly say that I’ve beaten van Gogh. :slight_smile:

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