Publishing a book is scary. It is overwhelming, and it isn’t easy or for the faint of heart. How do I know all of this. Simple:
I published a book today. Holy fuck. Not I finished writing a book. Not I sent a book to an editor. Not I uploaded a manuscript and crossed my fingers.
I published a freaking book.
Consanguinity, the first book in The Veilshard Chronicles, is officially out there in the world. These characters that I’ve lived with in one form or another for years are going to be out there in the world for everybody to see. That’s kind of a daunting thought
And I would love to tell you that the final weekend before publishing a book was a beautiful, reflective experience in which I lovingly put the finishing touches on my novel, sipped tea, contemplated my journey as a writer, and quietly pressed the publish button with a single tear sliding gracefully down my cheek. That would be complete bullshit.
There were Krakens.
So. Many. Krakens.
Release the Kraken
Somewhere during the final editing process, every little problem I found became a Kraken. A missing comma? Kraken. A sentence that suddenly sounded weird even though I had read it approximately 4,783 times? Kraken. A continuity issue hiding quietly in the corner hoping nobody noticed it? Oh, you better believe that was a Kraken. Why krakens? I have absolutely no freaking clue. But kraken sounds way more fun than error, or mistake. I truly was saying “Release the Krakens,” before every editing pass. And by the end it was “Die, Kraken, Die!” And I am 100% positive there are still krakens in the book. I tried. God knows, I tried.
The plan was simple: find the Kraken, kill the Kraken, move on. Except apparently my manuscript was operating under 
Hydra rules.
Kill one Kraken and seven more appeared.
I’d fix something, scroll down three paragraphs, and discover another thing. Then another. Then something I was absolutely certain I had already fixed. Then something that had somehow survived multiple readings, beta readers, editing, formatting, and God only knows what else. At some point, the editing process stopped feeling like proofreading and started feeling like a mythological boss battle. And I kept going. Kraken. Fixed. Next Kraken. Fixed. Next. Why krakens? I have absolutely no freaking clue. But kraken sounds way more fun than error, or mistake. I truly was saying “Release the Krakens,” before every editing pass. And by the end it was “Die, Kraken, Die!” And I am 100% positive there are still krakens in the book. I tried. God knows, I tried.
And Then I Decided I Hated My Chapter Titles
Because obviously I didn’t have enough to do. At almost the last possible second, I looked at my chapter titles and thought:
Nope.
Not one or two of them. Enough of them that this became A Thing. So now, while I was supposed to be finishing the final-final-no-really-this-time-final editing pass, I was also staring at chapter titles and asking myself whether they actually belonged in the book.
Some did. Some absolutely did not. Some were replaced. Some fought for their lives. There were negotiations. There may have been threats. And please remember, all of these fights, threats and negotiations took place between me, myself and I. The sad thing is, I’m still not sure who won. Eventually, the chapter titles were settled, the Krakens were dispatched, and the manuscript reached that terrifying point every writer eventually has to face:
I had to stop touching it.
Do you know how unnatural that feels? You spend months—or years—knowing that anything wrong with the book can still be fixed. Until suddenly it can’t. Because you’re about to press the button.
Publishing a Book Involves a Disturbing Number of Forms
You would think publishing a book would involve trumpets. Possibly confetti. At minimum, someone should appear and hand you a certificate saying:
CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE CREATED A THING THAT DID NOT EXIST BEFORE.
Instead, there are forms. So many forms. Metadata. Categories. Descriptions. At one point, I found myself asking, well 
myself, “What is my book about again?” Files. Previews. Prices. Checkboxes. Questions that suddenly feel like they carry the weight of international diplomacy. The glamorous life of an indie author, ladies and gentlemen.
Eventually, though, there is a button. You press it.
And…
that’s basically it.
The book that has lived inside your head, your computer, your conversations, and an increasingly alarming percentage of your waking hours is suddenly making its way out into the world.
And Then My Body Figured Out What Happened
This afternoon, I was driving when I suddenly felt like I was going to cry. Not because something was wrong. Not even because I was sad. It was just…everything. The entire weekend had been one long adrenaline rush. Find the problem. Fix the problem. Keep going. Don’t stop. Finish the book. Check the file. Check it again. Upload it. Say, crap, wrong file. 
Then you say it again, and again. Check everything. Make the decision. Press the button. And then suddenly there weren’t any other Kraken.
There wasn’t another chapter title. There wasn’t another upload. There wasn’t another thing standing between me and done. And apparently my nervous system went:
Oh. We’re safe now? Excellent. I shall completely lose my shit.
I came incredibly close to crying in the car. It wasn’t really happiness or exhaustion or relief. It was all of them crashing into each other at once. An adrenaline dump after months of work and one completely bonkers final weekend.
Holy Fuck. I Published a Book.
I think that’s the part I’m still trying to process. I published a book. Again, technically. I’ve published books before. But this one feels different.
This is fiction.
These are people who existed only in my imagination until I started putting them on paper. Aisling and J.T. and Eric and Sabina have occupied space in my brain for so long that sending them out into the world feels bizarrely personal.
People can meet them now. People can love them. I really hope that people love them. People can hate them. Please, please, please don’t hate them. Well…you can hate Vanessa. That’s allowed. People can yell at them. People can yell at me because of things I did to them.
And knowing me, that last one is probably inevitable. But they’re out there. The story is out there. Consanguinity is no longer the book I’m writing, revising, editing, formatting, fixing, Kraken-hunting, or threatening to throw through a window. It’s a book people can read. Mine. I made it. Holy fuck.
I published a book.
And if you’d like to meet Aisling, J.T., Eric, Sabina—and perhaps discover why I’ve spent the last several days fighting imaginary sea monsters—you can find Consanguinity on Amazon. You can find it at other online retailers here. It’s available for pre-order right now and comes out on the August 25, 2026.
