Lessons I Learned As A Failed Debut Author

I'd like to start by saying that the bookish community scares me. It doesn't take much for one post, one word, or one misunderstood comment to spiral out of control. I've been watching this circle online closely for the past five years; fear of failure, fear of a pile-on, and fear of being doxxed kept me from speaking up.

In light of this, please take my writing with a grain of salt, read with a lens of forgiveness and empathy, and do not take what you're about to read as permission or a request on my part to harass anyone even remotely involved. I'm not out to "cancel" anyone or anything. I simply want to make sure other authors don't make these same mistakes.

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Any writer who has ever attempted to be published knows the journey is rife with rejection. It's so common, in fact, that many writers openly celebrate every victory, no matter how small, as a way to stay sane. We're encouraged to find opportunities to get our words into the world by any means necessary, leading many to write short stories, poetry, and essays as a secondary grind to writing novels while they wait for word on whatever comes next.

Being accepted into a literary journal for a short piece is no guarantee, either; I've won contests and had works accepted that never came to print because the magazine folded, small publishers stopped responding altogether (and possibly passed away), and some literary journal publishers had a change of focus for their business and now use the website that formerly published monthly erotica snippets as a grift for pricey "book coaching" sessions (I wish this last one was a joke).

In an industry so well-known to be a cesspool of negativity in response to our most vulnerable work, is it any wonder that authors will cling to those few victories, even if the ground starts to crumble around them?

I wrote my first commercial (non-fanfic) novel in 2021 and had delusions of success. Those initial rejections and critiques were brutal but necessary. I might have been a prolific writer in the fanfiction world, but I wrote in a vacuum. It took a lot of toughening up to handle the reality of how much I had to learn about writing in general - a task I was up to, even with my head hanging. That first book was how I learned that literary fiction, heavy with hard-to-swallow themes, was not an easy thing to sell, especially from an unknown author.

"Write a romance," I was told. So, that I did!

The Key was the first romance novel I wrote explicitly for "the market". It's formulaic and with familiar story beats akin to a Hallmark movie. It's the kind of thing I would like to watch when I want relatively low stakes, familiar conflict, and a satisfying end. As I've wanted to tear my hair out watching friends and family wade through relationships that seemed pointless (leaving me yelling into the phone, "Why the hell are you with him?!"), putting that on the page was easy. It must hit a nerve with some, as it's the most common negative remark I receive about the story - folks don't know why my protagonist stays with the bad guy for so long. Well, I gave him the same flimsy excuses I've heard IRL! Isn't it great that he actually finds his true love in the end, though? :)

Because it wasn't literary fiction, it shouldn't be a surprise that The Key garnered more bites in the querying journey. I received my first offer of representation for The Key; unfortunately, this was by a "schmagent" who had fewer years of experience in the writing community than I did. I did not accept that offer, which is still one of the harder things I've ever done in the writing world. I thought I would never get that yes ever again. I was thoroughly disenchanted by the querying process and stopped researching agents to the same degree I had when trying to get my literary fiction off the ground. My third book, Stableshoes, suffered in the query trenches for the same reason, and I only sent it to about 25 agents before losing interest in trying more.

While commiserating with other writers on Twitter (remember pre-Elon Twitter? Sigh), the consensus for authors not wanting to self-publish was to seek small presses instead of agents. This option was seen as the best of both worlds: someone could have the assistance of a company to help with editing, launching, and marketing the book on a small scale, and it came with the extra clout to prove that your work had been vetted.

In today's market, self-published work is often a punchline. After all, if someone else doesn't want to pay to print it, how can it be any good? The reality is, there is simply too much supply for the demand, so predatory schmagents like the one who first reached out to me and even so-called publishers who charge an arm and a leg for distribution make a killing off authors who don't know better.

The search for small presses was slow. Despite white cis-het men frequently complaining that the market is tipped toward minorities, there really aren't many places that welcome queer content or actually support those communities outside of lip service in submission calls. This meant a lot of behind-the-scenes research on my part to find out as much as I could before submitting queries. Some folks might remember the debacle of Sage & Sparrow publishing house, which was a very short-lived outfit in 2022 - they'd offered to publish both The Key and Stableshoes, but one of their responses rubbed me the wrong way, and I declined. After that (and witnessing how it all fell apart a few months later), I now had a rule to only submit to presses that had been established for at least three years.

I found Hansen House Books through Duotrope in 2021 and actually submitted my literary fiction there first, long before I finished The Key. They were a queer-owned (and queer-only) publishing house that also supported neurodivergent and disabled authors, and it felt like a calling of sorts to have found them, since "Hansen" is my unmarried surname. My sister and I both felt inspired about it, so I took a shot. They did take some time to respond to my query, though they gave the answer I'd become accustomed to hearing: literary fiction was a tough sell, especially for an unknown author, and it wasn't something they knew a lot about. But they liked my writing and invited me to send them more. I never forgot them and checked back frequently for submission information.

In mid 2023, after giving up querying that first book and focusing on competitions instead, I made an offhanded comment on Twitter about how I wanted to see my books at Hansen House, but they didn't seem to ever open for submissions. My tweet caught the eyes of the owner, and they reached out to me directly about my work. I submitted The Key and Stableshoes with crossed fingers.

Not long after I made this submission, there was a public debacle regarding the press and a freelance editor who had evidently done some work and had a disagreement during the dissolve of their professional relationship. Frankly, I dreaded reading about it, and I picked through the screenshots from both the editor and Hansen House, but I concluded that the argument between them seemed more personal than systemic.

Reader, I should've taken this sign for what it was - a really glaring red flag - but I didn't. I gave the benefit of the doubt, as I always do, and I was grateful to see that the writing community as a whole did not jump on the press and publicly pile-on as it did with Sage & Sparrow. The press was continuing to release books as normal, and I took that to mean that the issue was overblown.

Hansen House went through a rebranding in this time frame and became Midnight Meadow. Months passed. As if rejection isn't bad enough as a writer, it often takes weeks upon weeks to receive. In that time, I scheduled a full copy edit of my book Stableshoes and intended to self-publish it in 2024 as my debut. Midnight Meadow finally reached out to me in fall 2023 with an R&R of Stableshoes by one of their freelance editors, so I used their notes to help perfect the story but didn't hold my breath.

As so much time had already passed, and I only received word about one of my books, I presumed that the press had passed on The Key. So, it was surprising when I received an email in December 2023 that one of the acquisitions editors at Midnight Meadow was interested in the manuscript and wanted to add it to their catalog.

Hooray, am I right? There it was - the yes I had been questing for. I scheduled a call for the following week and gleefully met with the owner and the editor over Zoom, and we discussed the story and potential release dates. Since The Key's climax takes place over the winter holidays, we agreed that a timeline of one year from acquisition would be appropriate for the book, so we planned for December 2024. It was a great way to end the year, which had been challenging personally and professionally at my job, and I could use any win possible.

I was invited to the press's Discord server and was instantly welcomed by other freelance employees and authors. The whole place buzzed with comradery and excitement for what we all loved to do. It didn't occur to me to ask anyone at that time what their publishing experience had been like.

What a mistake.

I was promised an official offer letter at the end of the aforementioned Zoom call. A week went by. Then, two. I reached out to make sure I hadn't missed something. After it arrived the following day, I didn't have qualms signing it - naivety galore - but there was a well-outlined procedure for payments and royalty statements, 25 author copies included (keep that number in mind), and it all felt very above-board. I had no reason to think the contract wasn't in my favor, and I eagerly signed it to start the process - even though I had to ask a couple weeks later again about a Publisher's Marketplace announcement, which I eagerly showed the world like a badge of honor that actually meant something.

Another writing community friend who had trudged through query trenches with me just so happened to be picked up by a different small press at the same time, and his stated experience was night and day from mine. He talked about the publisher being excited about their collaboration, their open communication, how it felt like a great partnership. In all, he felt like somebody was finally paying attention to him and his work like they deserved.

His updates made me jealous - a month after signing my contract, I hadn't heard from MM much at all. I reached out for clarification on any story adjustments since the acquisitions editor mentioned one thing she wanted me to change. As soon as they responded, I got to work and did a final sweep of the manuscript, privately hoping the copy editor wouldn't find many things to fix. Knock wood, one of my good writing skills was proper grammar and usage, so I wanted my chops to show!

A few months went by without a word, until June of 2024, when the copy editor (a freelancer working for MM) reached out to jokingly jibe me for not making many mistakes. I was flattered and, frankly, just happy to be thinking about any kind of success again, since I was biting my nails to find out if my second manuscript (Stableshoes) would be accepted by MM as well after the R&R. When the editor finished with The Key, I wasted no time picking through their corrections to find whatever I'd missed on my own.

But...wait. I swear I fixed that. I recalled a specific error that made me laugh during my last pass before sending in the final copy, so I scrolled through the Word document and, to my horror...it was still there. I checked again with the scene the acquiring editor wanted me to correct in the first place, and there it was, too.

The wrong version of my manuscript - the one I'd initially submitted in 2023, not the one I corrected earlier in the year - had been passed along to the copy editor. No one had laid eyes on the altered scene, and it seemed unlikely that the press would want to pay for, effectively, a second copy edit or proofread to catch any issues.

Yet the press owner was unfazed. They said they "liked the scene as it was anyway", and saw the few corrections as a sign that the version of the book that had been seen was good enough. I wasn't comfortable with that and opted to submit my altered version as the final (turned out, huzzah, the mistakes pointed out by the editor had actually been caught in my last run-through anyway, plus the funny typo). Now that June was over, there wasn't a lot of time to finalize things like a cover and get ARCs in order, and I had some ideas about internal formatting. So, we moved on to those other things, and I had to trust that the file I submitted was a worthy cut for print.

The cover was another matter. MM's owner is an artist who had completed many of the other covers for the press, and as a whole, I liked the quality - it was actually part of the reason I chose the press in the first place. I was aiming for a Casey McQuiston-style 2D illustrated cover, as that was the hottest thing on the market at the time for contemporary romance. The first options weren't very exciting; the font was difficult to read against the background colors, and a series of stamp silhouettes were intended to give a clue as to the transgender storyline inside, but I completely missed them without having them pointed out.

Now, full disclosure - I'm also an artist. I had already made character art of my own to help with my descriptions of characters and, therefore, had a solid idea of what my characters looked like and the vibe of the book. So, I drew up some mock covers, fully expecting her to want to redraw them in her own style. A long and complicated story short - it was a rushed process, and I felt like an afterthought. We went weeks between communicating after supposedly agreeing on a theme or concept. Ultimately, running out of time, I made flat redraws of my original character art and kept the background simple, making my own cover. Somehow it hurts worse when people don't like my cover than when they comment on the innards of the book - yet that is the risk one takes to show their art to the world!

With the cover decided, formatting was last. We talked about doing scene break illustrations - just small pictures that would give a good vibe of each character - yet when the first proofs finally came through, the pictures were decidedly pixelated. They weren't drawn clean or new - more like clipart. It surprised me, given their experience with artistry, and I ended up giving specific requests for drop cap chapters and eliminated the icons. It was far from what I initially envisioned. Unlike now, though, I had no experience with formatting, so I surrendered to whatever I was told was possible.

My other book, Stableshoes, was accepted by the press, and unlike The Key, I had already paid for a full third-party copy edit, cover, and internal art before submitting it to MM. It was effectively a finished product, only in need of formatting. We planned to release in summer 2025, and the contract and Publisher's marketplace announcement were more forthcoming than with the prior book. I thought things were finally lining up, and the first ARC announcements for The Key went out around the same time.

Crickets. Crickets some more. I suggested we submit the book to Booksirens and get more readers - nothing. I had no idea how to market an ARC, and I had no physical copies to hand out. In fact, I had no clue when physical copies would be ready, since it wasn't something we ever discussed. A month after the first ARCs were supposed to release and there were no reviews, I asked for another blast to go out on Threads, which exploded with interest! My little debut book baby started growing on Goodreads, and it seemed like there might just be enough buzz for a great holiday release. December 6th. So close by the end of September.

The week of Thanksgiving, the owner reached out with the first digital proof of the paperback copy. Said I should go through and make sure it looked fine. Like with my copy edits, the first thing I did was make sure it was the correct version - yes, this time! - and had a few notes about how the text messages were formatted. It was like watching the ball drop on New Years' with how time was ticking, and I wanted the proofs completed ASAP. I couldn't wait to do my first unboxing. Couldn't wait to finally hold my book in my hands. Isn't that what all authors dream about?

"You'll get your own proof next week," they said, and I felt confident that my dreams were actually coming true. My debut was less than two weeks away. The cover fit the theme, even if I wished it had come out a month earlier to actually catch the holiday romance flood...but I couldn't do anything about that now. I haunted my mailbox every day, hoping to find a slightly thick envelope.

December 6th, and it was ... awkward. The ebook came out the day before the paperback, mixing up the actual launch and release dates. No fault of the press, but my husband wasn't celebratory, and the whole thing felt like one big fat flop. To her credit, the press owner was so sweet and had sweets delivered to my home address before we did a live TikTok to discuss the book.

Yet on that TikTok, they mentioned something I hadn't even thought of. "Oh, I haven't sent out your autograph plates yet," they said. Just an offhanded comment. But the more I thought about it, the more I was somewhat horrified - didn't the autograph plates need to be signed so they could go into the pre-ordered books? What would happen to the pre-orders if they didn't have signatures? Like everything else to that point, I let it slide, figuring there was some kind of plan.

My friend, who manages the local Barnes & Noble, was excited to help me set up a book signing. She ordered them on the release date in December, and we planned for something early in January, as there wasn't a clear indication of when they'd arrive. A week after the official release, I still hadn't received a book proof, so I asked if it might have been lost in the mail. MM said, "Oh, I'll just send you my copy." Okay, then. Disappointed, sure, but I'm not one to fuss.

A day. Two. Three. Four. By the time another week went by, I had plans for in-laws to be in town, and I wanted to make sure they got to see my book in real life! Yet I didn't want to buy books from MM directly, even at cost, when I knew there would be 25 books coming my way soon anyway ((they'd said as much, claiming to have "a box of books to send {me}")) so, in a rush, I ordered a copy on Amazon to arrive before my in-laws left. It was a lackluster experience to hold my book for the first time and know it was an Amazon paperback - even more horrifying to flip through and immediately find a typo ::(facepalm):: - what're you gonna do, though, right? We already had a file update with Ingram when a live-threading reader found a double chapter number, humiliatingly enough as it was.

At the end of December, friends started asking me where their books were. They had pre-ordered, but nothing arrived. I finally got an envelope with autograph plates, and I rushed through signing them to get them back to MM. I knew there were little goodies going out with those books, supposedly including a small set of DND dice, but I'd never seen them in person. My Barnes & Noble contact also hadn't received books and had no answers as to when they would arrive, so my first book signing was postponed to Valentine's Day. I was disappointed by this delay, of course, but more because the ideal "season" for my book had passed. The climactic scene in the story takes place at the seasonal Nutcracker performance, giving a distinct winter-holiday edge.

My reputation felt more and more at risk. If pre-orders hadn't gone out in time, would that potentially result in bad reviews? Friends said they had to write to MM about their orders more than once. I wasn't involved directly, but as someone with an Etsy page, I don't let orders sit without action and couldn't imagine doing so. To top it off, I was irrationally worried my own books would also be subjected to porch pirates, so I changed my USPS settings to alert me of all incoming mail or packages, priming me to rush home if that precious box ever arrived.

Three days before my scheduled book signing in February, the Barnes & Noble still hadn't received any books. It was at this point that I completely lost my patience and angrily wrote to MM for answers. Their first stated solution was to ask if the B&N could do a signing with books from me directly, as there was still -as said before - a box of books for me. That made little to no sense in my eyes, since they'd already ordered books to carry and sell, so what good would it do if I brought some? The press followed up and said the issue could be blamed on Ingram - understandable, to a degree, as I hadn't heard great things about them in general - because there was an error on Ingram's side and, "Ingram didn't email (them) about it, and (they) didn't regularly log into Ingram to check things like that."

Immediately, my head was spinning. You didn't log in regularly to check it? Why? Why would it take my book signing falling apart to finally get my box of book copies? I hadn't ordered any others because I wanted to know how well I could sell them before ordering a lot of stock that could potentially sit in my den and gather dust. I wanted to know if the ads I bought on Instagram and other markets made a dent in sales, but I hadn't received any kind of sales report to that point. The book came out in December, but it had been up for months before that, eligible for pre-sale. The contract stated I would receive a sales report quarterly, with the first royalty statement coming out in early February to accommodate filing for taxes - even included a penalty if they didn't show up on time.

With these hiccups, I started reaching out to authors the way I should've before submitting. I wanted to know when people got their promised books. Wanted to know if people had issues with pre-orders not going out on time. Wanted to know if edits had been a struggle for anyone else, too. There was a public discord on which everyone was friendly, but nobody talked about the real business side of the books. Special items related to the books, like candles and bookmarks and clothes with the press name, were always the bigger focus. Occasionally there would be a sale that another author would make graphics to advertise, but it was largely focused on personal communication rather than business-related topics. In light of that, I kept my questions to other authors private, not wanting to rock the boat if I was the only one with issues.

Unfortunately, no. I wasn't alone in the struggles I had. Behind the scenes, others were frustrated with book proofs not coming on time. Edits that took forever to receive - or none at all. A mismatch of marketing to actual book content, suggesting their books hadn't actually been read. Everyone reported difficulty in communication, long periods of silence, and a general sense of guilt whenever they tried to solve a problem, because reaching out to MM felt like an intrusion or bother every time something went wrong. Someone revealed to me that MM was making special hardback books by hand, delaying fulfillment of some orders further; since one of the excuses for not receiving my promised copies was because they "wanted to send the nice hardbacks", it helped me see the bigger picture. While one author said it was common to have to remind the owner about slated deadlines, I felt this crossed a boundary professionally, as I became part of the press so that I could trust the professional attention and touch that I didn't have the capacity for otherwise.

Far beyond all the trouble thus far reported to me, the most surprising came from an author who'd been with the press much longer than I had - "I don't know if anyone else has reported this," they said, "but I haven't been paid yet." Since that particular book released the previous summer, I took this as a sign to take more control.

I severed my MM contract with Stableshoes by the end of February, certain that I was in for more of the same, as we hadn't so much as discussed formatting or ARCs, and the book was supposed to release in five months. Since I'd spent literal thousands making that book as good as I could make it when I planned to self-publish it the previous year, I determined that the shortfalls I'd experienced with The Key would only break my heart if it happened again with Stableshoes. It was a tough discussion to have with the owner, and I was fraught with guilt. Yet I was nevertheless taken aback when they excused their shortcomings as such:

"Unfortunately, as a neurodivergently owned (on both parts) business, nothing will be 100% on time every time. I do my best. That’s why things with distributors for bookstores and libraries are automated because they are typically less understanding than the average person who orders from us. I’ve strived to build a community that understands that, yes. This is a business. But before a business owner, I am both autistic and I have adhd. And so do several of the editors. And most of the people who buy from us care much more about the quality of what we send than a couple of extra days."

But we weren't talking a couple of extra days - we're talking weeks. Months. Almost a year with some of those commitments. And I read between the lines that said I was ableist for wanting those timelines kept. As a disabled human - on several fronts - I didn't know how to reconcile my disappointment with this kind of argument. To say the least, I was thoroughly disenchanted with the publishing process as a whole.

One might think after having this discussion, forcibly postponing my signing event (again), and severing the contract for a second book, that my promised copies would arrive promptly. Incorrect. The rest of February, March, April, and a few days into May, I was then more explicit about what I wanted and how I felt our relationship was essentially severed (read: I got the impression they didn't like me, and I didn't want to fight it, so I suggested we both move on). They wanted to invoke the 6-month clause in our contract to fix things with The Key so it wouldn't be taken off their catalog. They promised I would receive my author copies, royalty reports, and more attentive marketing efforts.

It took three more weeks, but just over six months after The Key's release, I finally received a box of books: 20 paperbacks. There was a royalty statement and check - of which I was grateful - but it did sting a little to think I was only paid because I made a threat, since my other author contacts at the press had not been so lucky. I was also more than a little put off by the fact that the books were certainly not the hardbacks I'd previously been promised, and none of the "extras" that went along with the books (like the special DND dice mentioned earlier) were included, either. The fact it was still five short of what the contract stated felt like a ridiculous thing to harp over - given the circumstances, there was every indication that in six months, The Key would no longer be part of MM.

While all this was happening, I continued to hear from a few authors at the press who were having new struggles. One of the newly acquired authors, who I'd reached out to earlier in the year about their experience thus far, had numerous dedicated marketing efforts on MM's social media pages, leading a couple of people behind the scenes thinking that all of the owner's energy was being poured into this project at the expense of others. My heart broke to see the other author get to unbox physical ARCs when I still hadn't received my author copies. A lot of booktok marketing is showing the author's dreams come true - but mine was nothing short of a nightmare. This favoritism was essentially confirmed, when a TikTok/Insta Reel went up in June discussing how some books might not get as much attention as others. It was followed not long after by another post - essentially a rant - about how hard the owner worked for the small press and how much they poured into the work.

For authors who hadn't received editing, marketing, timely printing, accurate files sent to Ingram, or basic communication (let alone payment), this did not go over well with the artists behind MM. By the end of July, it started to crumble. More authors reached out to one another, webbing our experiences from the many common threads. It wasn't until one of MM's best-selling authors came forth and said there'd been no payment that my own impetus to keep my mouth shut was cast aside.

On the public MM Discord, I tagged everyone - "So, are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?"

One by one, authors chimed in, saying the hard parts out loud. Where was the money? Where was the owner? If the press is folding, do we get our rights? It's since been revealed that the majority of the press authors never received their author copies. All were told their books were in the Library of Congress, but many are not. Multiple folks had friends and loved ones who never got all of their ordered books. One received a hardback that was not completely glued. So much for a few extra days and the extra time needed for good quality.

As of now, most of the authors at Midnight Meadow have pulled out and are awaiting a check. The owner's response to me personally, while generally cordial, did suggest knowing that The Key would be pulled either way after we last spoke in May. Now, I'm left wondering if the sales report sent my way is accurate; according to the data from Ingram, from BookScan, and my own sales experience, the numbers don't make sense. Not that I think the owner ever had malicious intent toward all this, but there's something fishy when an accounting sheet doesn't properly add up. If the raw numbers come to 18, why does the bottom total say 30?

From this cautionary tale, I only want to spread this advice:

1) When querying for an agent flops, small press isn't always a better option than self-publishing. Because of the costs associated with self-publishing (such as ISBN bundles, programs like Vellum, art programs for illustrations/covers, extra goodies for bookmail shipments), it's tempting to "start a small press" once one has already acquired most of these items. After all, if what's needed to publish a book is access to these tools, and you've got 'em, why not offer them to others? I imagine this how a number of small press outfits begin - by an author who tired of the literary agent rigamaroll but didn't know what to do with the leftover items without another book to immediately roll out. While some end up being successful and are excellent collaborators with their authors, the circumstances around MM are very familiar if you've perused the small press section on Writer Beware.

2) Before making a decision about a small press, agent, program, etc., ask other authors who have actually used them before. I cannot stress enough how getting input from other authors at the press made me brave enough to pull my second book before it was too late. If I'd known before, I wouldn't have spent so much time in limbo and might've gathered enough faith in my own abilities to make it happen rather than depend on someone else.

3) Don't be afraid to lose the "yes", because losing the "yes" over asking for quality is not where you want your work to be anyway. I know this is likely the hardest thing to abide by, especially if that "yes" is a small press, or an agent, or some other "too-good-to-be-true" opportunity. Learning your own worth is something most artists will always struggle with, but you're worth more than you think you are.

4) Speak up. If you're not getting what you need, please don't stay silent. The writing community as a whole is so often driven by word of mouth recommendations, and that goes for good as well as bad. Staying silent is how so many people end up falling into the same trap. If nobody puts a "Danger" sign up, there's no way to stop the cycle.

In general, I believe people are capable of change. I think we are all able to learn and grow, no matter what our faults are. Maybe I give people too many chances, and maybe I rely too much on the benefit of the doubt, which gets me into trouble.

I don't think my experience with this small press is indicative of who the owner is as a person, nor do I believe they deserve much ire. I can move on and grow in the same way, learning as I go, taking my work in my own hands and giving it the attention I feel it needs. I'm excited about my future with these two books, excited about the sequels in the making, and am glad I learned the hard way. At least for me, learning the hard way is how I best apply new lessons - I just hope going through these treacherous waters can help some others keep out!

• Jo

  
  
  
  

• The Key has been republished in ebook format with paperbacks returning soon. You can find it on KU: https://a.co/d/1PxWlpA

• Stableshoes is being published at the end of August thanks to a successful Kickstarter campaign earlier this year, which allowed me to purchase the software needed for formatting and ISBNs. You can find the ebook and paperback here: https://a.co/d/d4bU5Wh and the bespoke hardback (with NSFW scenes!) here: https://msloanshop.etsy.com/listing/4326254128

  
  

• Thank you for reading!

  
  
  
  

Sure, love stories can have second chances. What about books with a failure to launch?