Yes, Google Play Books, I Am Who I Say I Am

In case you all had missed it, a few days ago I published a new edition of Faces in Weeds on Kobo and Barnes and Noble, Apple Books, and a few others like Smashwords. I hope you'll check it out, it's got a pretty new cover and a fresh round of copy edits with maybe a hundred or so new words added. Just thought I'd tidy it up and get back to publishing for the first time in a long time, and of course, the world couldn't let that happen without a snag, so of course my new Google Play Books Publishing Partner account got suspended almost as soon as I published it, because they don't believe I own the copyright or that I am, indeed, who I say I am.

So let's clear this up: I'm Kyle Brittain, but I go by Kai Bishop publicly. I write and publish under the author names Apollo Blake and Cosmo Knox. I own everything I write and publish, I don't publish things I didn't write and don't own, and I certainly have never made any secret that these are my pen names.

My identity has never been a secret, because I'm not, despite many rumors circulating, a superhero. I don't work for the Daily Planet--but if I did I'd publish under Apollo Blake or Cosmo Knox, because those are my pen names.

Google's helpful email said they needed to see proof I am who I say I am which could include links to my official author website, so let's hope this post I made special just for them is helpful enough.

Here's the new cover for Faces in Weeds by the way:

As always keep an eye out on this space because it's where I'll post news and updates about new releases, even if I'm sometimes a few days late. (And being accused of being an imposter. How glamorous and scandalous for me.)

The Struggle Is Real

Marketing is torture. Seriously. It's the worst part of being self-published.

My books won't sell if I don't push them on people, but my anxiety refuses to let me. It also makes writing painful sometimes. Like tonight. Which is why I'm writing this blog post instead to rant about it.

Sometimes when I'm writing it feels like I'm flying, and I hammer out like seven thousand words in a sitting and walk away glowing, feeling like a boss. And then sometimes, like tonight, literally nothing sounds more painful than writing.

I'm struggling to put down a single chapter, let alone more than a thousand or two words. It's uncomfortable and it has me on edge.

Normally when it isn't flowing, I just do something else. Tonight I'm forcing myself to keep going, because I'm determined to put out two novellas next month, but I have to be honest, every word feels painful. Even this blog post is giving me difficulty.

Sometimes I can sit down and write about whatever is in my head--I talk about stupid tv shows I like or what I'm listening to. And sometimes that's fun. Most of the time it is. Then there are nights like this, where it feels pointless, like I'm just adding to the noise and I have nothing important or useful or meaningful to say.

The truth is, some of the joy goes out of writing once you start having to constantly stress over the financial aspects of it. I'm worried about how good my writing is or what vibes I should go for with a project, and then it's compounded with whether or not it will even sell, or how I'll get reviews for it when I can't even email a book blogger without having a mild identity crisis.

I know I'm not the only one who goes through it, either, but this can be a really lonely profession. We all feel that. I get it.

Still, it sucks.

For tonight, I'm just going to remind myself I've done this before and I can do it again, too. I've written 50,000 words in five days. I've written 75,000 words in fourteen days. I can do this. I've finished seven books, what's one more, in the grand scheme of things?

I'm going to take a deep breath. Keep writing. And hope for the best.