The Future of Storytelling Is Indie.
The Written Word Is The New DIY
Publishing is rotting from the inside out. The stench of corruption, bias, and outdated power structures permeates every corner of the journalistic and literary world. It’s time to tear it all down and build something new from the ashes.
The New York Times and its ilk have long since abandoned their responsibility to truth in favor of maintaining the status quo. Their editorial bias isn’t just irresponsible — it’s dangerous. They cling to outdated notions of “objectivity” while ignoring the glaring realities staring them in the face. Climate change? They’ll give equal time to oil company shills and actual scientists. Income inequality? They’ll run puff pieces on billionaires while barely acknowledging the struggles of the working class. Systemic racism? They’ll wring their hands about “civility” while Black Americans are murdered in their homes.
Their failures are numerous and damning. This isn’t journalism; it’s a dangerous abdication of the responsibility to inform. Too many reporters have become lapdogs to power, trading hard-hitting questions for continued access to political and corporate elites. They’ve forgotten that their loyalty should be to the truth, not to their sources.
These institutions are devolving to be nothing more than mouthpieces for the powerful, unable or unwilling to face the harsh truths of our world. They gatekeep information, deciding what’s “fit to print” based on what won’t upset their corporate overlords or challenge their readers’ comfortable worldviews.
If journalism is a travesty, literary publishing is a cesspool of nepotism, racism, and intellectual bankruptcy. The rot runs deep, infecting every level of the industry from agents to editors to the hallowed halls of major publishing houses. It’s a system designed to perpetuate itself, to keep power concentrated in the hands of a select few while paying lip service to notions of diversity and inclusion.
The power imbalances are staggering. It’s an old boys’ club masquerading as a meritocracy. Nepotism runs rampant — the children of established authors and industry insiders find red carpets rolled out for them, while truly original voices struggle to get a foot in the door.
Men like Neil Gaiman continue to dominate the bestseller lists and collect accolades, their names becoming brands that overshadow emerging talent. And you watch this space — Gaiman will keep dominating no matter how many women come out and tell their stories about his sexual overtures. Once an author reaches a certain level of fame, their books are guaranteed publicity and prime shelf space, creating a self-fulfilling prophecy of success. Meanwhile, countless talented writers languish in obscurity, their voices drowned out by the constant drumbeat of familiar names.
Young Black authors face an uphill battle at every turn in the publishing industry, in a struggle that epitomizes the systemic racism deeply entrenched in the literary world.
From the moment they begin querying agents, Black authors encounter a system that wasn’t built for them. They’re told their stories are “too niche” — a coded way of saying “too Black” for a predominantly white publishing industry. This labeling is a gross oversimplification that ignores the vast diversity of experiences within the Black community. It’s as if publishers expect all Black stories to fit into a narrow box of “urban” fiction or tales of historical trauma.
Even more egregious is the all-too-common response that there’s “already a Black book” on the publisher’s list this year. As if the experiences of an entire people — millions of individuals with unique stories, perspectives, and voices — could be summed up in a single novel. It perpetuates the idea that Black stories are interchangeable, that one voice can speak for all.
The publishing industry pays lip service to diversity while continuing to prop up the same old voices. They’ll trumpet their one or two “Diverse” authors as proof of their progressiveness, while their overall catalog remains overwhelmingly homogenous. It’s a performative diversity that does little to address the underlying inequities in the system.
And let’s not forget the absolute farce that is celebrity publishing, a grotesque spectacle that exemplifies everything wrong with the industry today. Influencers with millions of followers but not a single original thought in their heads get six-figure book deals, while true literary talents struggle to make ends meet. These social media darlings, armed with nothing but a curated Instagram feed and a knack for self-promotion, are suddenly crowned as “authors” worthy of our attention and hard-earned money.
Let’s be clear: most of these celebrities aren’t writing their own books. Their “memoirs” and “lifestyle guides” are churned out by an army of underpaid, overworked ghostwriters. These skilled professionals, many of whom harbor literary ambitions of their own, are forced to sublimate their talents into crafting vapid prose about a 20-something YouTuber’s “journey to self-discovery” or a reality TV star’s “secrets to success.”
The result? Bookstore shelves groan under the weight of glossy hardcovers filled with the same recycled self-help drivel. “Ten Steps to Living Your Best Life,” penned by a pop star who’s barely old enough to rent a car. “Finding Your Inner Goddess,” courtesy of an actress whose most profound on-screen moment involved crying over a salad. These books aren’t just bad — they’re actively harmful, peddling simplistic solutions to complex problems and reinforcing the toxic idea that fame equates to wisdom.
Meanwhile, what happens to the midlist authors, the literary fiction writers, the poets, and the investigative journalists? They’re shoved aside, told there’s no market for their work. Publishers, drunk on the promise of easy money from celebrity titles, allocate fewer and fewer resources to nurturing genuine literary talent. It’s a vicious cycle — as more shelf space and marketing dollars go to celebrity dreck, it becomes harder for real books to find an audience, which in turn makes publishers even more risk-averse.
It’s actively displacing actual writers with something to say. For every vacuous celebrity cookbook that hits the New York Times bestseller list, there’s a thought-provoking novel that never sees the light of day. For every ghostwritten collection of platitudes from a tech CEO, there’s a meticulously researched work of narrative non-fiction that can’t find a home.
It’s a slap in the face to every author who’s poured their heart and soul into their craft. Writers who’ve spent years honing their skills, who’ve faced rejection after rejection, who’ve sacrificed financial stability in pursuit of their art — all to be told that their work is less valuable than a collection of tweets from a C-list celebrity.
This trend speaks to a deeper rot in our culture, a prioritization of flash over substance, of easy answers over difficult truths. We value follower counts over literary merit, confusing popularity with insight. And in the process, we’re all being robbed — of new voices, of challenging ideas, of the power of the written word.
In the face of this storytelling decay, indie publishing and the new DIY is our only hope for salvaging the written word.
The real journalism is happening in newsletters, podcasts, and independent online platforms run by passionate individuals who aren’t beholden to corporate interests or afraid to call out injustice.
What sets us apart is our direct relationship with readers. Free from the constraints of traditional advertising models, we answer only to our audience. This allows for a level of honesty and transparency that’s become rare in mainstream media. We can focus on specific beats or issues, developing deep expertise that allows for nuanced, insightful coverage that generalist reporters can’t match.
We’re not just informing, we’re creating communities of informed citizens. Through comments sections, discussion forums, and direct interaction, we’re carving out a place for dialogue and critical thinking. Unburdened by bureaucracy, we can pivot quickly to cover breaking news or emerging trends, beating traditional outlets to the punch.
Independent platforms have given rise to voices that have been historically marginalized in traditional media, providing perspectives that are woefully underrepresented in mainstream discourse. Many are open about their biases and funding sources, allowing readers to better contextualize their reporting. When we make mistakes, we’re quick to correct and explain, fostering a level of trust that many traditional outlets have squandered.
This new wave of journalism is building direct relationships with readers, creating communities of informed citizens who are sick of being spoonfed sanitized narratives. It’s the return of firebrand journalism, powered by the internet and fueled by a passion for truth and justice.
Platforms like Paragraph, Medium, Patreon, the Fediverse, Warpcast, etc. have given us the tools of publication, allowing journalists to reach audiences without the need for institutional backing. Social media, for all its flaws, has given these independent voices the ability to build followings and disseminate their work widely.
The energy and integrity of this movement represent our best hope for revitalizing the Fourth Estate. In an era of unprecedented bullshit — from climate change to wealth inequality to the erosion of democracy — we desperately need voices willing to speak truth to power.
The death of traditional journalism may well be the rebirth of truth in media.
The traditional novel, with its linear structure and physical constraints, is a relic of a bygone era. It’s time to embrace the digital narrative experience in all its multifaceted glory. We’re done being beholden to publishing houses and their outdated notions of what constitutes literature. We’re done letting them decide what stories are worth telling based on their myopic view of what will sell to the broadest possible audience.
For too long, the traditional publishing model has stifled creativity and innovation. It’s forced writers to contort their visions to fit within predetermined genres and word counts. It’s prioritized marketability over artistic integrity, leading to a homogenization of literature that fails to reflect the diversity and complexity of human experience.
Indie digital offers us the tools to break free from these constraints. We’re creating stories that don’t have to water themselves down for a marketing department’s limited understanding of what constitutes a reader. These are narratives that can sprawl and evolve, unconstrained by page counts or printing costs.
Imagine a story that incorporates historical documents, allowing readers to dive deep into the context of a fictional world. Oral histories embedded within the text, bringing characters to life through voice recordings. Interactive elements that allow readers to make choices, explore different paths, and truly immerse themselves in the narrative.
We aren’t adding bells and whistles to traditional storytelling. We’re fundamentally reimagining what a story can be. We’re creating rich, immersive experiences that educate as they entertain. We’re blurring the lines between literature, history, and interactive media to create something entirely new.
No more arbitrary editing to fit a predefined page count. No more compromising vision for marketability. A story can be exactly as long or short as it needs to be. It can incorporate visual elements, sound, and interactivity without worrying about production costs or distribution limitations.
This new form of storytelling allows for a level of depth and complexity that traditional novels can’t match. Want to explore a character’s backstory? Click on their name and dive into a novella-length exploration of their past. Curious about the historical events that shaped the story’s world? Access a trove of “historical” documents and scholarly analyses. The possibilities are limitless.
Digital narratives can evolve and grow over time. Authors can add new content, respond to reader feedback, and create living, breathing worlds that continue to expand long after the initial release. This isn’t just a new format; it’s a new relationship between creator and audience.
The spread of publishing tools means that voices long silenced by traditional gatekeepers can now reach audiences directly. Stories deemed “too niche” or “unmarketable” by short-sighted publishing executives can find their readers. We’re witnessing an explosion of diversity in storytelling, with narratives that reflect the full spectrum of human experience.
Threads, Mastodon posts, Warpcast channels and Instagram stories are the new frontier of serialized storytelling, democratizing literature in a way that would make Charles Dickens’ head spin. While traditional publishers are still trying to figure out how to market books to Gen Z outside of TikTok sales funnels that lead 50% of titles to sell less than 50 copies, indie authors are building massive followings by delivering stories directly to readers’ phones. They’re creating experiences, building communities, and proving that attention spans aren’t shrinking, they’re evolving.
Traditional publishing has convinced generations of writers that poverty is noble, that exposure pays the bills, that we should be grateful for the crumbs they throw our way. No more. In the indie world, writers keep the lion’s share of their earnings. With direct reader support through platforms like Patreon or paid newsletters, authors can make a living wage doing what they love.
Make no mistake — this revolution won’t be easy. The powers that be won’t give up their control without a fight. We’ll be called amateurs, hacks, told that we need the “expertise” of the traditional industry to succeed. Discoverability will be a challenge. Breaking through the noise of the internet takes work. Building an audience from scratch requires persistence and creativity. But these challenges pale in comparison to the soul-crushing experience of trying to succeed in the traditional system. Better to face the open market than to grovel at the feet of agents and editors who wouldn’t recognize real talent if it bit them in their privileged asses.
We’re fundamentally altering the cultural conversation. We’re wresting control of our stories from the hands of corporations and returning it to the people.
The next great American novel will come from a voice that never would have made it past the query letter stage in the old system. Breaking news will be reported by journalists who don’t have to worry about offending their paper’s owners. Think of the movements — literary, political, social — that could be created when we remove the filters and let raw, honest storytelling flourish.
This is for every writer who’s ever been told their story doesn’t fit the market. For every journalist who’s had their hard-hitting story killed by a spineless editor. For every reader who’s sick of the same recycled ideas. The tools are in your hands. Start that newsletter. Build that interactive novel. Post that story. Tear down the walls that have kept your voice silent.
The gatekeepers are panicking, and they should be. Their time is over. The future of publishing belongs to the indie creators, the mavericks, the voices that have been silenced for too long.
This is our time.
