Success Story with Shannon Baker

When do you know you’ve made it? If you’re me, and you’re a writer, the answer might be: never. Maybe Karen Slaughter or Stephen King can plant their feet on their desks, fold their arms across their chests, and smile with satisfaction, but that’s not my lot.

When my agent asked me if I’d be interested in writing a short piece on my road to success, I said I wasn’t sure anyone would call my level of achievement success. Her response was that I was underselling myself. And that made me pause.

A million years ago when I was a (too?) young mother living on an isolated ranch in the Nebraska Sandhills, out of boredom and frustration, I started writing because a college professor said I had a “facility for language.” I didn’t necessarily set out to publish. But I won a contest. Then my sights broadened. I placed a few essays in anthologies. I got a short story published. And then, why not try a novel?

I loved to read. Certainly, I could write one. And I did. Really quickly. On a typewriter. I won’t bore you with all the research into finding agents or publishers and printing and mailing. (It was the Dark Ages, people.) But after discovering how much I didn’t know, and then years of conferences and correspondence classes (see previous parenthetical note), I realized that I probably would never even know how much I didn’t know.

But I stuck with it. My dreams of bestseller lists, Oprah interviews, and book launch tours faded. My bar of success lowered to hopefully, maybe, one day, getting published. And I worked at my craft. Since I had kids, a day job, and all that life business, I got up at 4:30 and wrote an hour or more every day. Consistent, dogged, not all that optimistic. But, hey, you can’t win if you don’t play, right?

And in the prehistory before Amazon and self publishing, I couldn’t get a contract if I didn’t improve.

So, yeah, I finally did get that contract, about 25 years after I started. In 2010, when I turned 50, I scored my first deal with a nano press (my term). Sure, I’d hit my goal to get published, but I quickly understood that wasn’t good enough. Then I got a 3-book contract with a mid-sized press. Better, but I raised the bar again. When that ended, I successfully acquired an agent who took my next series to auction, where it ended up with Forge. Whoo-hoo! I’d made it and hit the Big 5, and there would never be another bad day. But after two books, they let me go. 

From there, I wrote a book my agent wasn't interested in. That required an agent switch, and when that book didn’t find an immediate home? Well, forget about my barometer of success, I was floundering in Failure Land.

Eventually, that book landed at a small and primarily digital new press, Severn River Publishers. Not the Big 5, but I had a contract. That was in 2018. We eventually acquired the rights to those Forge books, and they’ve found a loyal audience. I will release the 10th in that series in April. I'm contracted through book 16. While I'm no household name, I am actually earning enough that I could live off my writing, and still be able to take a nice vacation. 

Is that success?

I’m going to step outside my comfort zone and call it a win. While I’m still working daily to become a better writer, and I’m still striving to make the lists and get a phone call from Reece saying she’s selected my book for her club, I think I’ll spend a moment savoring my achievements.

It’s taken me a long time, with so many ups and downs along the way. Because for years writing wasn’t the top priority, sliding in below earning a living and raising a family, my progress was slow, but it was consistent. Learn, connect, write, and write, and write. When the path to success veered, I kept going. What I learned along the way is to invest in a good developmental editor, believe in yourself, and don't quit. I certainly haven't. I'm staring at my Medicare Birthday in two months and I’m working hard to learn more, write better books, and get bigger contracts. 

Another lesson for me is to remind myself how far I’ve come and to raise a glass in appreciation of the journey.

To that end, I’ll be popping a cork on April 29^th when they pull the gate on Taking Stock and it bounds into the world.