Lessons from Publishing My First Psychological Thriller
Before anything else, I owe myself an apology.
At the beginning of the year, I made a promise to write at least two blog entries every month. It seemed like a reasonable commitment—one that would allow me to document my teaching experiences, travels, creative discoveries, and the occasional rabbit hole I inevitably fall into.
And then I published a book.
Or perhaps more accurately, I became completely consumed by the process of publishing one.
Since the release of Red Strings: The Key, I have been unapologetically self-absorbed and mildly obsessed with getting the book out into the world. Marketing plans replaced blog drafts. Social media posts took precedence over reflections. Conversations revolved around ISBNs, printing options, distribution channels, cover designs, and the many moving parts involved in bringing a story to life beyond the manuscript itself.
So if Muse News has been quieter than usual, now you know why.
The irony, however, is that writing the book was never the difficult part.
The idea itself emerged from an unexpected place. As a lecturer teaching Digital Video, writing stories had become part of the job. Scripts, treatments, character arcs, and storyboards were familiar territory. One day, somewhere between teaching three-act structures and reminding students that continuity errors do indeed matter, a dangerous thought appeared.
What if I wrote a book?
Not illustrated for a change. Not some animated storyboard. Nor a screenwriting script.
BUT.
An actual novel.
To my surprise, the writing came relatively easily. The story unfolded naturally, the characters began developing minds of their own, and before long, I found myself spending evenings untangling mysteries, plotting crime, and chasing red strings across pages.
Finding a voice was never really the challenge. The challenge, however, was staying on course.
Every writer knows this feeling. You begin researching one small detail and somehow emerge three hours later with extensive knowledge about a subject that has absolutely no place in your story. Writing, I quickly discovered, is not simply about creating words. It is about returning to the story after every distraction, every tangent, and every irresistible rabbit hole.
Eventually, after enough drafts, edits, and revisions, I reached what I believed was the finish line. It was published first as a short story on Wattpad. Something I also somehow had forgotten over time until late last year, when the same question arose. This time however I picked up where I left of and made a complete overhaul of the story to expand it further.
Open more doors and draw more strings to the board.
The manuscript was complete. The mystery was unravelled. The ending worked. I had done it.
Or so… I thought.
Reality arrived shortly afterwards with what I can only describe as a tightly packed kimchi slap.
The moment you decide to self-publish, you stop being just a writer.
Suddenly, you become a cover designer, typesetter, marketer, advertiser, public relations officer, customer service representative, logistics coordinator, and amateur expert in publishing terminology. Every completed task reveals another one waiting behind it.
And that brings me to my first major mistake.
I wish I had spent significantly more time researching publishing before pressing the publish button.
Like many first-time independent authors, I was immediately attracted to Amazon KDP’s free ISBN. It seemed efficient, convenient, and most importantly, free. What I failed to fully appreciate was that “free” often comes with conditions attached.
Only later did I begin to understand the implications of distribution restrictions, printing considerations, and future flexibility. The more I learned, the more questions emerged.
Then came shipping.
The kind of discovery that quietly approaches before running you over with a fully loaded trailer.
While Amazon works brilliantly in many parts of the world, I had overlooked one important detail.
Not everyone has an Amazon account.
And even among those who do, international shipping costs can occasionally feel as though the book is being hand-delivered from another continent by a particularly expensive pigeon.
Questions began appearing almost immediately.
“Can I buy it locally?”
“Is there another way to order?”
“Why does the shipping cost almost as much as the book?”
Questions that, in hindsight, I should have anticipated much earlier.
Naturally, being the organised and highly responsible individual that I am—or at least pretending to be—I had already devised a solution.
I would simply order Amazon Author Copies.
Problem solved. Or so I thought…
Until I saw the estimated delivery date.
Mid-July.
For a brief moment, I considered patience.
Then I checked the delivery estimate again.
And again.
And again.
What began as mild concern gradually evolved into full publishing anxiety. The result was a deep dive into publishing blogs, forums, Facebook groups, Reddit discussions, and author communities. Somewhere between success stories, cautionary tales, and enough publishing advice to fill a small library, a new plan emerged.
As fate would have it, that next chapter unfolded not at my desk, but during a short getaway to Medan.
Now, while I was certainly admiring the breathtaking landscapes, remarkable churches, and the magnificent Christ the Saviour overlooking the city, my mind kept returning to a single question.
What now?
The more I researched, the more I realised that if I truly wanted flexibility in the future—local printing, bookstore opportunities, direct sales, and perhaps future books beyond Red Strings: The Key—I needed to think beyond a single title.
I needed to think like a publisher.
And so, somewhere between cups of coffee, church visits, and moments of reflection, I made what felt like a wonderfully sensible decision.
I would register myself as a self-publisher in Malaysia.
Simple.
Seems straightforward.
Plus professional outlook. Et voilà!
A decision that lasted approximately five minutes before I hit another wall. Unfortunately, this one was entirely self-inflicted.
Excitement had convinced me that I could create a wonderfully fancy publisher name and register it under my IC. What followed was two weeks of confusion, failed registrations, troubleshooting attempts, and a mysterious technical error that seemed determined to defy explanation.
On my end, the registration kept failing.
On PNM’s end, it apparently shouldn’t have been failing.
It felt like another episode of The X-Files, except significantly less glamorous and with considerably more forms.
Then amidst that one sleepless night, somewhere between exhaustion and determination, a thought occurred to me.
Beamuse Designs.
It was already there.
Already SSM registered.
Already carrying years of creative work behind it.
Why was I trying so hard to invent something new when the foundation already existed?
Perhaps Beamuse Designs did not need to remain solely a design practice.
Perhaps it could grow into something more.
Allow me, for a moment, the grand delusion of imagining myself as the Duchess CEO of Beamuse Designs.
Ridiculous? Absolutely.
Motivating? Surprisingly so.
At the break of dawn, fuelled by caffeine and one final strand of hope, I submitted the application again.
This time, it worked.
No fireworks.
No choir of angels.
Just a successful registration. Yet after two weeks of uncertainty, it felt like a victory. Around this time, something unexpected happened. For months, my attention had been focused almost entirely on logistics. Registration forms, publishing platforms, ISBNs, distribution channels, shipping costs, printing considerations, and enough administrative details to make me temporarily forget why I started this journey in the first place.
The book had become a project.
A process.
A checklist.
And then, for a brief moment, it became a story again.
Not because I reread it.
But because someone else did.
Among the many surprises that accompanied the publication of Red Strings: The Key was the news that it had received recognition through the International Impact Book Awards.
To be completely honest, I did not know how to react.
Writers spend so much time questioning themselves that external recognition often arrives with a strange mixture of gratitude, disbelief, and suspicion that someone may have accidentally clicked the wrong title.
Yet beyond the award itself, something else carried even greater significance.
The reviews.
Three of them. My first three reviews from readers. Not friends trying to be polite. Not family members obliged to be supportive.
Readers. Actual readers.
People who had entered the world I created and emerged with thoughts, observations, and reactions of their own.
For the first time since publishing, the book ceased belonging entirely to me.
It had begun its journey into the hands of others.
And that, more than any registration approval or publishing milestone, reminded me why I started writing in the first place.
Not for the forms.
Not for the metadata.
Not for the ISBN.
But for the possibility that a story might connect with someone I have never met.
Perhaps that is the real moment a book begins to live.
Not when it is published.
But when it is read.
And so, what began as a simple ambition to publish a book somehow evolved into a tale that would not feel entirely out of place within the pages of a Dickens novel.
There were wrong turns.Administrative detours.
Unexpected plot twists coupled with moments of triumph and some of confusion And enough forms to qualify as their own supporting cast.
Yet somehow, despite the occasional bureaucratic obstacle course and self-inflicted publishing mishaps, the story appears to be heading towards a rather positive conclusion.
For now. The journey to a new paved path is only the beginning.
And to my dearest friends, family members, early supporters, and wonderfully patient readers who placed pre-orders before questioning my sanity—your books are here.
SIGNED AS WELL.
Some already received in their hands. Some a-coming and some to arrive by mail!
Of course, no creative journey ever arrives exactly as it began. Every journey leads to another door, you open it and another string is tugged.
Nevertheless, reflecting on the journey thus far, perhaps doing things backwards was not such a terrible thing after all. Had I spent months researching publishing before writing the book, I might never have started. Instead, I stumbled into the process headfirst, made mistakes, learnt lessons the hard way, and occasionally found myself wondering if I had bitten off more than I could chew.
Yet every misstep seemed to reveal another path forward.
Stepping into KDP taught me about distribution. Wrestling with ISBNs taught me about ownership. Navigating registrations taught me patience. Building Beamuse Designs as a publishing venture taught me to think beyond a single title and towards a future I had not previously considered.
More importantly, the journey gave me confidence—not just as a writer, but as an author willing to learn, adapt, and continue growing.
There were moments when I genuinely wondered if I had reached the end of the road. Moments where every solution seemed to introduce a fresh problem and every answer arrived with three new questions attached.
Yet somehow, whenever I felt like this might be as far as I could go, something always seemed to step forward. Whether it was a gentle nudge from a reader or that stranger on the socials.
Looking back, it often felt like God’s gentle nudge saying,
“Not yet. There’s still a long way to go.”
“Straighten your back.”
“Keep walking forward.”
And so I will.
After all, every good story deserves another chapter.
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