In a world where the clamor of social media dictates much of our lives, I made a choice that seemed both revolutionary and essential: I pared back my presence on these platforms and removed the option for comments on most of my posts. This wasn't a decision made on a whim but a deliberate move towards reclaiming my mental well-being and rekindling my passion for publishing.
The omnipresence of social media had become a double-edged sword, cutting into the very fabric of my daily existence. The continuous barrage of feedback, whether positive or negative, began to cloud my vision, obscuring the core of why I ventured into publishing. The moment of realization was stark—I was losing sight of my love for books amid the din of voices telling me what a small press "should" be doing.
Stepping away from social media brought on a mix of fear and relief. There was apprehension about disconnecting from my audience, countered by a deep yearning for the tranquility that comes from silence. The outcome was swift and surprising. Without the relentless stream of notifications and comments, clarity returned, and with it, a sharper focus. My days were once again filled with the joy of sifting through manuscripts, collaborating with authors, and planning the future of our publications with a newfound enthusiasm.
Contrary to my fears, distancing myself from the constant online chatter did not sever my ties with my readers. Instead, it deepened them. I found new ways to connect—through newsletters, direct correspondence, and intimate gatherings that allowed for meaningful exchanges far removed from the superficial interactions of social media. These channels fostered a sense of community and shared purpose, something that was often lost in the ephemeral exchanges online.
This shift in focus from digital to tangible interactions has been transformative. By stepping away from the constant demand for online engagement, I've been able to devote more time and energy to the aspects of publishing that truly matter. My editorial processes have become more thorough, my designs more thoughtful, and my marketing strategies more aligned with our mission. This dedication to quality has not only elevated my publications but has also attracted authors and readers who share our commitment to literature that resonates and endures.
In this deliberate withdrawal from the digital fray, I've rediscovered the essence of why I chose to become a publisher. I've learned that away from the glare of screens, creativity and connection thrive. The true measure of my work isn't quantified by likes or comments but by the impact my books have on the lives of those who encounter them.
Looking forward, I approach the horizon with a calm determination, secure in the knowledge that my path as a small press is not defined by the fleeting trends of social media, but by my unwavering dedication to creating books of substance and significance. This choice to retreat from the digital onslaught has been a profound act of self-preservation and a reaffirmation of my values—a choice that has guided me back to the heart of publishing.