Writers are professional dreamers. For many, it’s our full-time career; for others, a side-hustle dream career in the making. We spin universes out of thin air, get drunk on our own metaphors, and tell ourselves that the messy 200,000-word draft on our laptop is secretly genius.
We save, use our royalties to pay for editors, invest in apps and software, and run our creative projects within the small businesses that evolve and grow with time.
But some unpublished writers and dreamers who desperately want to be authors take certain steps that diminish the credibility of our community and craft. They call themselves indie authors, but haven’t done the hard work to earn that title.
They want the success they see online that behind the scenes has taken often decades to build. There is a .5% chance that an indie writer will become an overnight success. And sadly, many of these budding writers think they’ll be the exception instead of the rule, and wind up taking shortcuts.
They bypass essential self-editing phases, critique groups, beta readers, word-count homicide, and revision—and head straight for GoFundMes, Kickstarters, game the TikTok shop systems, to fund their editor. They skip past market testing altogether and start talking about 5-digit printing runs, on a debut novel that hasn’t been introduced to the general market yet.
<By the way, who were the beta readers of The Age of Scorpius? Because I would like a word… and to know if you had a gun to your head?>
Because why actually do the work when you can just ask strangers to bankroll your shortcuts? Surely art, sprayed edges, a decent synopsis, ego, and over-confidence will carry the book to immediate success worthy of that level of a printing run, right? <laughs in Audra Winter drama>
It’s typical carts-before-horses behavior, and we keep seeing it take place. Only now, with the way things are economically and how fast word travels, we see bigger risks being taken that decrease trust in our community and hearing more instances of this. And we are starting to see fraud play out in real-time. <pssssst… someone on TikTok shop belongs in jail>
This is not how indie publishing works. What we’re seeing is some messed up Pet Cemetery version of the process.
The Core Issue
Crowdfunding, as a lifeline, is meant to be used when all other options have been exercised. Publishing is expensive, of course: editing, cover design, formatting, distribution. For writers without savings, Kickstarter and GoFundMe look like an enticing shortcut.
It’s not for a process of first draft—editor—print. Because babes, that’s not how to publish a book. But maybe newbs seem to think it is.
This is where the vanity vs. legitimacy blur together. If the book is undercooked (no editor, weak craft, no budget or time made for revisions), the crowdfunding page reads less like an investment in art and more like “please bankroll my hobby.” While some people will be happy to fund your projects, to many serious readers, it can make them feel exploited.
“Oh, but I want to get my book out there—the world deserves to read this book!” Sure. We get that. But have YOU done the work necessary to warrant funds being given to you to take it to the next step? The time for asking for money isn’t after the first draft. It’s after you’ve done all of the possible work you CAN do without funds.
Six rounds of drafts. Alpha readers. Growing a team of Beta readers. Exchanging your manuscript with other writing critique groups. Polishing, revising again, and again, and again. These are all things that should be done prior to hiring an editor.
Then there’s the professionalism gap. Authors who can’t or won’t budget for an editor signal that they don’t take the craft seriously. Readers notice. So do BookTok and Bookstagram reviewers. Look what happened with the Audra Winter case. She sold 6,000+ pre-orders on a clearly unedited book, and used TikTok shop in a way that behaved like a Kickstarter. She tried to cover or distract the problem with loads of unnecessary artwork. It essentially was a crowdfunded mess via the TikTok shop that reflected badly not just on the author but on indie publishing community as a whole.
The First Draft Illusion
Here’s a reality check: a first draft isn’t a book. It’s raw ore. It’s compost. It’s the pile of bones you dump out before figuring out how the skeleton fits together. Handing that to an editor after starting a crowdsourcing campaign isn’t “the next step.” It’s like showing up to a plastic surgeon with a drawing of a face on a napkin and demanding a nose job.
First drafts are compost. They’re not books. They’re piles of raw material you shape into a story.
Editors don’t write your book for you. They refine, sharpen, trim, polish. If you’re asking them to perform emergency surgery on a Frankenstein monster of bloated prose, you’re not paying for editing—you’re paying for ghostwriting.
And that’s not their job. And it’s not the job of social media followers to finance half-baked projects that lack the necessary steps needed to get it to an editor.
Editors aren’t miracle workers. Their job is refinement, not resurrection. If you hand over a bloated, untested first draft, the editor either has to gut the whole thing (which is basically ghostwriting at that point) or send it back with a polite “you’re not ready.” And they should keep your money for their wasted time.
A first draft isn’t editor-ready—it’s author-ready. And if the author isn’t willing to wrestle with it first, no amount of GoFundMe money will make that book worth reading.
Let’s talk about the scale mismatch. First book, untested writer, unedited draft—yet debut authors are out there hustling and budgeting for teams, art, sprayed edges, and print runs like they’re Brandon Sanderson with a cult following. It’s delusional. I don’t want to hear a single word about a print run from any debut author until it’s hit the market in eBook form. Just…shhhhh…
Please, can we not ignore modern publishing realities? Print-on-demand exists. Ebooks exist. You don’t need a warehouse of unsold books unless your business model is “future firewood.”
$50,000 and a Warehouse of Ego
Because the universe likes to keep things entertaining—comes the dream of raising $50,000 to print thousands of copies of an untested, debut novel. A book no one’s read except a few close friends or acquaintances, who might not tell the writer the truth. A book no one’s vetted. A book that hasn’t even been through the woodchipper of critique.
It’s hubris with a Kickstarter page.
We work in an environment of accessibility and print-on-demand. You can literally publish a book tomorrow and not drown in cardboard boxes stacked to your ceiling. And yet, some debut author folks are still out here fantasizing about warehouse-scale print runs before they’ve even built an audience. Before they’ve gotten to a second draft. Before the book has been read by a flood of beta readers. This is not publishing. It’s ensuring our fires will be warm in the winter with all the wasted paper from a failed edition.
I mean, thanks? I love a good bonfire?
I’m not one to stomp out anyone’s dreams, but at the same time, let’s be real. It’s good to plan for success, but it’s not guaranteed. And it certainly brings about a lot of risk to finances and reputation if the book is shoddy.
There’s no proof of concept. You don’t ask for tens of thousands off the bat before heading into revision stages making claims you’re going to physically print a book no one’s read. You prove it has an audience first. Get the reviews. Gain momentum. Otherwise, you’re just stockpiling paper bricks in your garage. Makes great firewood though—just saying.
So I leave this topic with a thought: what the fuck is a writer doing talking about print runs and financing that with backer money before their book is released when they didn’t even have funds to hire an editor? What in the absolute fuckery is up with that?!
<sorry reader if this is you, but c’mon.>
Print runs will come with time. Start small. Build the business. Get two more books out first. THEN you can talk about running with scissors and making risky financial moves.
Why It Screws the Indie Writer Community
Here’s why this matters: every time an author crowdfunds an unfinished draft or a vanity print run that has not gone through the essential steps of editing and testing, readers get burned. And when readers get burned, they start assuming all indie authors are running scams with unedited, half-baked books.
We have seen how this plays out with the recent Audra Winter case, as well as the Britt Andrews scandal. And when our collective community of readers get burned, it reflects poorly on all of us. Sales go down. Pre-orders for books aren’t as high as they used to be.
It also feeds the tired stereotype: self-publishing equals sloppy garbage not worthy of traditional publishing. And then those of us who’ve revised our drafts twelve times, cried over beta feedback, and actually invested in professional editing have to fight harder to prove our work isn’t trash.
Getting readers to invest in new debut author copies on pre-order? Gone. All because of situations just like that. And if you look at the comments of the Audra Winter scenario, you’ll see loads of people saying “never buying indie again” or “this is why I don’t buy indie books”.
Why Readers May Bristle at Crowdfunded Indie Efforts
Readers are essentially pre-paying for a book that may never be properly finished. We have seen this play out in the case of Britt Andrews. Two years have passed. Where’s the book? <crickets> Oh, but there’s allegedly a restaurant.
The crowdsourcing campaign often feels and reads like an emotional pitch with pity marketing mixed in, instead of a professional one: “Help me live my dream” vs. “Here’s a polished project with clear deliverables, and I’m at the stage where it’s ready for final stages of professional assistance.” Backers want a return—a well-written book. They’re not looking to subsidize someone’s lack of preparation. The only way to get them to feel good about investing in your project is to show them the steps you have taken to get that book to the point worth investing in.
The brutal revision phase. They need to see it. And it’s a journey worth taking them on. Did I mention you can use this time as a marketing tool?
The Work You Can’t Skip—Getting Horses Before Carts
Editing can be painful and unsexy. It’s honestly the bane of my existence with some books. It’s humbling. Emotional. And it requires an ample amount of writing snacks and emotional support animals and mugs. The unsexy truth is this:
You have to finish the draft. Then admit it’s a mess.
You have to go through several revisions. I recommend six (will explain later).
Writers need to murder the word count when it’s bloated. If it hurts and makes you wince or cry, you’re doing it right. Just save it in a Scrivener folder. You’ll be fine.
All authors should seek brutal critique. This is how we grow as writers and refine our writing skills. Cry. Revise. Repeat. Seek feedback. Become devastated. Cry. Revise. Repeat.
Then—only then—after what I refer to as the revision phase—call an editor.
We should insist or demand horses-before-carts situations. This community has seen way too much fraud, unedited debut novels, crowdsourcing without the heavy lifting done first on the author’s part, and garbage books that flood the market. Maybe I’m just jaded. Or maybe I’m just over it. But when I see a reader community being taken advantage of, especially when we are urging readers to pre-order indie books with limited chapter samples, I can’t help but wonder how much damage these debut authors are doing when they don’t follow our industry’s publishing standards.
The Fuckery of Crowdfunding
Crowdfunding isn’t the villain. I want to make this clear—if you have put in the hard revision work but need financial assistance that can’t be obtained through loans, credit cards, or family, by all means exercise that option.
The problem isn’t crowdfunding itself—it’s crowdfunding half-baked projects and expecting strangers to underwrite the basics of professionalism (editing, proofing, etc.).
When authors use it as a crutch for projects they choose not to develop properly, it feels exploitative rather than collaborative. Readers want to support passion that leads to a professional approach of a finished quality book, not haphazard attempts and cart-before-horse circumstances.
Can you imagine admitting to your audience that you just finished the manuscript, made a few changes, and are leaving the rest to an editor? OMG, I couldn’t. As much as I hate working through edits, I LIVE for that shit. It’s where I find growth in my craft.
Crowdfunding CAN work well if the author already has an audience, a polished draft, and a professional plan. In those cases, backers feel like patrons of the arts. That’s what we want for them—to be excited about our work…not wondering if the book is even going to pan out or whether the funds will actually be used for what they are claimed to be intended for. <hello, Britt Andrews>
First draft status does not warrant a fundraising pitch. Crowdfunding is supposed to be about “I have a solid manuscript, a plan, and clear deliverables” many stages later. Not “I vomited 200,000 words and need cash to make it legible.”
Editors should not be doing the heavy lifting. That’s the job of the writer. And you owe it to your backers to get it to the point where an editor would be elated to get the job of editing your book.
Skipping the free (and crucial) steps of the revision process is lazy and undermines backers’ investments. Critique groups, beta/alpha readers, trimming down bloat—those are essential pre-editing stages. They don’t cost a dime except ego. If a writer hasn’t done them, they’re asking strangers to pay for their unwillingness to workshop.
Unclear deliverables is another shady approach. Even if you raised the money, what happens if the editor says, “This is unfixable without a complete rewrite”? Is the author crowdfunding for rewrites too? Version 2.0?
Backers want and deserve to know the timeline. When is it headed to the editor? Has the editor been shopped? Has there been a contract signed? Has the editor seen the manuscript and agreed it has potential? We don’t need an editor Q&A. Just tell us these details are in place.
Don’t misuse reader goodwill. Crowdfunding works when there’s a vision, a tangible near-finished product, and enthusiasm. Without these things in place, it comes across as “I can’t be bothered to revise, so I’m going to use your money to pay someone else to do my homework.”
This is why I feel so strongly that crowdsourcing book projects should not take place until a book has reached the point of an editor’s hands, and only after a thorough revision process.
Otherwise, it sends the message: “I’m entitled to skip the grind of revision because that’s what editors are for and other people will fund my messy manuscript.” That’s the real kicker—it’s not an “I need support to polish a ready manuscript,” it’s “please fund my wallet to let me to skip the hard part of writing and let the editor do it.”
What is polished and what is “ready”? There’s a difference. Polished is having gone through the stages of revision. “Ready” means any draft in any condition. Ready for what, exactly?
Also, abusing crowdsourcing at the wrong time undermines indie writer community credibility. Readers and outsiders already see self-publishing as a “vanity” game and ripe with quality control problems—this sort of campaign reinforces that stereotype.
When this happens, backers don’t get to become patrons of their art; they’re unpaid financiers wasting money on the writer’s lack of discipline, and often get asked for more funding when things with the editor go sideways. <casually waves hands in Audra Winter’s direction>
What Writers Should Be Doing Instead, Before or Instead of Fundraising
Cutting word count on their own (brutal self-edit sessions).
Running it through alpha readers and critique groups (free labor, yes, but also community, word of mouth, team-building, and peer review).
Refining until the manuscript is strong enough that an editor is doing precision work, not full triage in rescuing the book from its writer.
Saving up like the rest of us (because editors are not cheap, and they shouldn’t be).
Maybe not put so much focus on the first book, and save that energy for the 4th book, when they’ve built some royalty money up to save.
So yes—fundraising too early is problematic. Not because people shouldn’t crowdfund books, but because many debut authors are treating crowdfunding like a shortcut for craft.
Why These Red Flags Hurts All Authors
Many times these undercooked manuscripts scream “vanity project.” The writers are not strategizing about audience, marketing, or reception—they’re fantasizing about being a bestseller by brute-forcing a massive print run, thinking pretty covers and art accessories will make up for deficiencies.
They don’t.
It feeds into the “self-published = sloppy vanity press” stereotype. It makes readers think they’re gambling on unfinished, amateur projects (because in many cases, they literally are). It muddies the water for legit crowdfunded authors who do deliver professional-level books.
Readers don’t want to fund someone’s gamble; they want to back a sure thing. Make it easy for them to do that. Getting through a thorough revision process ensures that manuscript has big potential. Don’t put the cart before the horse. Before you chase $50k for printing, chase feedback, editing, beta readers, and a test audience.
Because even if you got those books printed, how would you move them? A first-time author with no platform, no editor, and no reader base isn’t selling tens of thousands of copies. They’re going to drown in debt, cardboard, and embarrassment.
This is the kind of situation that makes professional authors roll their eyes.
Be one of us. Don’t think you have to go about this process alone. Engage with the writer community, because we’ll give you all kinds of information and advice to help you become a successful author. We actually want to help and commiserate with you as you go through these hard but essential steps. It’s all part of being a writer. <this is your invitation to join us as a tormented artist lol>
From First Draft to Editor: The Process People Keep Pretending Doesn’t Exist
Here’s the revision process I recommend.
Draft One: The Word Vomit
Get the story down. Don’t polish, don’t obsess. Just finish.
This draft is for you and you alone. No one else should see it. (Not even your cat, who will judge you.)
Draft Two: The Author’s First Revisions
You re-read and realize half your book is throat-clearing, tangents, or scenes where characters eat soup and think about nothing.
You cut, rewrite, restructure. The goal: coherence.
Draft Three: Structural Revisions
Big-picture surgery. Fix pacing. Strengthen arcs. Decide which characters live, die, or get axed entirely.
This is the “does this actually work as a book?” draft.
Alpha Readers (Trusted Few)
These are your ride-or-die readers who will slog through messy prose because they love you (or owe you).
Their job: tell you if the story even makes sense. Plot holes, boring stretches, things that made them stop reading.
You want to ask them specific questions. Did they get pulled out of the story? Was anything confusing? What characters did you identify with and why? What characters did you not like and why? How did they feel? etc.
Draft Four: Incorporating Alpha Feedback
You address the big “WTF is this?” moments your alphas flagged.
You re-shape again, knowing where you lost readers or confused them.
Critique Group or Workshop Stage
Share chapters with other writers who know craft.
Their job: highlight weak dialogue, clunky descriptions, pacing issues, and lazy tropes.
This is where your ego gets its ass handed to it—and that’s good.
Sample Chapter Feedback (Beta Test)
Pick 1–2 polished chapters and get fresh eyes on them (different from alphas or critique buddies).
Readers should tell you: would they keep reading? Did they get hooked? Did they skim?
These are not the ARC readers. But you can use your beta team testers in final ARC copies.
Draft Five: Polishing Pass
Clean up prose. Tighten sentences. Murder adverbs.
Line edit yourself as far as you can. By now, the book should feel like a book, not a messy draft.
Beta Readers (Wider Circle)
Once the story feels solid, send it to readers who resemble your target audience.
Their feedback isn’t about line edits—it’s about overall readability, pacing, and whether the story delivers.
Draft Six: Final Author Pass
Address beta feedback. Refine pacing, plug holes, trim bloat, strengthen voice. Shave it down.
This is the point where the manuscript is “editor-ready.”
Editor Stage (Finally)
Now, and only now, is when you hire an editor.
Developmental edit (big-picture craft).
Copyedit (grammar, style, clarity).
Proofread (last sweep before publication).
If you skip all this and jump straight from Draft One to “fund my editor,” you’re not streamlining the process—you’re outsourcing your growth as a writer. Which means you’ll never actually learn how to revise, and your career will flatline before it even begins.
Final Thoughts
How long are readers and investors supposed to wait for these projects to come to fruition? What happens if the book is shit?
Could we just stop leveraging the reading community to fund half-baked projects? Could we collectively take responsibility and accountability for getting those writing projects to a state where they can become patrons of the arts instead of victims of pity marketing-heavy financially stressed writers?
Readers want to invest in your craft, not your avoidance of it. And one of the best ways to do that is include them on your journey first through the process of revision.
Just to reframe the timeline to drive this home, here are my suggestions on timing.
Acceptable Timing for Crowdfunding an Editor
All of these things need to be in place before it’s an acceptable time to crowdfund.
After multiple self-revisions. You’ve already put in the sweat to cut, rewrite, and streamline. (Readers shouldn’t pay for the work you skipped.)
After alpha readers/critique groups. You’ve already absorbed free, honest feedback and made adjustments. This shows you’ve respected the process and community (which is huge, by the way). We have standards, and if you’re not going to follow or adhere to standards, you won’t have a seat at our table. Dead serious.
After beta readers. Ideally, you’ve tested the story with actual readers who gave you clarity on pacing, arcs, and readability.
With a near-final draft in hand. The manuscript should be coherent, relatively clean, and something you’d be proud to show—even unedited. That’s when outside funding to refine the book is reasonable.
Why This Matters
Trust. Backers want to feel they’re funding completion, not cleanup of a mess or just an “idea” for a book.
Professionalism. Asking too early screams vanity and entitlement; asking later signals you’ve done your part and now need support for the professional step.
Deliverables. At this stage, you can confidently promise backers something real: “This book exists. It’s been through six drafts. Your contribution helps me fund the professional edit that takes it from good to publishable.”
Bottom line: crowdfunding for an editor begins when the book is editor-ready, not when the author is tired of revising.
Dream big. Write big. Hell, fantasize about your face on billboards if it keeps you at the keyboard. But when you start asking readers to fund your shortcuts, you’re not building a career—you’re building resentment when you put their trust in you at risk. Because we all know there’s going to be the risk that the book just isn’t written well, and requires complete revisions before an editor will even touch it.
I want your book to succeed. I want the indie author community to thrive. At the same time, I want to protect our readers. That’s why I care so much about all the fuckery happening related to crowdfunding and unedited debut novels. Just do the work. Even though it’s hard. Even though it probably doesn’t align with your financial timeline.
Welcome to the indie writer community. Get ready to work hard, cry, take loads of feedback, develop thick skin, and celebrating the day when that book of yours is finally published. We’re glad you’re here creating with us.