In Egyptian mythology, Apep was a serpent of chaos and darkness that faced defeat each night, only to rise again with renewed purpose. As I launch Apep Press, this symbolism resonates with me in ways I never expected when I first fell in love with publishing.
Some of you may remember Pavor Press, my first attempt at running a horror publisher. I'd spent two years learning everything I could about the industry, reading countless articles, taking workshops, and dreaming about the books I'd help bring into the world. I launched on January 1st, 2020 – timing that now feels almost darkly comedic. Despite all that preparation, I couldn't have predicted how that year would unfold.
As COVID-19 swept through our lives, my carefully laid plans began to crumble. Financial stability became a distant memory. Personal crises piled up until they felt insurmountable. Each morning, I'd wake up to emails I couldn't answer, problems I couldn't solve, and authors whose trust I was failing to honor. Eventually, I had to make the decision that had been haunting me for months – I closed the press.
Shutting down Pavor Press broke something in me. For a while, at least. It wasn't just a business failure; it felt like I'd failed as a person. Every time I saw a new book announcement or publishing success story, my stomach would knot up. I couldn't even look at my own writing. The joy I'd always found in horror, in storytelling, in building something meaningful – it all turned to ash. I retreated from the writing community entirely, convinced I'd lost my place in it.
I spent a long time in that darkness. But sometimes, when we're at our lowest, the right words from the right person can change everything. "You're allowed to fail and learn from it," my partner told me. "If it's something you loved, try again."
Try again. Such simple words, but they hit me like a thunderbolt.
Every mistake I made with Pavor Press taught me something valuable. I learned that being a people-pleaser doesn't serve anyone well in publishing. I rushed things that shouldn't have been rushed. I made promises based on optimism rather than reality. From contract issues to pricing miscalculations to editing oversights – each misstep showed me a better path forward.
But more importantly, I learned that passion isn't enough. Running a press requires stability, clear boundaries, and the courage to slow down when needed. It means being able to say no. It means prioritizing quality over speed. It means understanding that perfectionism is the enemy of progress, but attention to detail is your friend.
This time around, I'm approaching publishing with hard-won wisdom and renewed passion. I have a stable foundation, both personally and professionally. I have a clear vision of what it takes to run a press properly. Most importantly, I'm no longer afraid of imperfection. Like Apep rising each night to face a new battle, I'm ready to try again, bringing with me every lesson learned from past defeats.
To the authors I let down before: I'm sorry, and I thank you for the lessons your trust taught me. To future Apep Press authors: I promise to bring those lessons forward into every aspect of our work together. Your stories deserve nothing less.
The darkness can be a teacher, if we let it. Sometimes, it's where we find our strength.
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