The Triskele Trail
A Pathway to Independent Publishing




The Triskele Trail

Once upon a time, there were five writers.
They believed there was a third way of publishing, somewhere over the rainbow.
So they packed their books and set off to explore.
This is what happened on the journey.
The Triskele Trail is a true story.
About a writers' collective who made some mistakes and some smart decisions; who discovered opportunities, found friends and dodged predators in the independent publishing jungle.
Fourteen books later, here are the lessons we learned.
This is not a How-To book.
This is How-We-Did-It.
This is The Triskele Trail.

“It's the combined wisdom of a range of independently published writers that makes the difference: practical know-how, up-to-date details about the financials and processes of publishing platforms and services, as well as other been-there-done-that tips – all of which I found in The Triskele Trail”
-- author of Charlotte Aimes, Libby O.

"Despite having published more than eighty books with traditional publishing houses I found the path through the jungle of independent and self-publishing peppered with booby traps for the unwary. I wish I’d had this book when I set out, it would have saved me a great deal of time, money and heartache ... This is the ultimate jungle guidebook written by people who have actually cut their own path through the undergrowth. They have weathered all the set-backs, fallen into all the traps and climbed back out again, emerging into the light, bruised but triumphant, with a thriving small business and a number of handsome books. The lessons they have to teach are priceless for anyone hoping to follow them ... Modern publishing is an industry filled with dreamers, fantasists and the plain deluded. This book is a clear, calm, factual guide from people who truly know what they are talking about."
-- author and ghostwriter, Andrew Crofts.


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The Porsche thundered through the trees. Belanov steered with his left hand, allowing his right, complete with TAG Heuer, to rest on the gearstick. Her colour was high and he could sense her exhilaration. He allowed the vehicle a four-wheel slide as they arrived at the cabin.

“OK, Ms McKendrick. I’ll be five minutes. Would you like me to leave the music on for you?”

“You know what? I think I might be safe enough to come in while you get your stuff. Apart from anything else, I could use the bathroom.”

Belanov repressed a grin and bowed like a gentleman as he opened the passenger door and offered his arm. He ran through his list. White wine and snacks in fridge, vodka in freezer. Fire laid, clean sheets, camera charged. And in the bedside drawer, a high-quality twist of cocaine. Czech.