Recently I published my first book, Inspiration—Prerana: Stories and Lessons from My Journey, through Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing. Calling it a “book” still feels strange to me; it’s more like a short memoir or a collection of personal reflections that I finally gathered enough courage to release. But the moment I clicked “publish,” something shifted. I realized that publishing is not just a technical process. It is emotional. It is social. It is economic. And somehow, it is also a form of self-discovery.

People often talk about publishing; they often speak about the product, the final printed thing, the cover, the reviews, and the sales. But no one prepared me for the internal journey. There is a moment when you look at your own words and think, “Am I really putting this out there?” It is your voice, your memories, and your vulnerabilities. And suddenly it is public, open to anyone’s judgment or interpretation. Yet at the same time, it feels liberating, like you have finally honored a part of yourself.

Amazon KDP played a strange role in this. On one hand, it felt like a blessing. There were no gatekeepers asking me to prove myself. No publishers are ignoring my emails. No long process of approvals. It was simple: create, upload, publish. For someone without connections, without money to hire editors or designers, and without the time to chase traditional publishers, it felt like a door quietly opening.

But on the other hand, the very freedom of KDP revealed a different kind of inequality. KDP does not judge your work, which means you also do not get feedback, peer review, or editorial support. You are responsible for everything: the quality, the marketing, the design, and even understanding the algorithms. It also made me think about who gets access to these books. I realized that even if I price my ebook at one or two dollars, many people will not be able to buy it. Not because of the price, but because of the infrastructure behind the price. You need internet access, an Amazon account, a device to read on, and a payment method that works internationally. Many parts of the world do not have that luxury.

That is when I started thinking: does self-publishing really democratize knowledge, or does it simply make publishing easier for those already inside the digital ecosystem?

I began to notice how some books, especially physical copies, can become luxuries. The cost of printing, shipping, and importing makes them almost inaccessible for readers in many countries. A book that costs fifteen dollars in the US might cost three times more by the time it reaches a developing country. So even though the content might be important or life-changing, the system quietly excludes a huge portion of the world.

This made me look back at my own local publishing scene in Nepal. Before choosing KDP, I had sent my book proposal to several Nepali publishers. I was not expecting a contract or immediate acceptance, but I hoped for at least an acknowledgment, something like “We received your email.” But nothing. Silence. It was almost worse than being rejected. At least a rejection means someone read it. I realized that the traditional publishing industry in my own country has its own rigidities. You need connections, social capital, or an already established name. Otherwise, you are invisible.

So, there I was, stuck between two systems. One that ignores you and one that includes you but indirectly excludes many of your potential readers.

I started thinking about the economic side of it. When you publish through KDP, Amazon takes a large portion of the earnings. At first, this annoyed me. But then I realized they handle many things I could not possibly manage: global distribution, printing logistics, digital delivery, tax structure, reporting, and even the dashboard that tracks your sales. These things cost money, and for someone with limited resources, KDP removes many burdens. But then I looked at academic publishing and realized how much worse the situation is there.

Academic publishers earn enormous amounts of money, while authors, who are usually researchers, earn nothing from their books or articles. Libraries pay huge subscription fees. Readers without institutional access are locked out. Compared to that, Amazon almost feels fair. And yet, the fairness is unevenly distributed. Amazon is fair to the author but not necessarily to every potential reader around the world.

All these realizations made me reflect on the sociological side of publishing. Who gets access to books? Who does not? Who decides what knowledge is valuable? And how do global systems shape something as simple as reading?

When I published my book, I thought the hardest part would be writing it. But the real challenge turned out to be understanding the world in which the book now lives. A world where a book is not just a book; it is a product, an economic object, a digital file, a cultural artifact, and sometimes even a status symbol.

This also made me think about the emotional aspect again. For me, publishing this memoir was a way to get rid of fear, the fear of not being good enough, not being interesting enough, and not being “author material.” I did not publish it to become famous or to make money. I published it to break that internal voice that kept telling me, “Maybe you should wait until your writing is better.” But waiting can become a lifelong habit. So, I decided to put something out, even if imperfect, just to prove to myself that I could do it.

I also realized how many obstacles exist for aspiring authors in developing countries. Even if you have passion, ideas, and the willingness to write, the publishing environment around you can be discouraging. Some people understand the opportunities but cannot actualize them because of structural limitations and financial, technical, educational, or even psychological reasons. Platforms like KDP are helpful, but they do not fully solve the access issue. They solve the gatekeeping problem for authors, but they do not solve the systemic problem for readers.

So now I am left with mixed feelings. I am proud of my first book. I am grateful that KDP exists. I am disappointed with local publishing responses. I am aware of the digital inequalities. And I am curious about how I can make my future writings more accessible, not just technically, but socially. Maybe I am thinking too much. Or maybe publishing a book simply makes you see the world differently.

Once your words are out there, you start noticing everything that shapes their path, who can read them, who cannot, and why. It is a process of discovering not just your writing, but the world in which your writing tries to live.