Ethics vs. Exposure: The Dilemma of Publishing with Amazon
How convenience, compromise, and capitalism is breaking the indie dream.
Enter the Behemoth
I'm pretty sure the phrase "love-hate relationship" was invented in anticipation of how I would feel about Amazon in 2025. I remember–decades ago now–being at the library on base in Misawa, asking the librarian to help me find a book. When it didn't come up in her inventory, she said, "Wait, let me check Amazon." That was the first time I heard the name that would come to dominate my entire life, both in how I behaved as a consumer and how I would fail as a self-published author.
Back then, the idea of ordering books online was so fresh and new that no one was even thinking about how that convenience would evolve over time. When Amazon added other products, it just seemed like a natural expansion. There was even a time when Amazon didn't charge sales tax in Texas because they weren't based here. While our eyes were glued to this growing behemoth, we didn't notice what was happening to our local stores, and later, self-publishing itself. Remember: it was always Wal-Mart and Target who were killing small businesses, not Amazon. And that was true right up until it wasn't.
It's easy to write about how Amazon is sticking it to the little guy, as if it mattered much to me a year ago. I am a born consumer, so being able to buy whatever I want whenever I want at prices that undercut everyone else and have it arrive the next morning is basically my utopian future realized. Even joining a writer's night at a local bookstore couldn't quite convince me to give up Amazon, even as I watched their struggle play out right in front of me. It wasn't until Trump took office and the billionaire class fell over themselves to buy his favor that I decided to draw a line in the sand.
I can forgive a lot in the name of $7 books being dropped on my doorstep on a whim, but Bezos’ willingness to accommodate Trump-era politics is just a bridge too far. It's one thing to be a ruthless capitalist hell-bent on becoming the sole source of all consumption in this country–what could be more American than that? But it's ethically and morally abhorrent to enable one of the most horrible men to ever hold the presidency.
Thus, the idea of going wide, not in an attempt to reach more readers, but to take a stand against behavior I do not like. And there's nothing more American than a good old-fashioned boycott.
The problem, of course, is whether it can be done at all. Can you divest your wilting career as a cyberpunk science fiction author from Amazon? And can you do it without sacrificing reader reach, costs, and convenience?
Barriers to Entry
Oddly enough, I never intended to publish with Amazon. When The Sum of Memory was ready to go out into the world and embarrass me, I chose Lulu.com for my on-demand publishing needs. Amazon wasn't even an option. Then came Createspace, which promised tighter integration with the internet's biggest bookstore. At the time, I considered having my books listed on Amazon as an honor, an indication that what I was doing was real somehow. And when Amazon later acquired Createspace, I was so blinded by the prestige and potential reach that I welcomed my new publishing overlord with open arms.
Over the years, Amazon has come to dominate the self-publishing world, and in some ways, they've even gamified it. For aspiring authors, the path to publication is slick and built on the cracking skeletons of independent bookstores. Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP) makes the process so seamless that you start to believe it's the only way. Upload your PDF, tweak a few settings, hit publish, and bam: your paperback is ready to ship in two days for $14.99. It's instant gratification for everyone involved, so long as you don't mind Bezos taking a majority share of the revenue.
IngramSpark, on the other hand, feels like trying to sell books door-to-door in a rainstorm. It's slower, clunkier, more expensive, and somehow more futile. And the results speak for themselves. I've spent the last month buying ISBNs, reformatting books, redoing covers, and ordering proof copies. Now, Xronixle shows up twice on Amazon. The Ingram edition is listed at $21.99 with one-week shipping. Compare that with the $14.99 / two-day shipping KDP version.
Same book, worse experience for the reader.
The price hike is based on a 55% discount you have to provide to retailers. Now, I have to list Xronixle at a minimum of $21.99 to not go negative on my royalty. That $14.99 price tag that I think readers are willing to pay? Gone. With the reformatting, the increased page counts, and this discount, the prices of later books will hit $24.99 - $29.99.
Could you imagine? Paying $30 for a self-published book? And it will take a week to reach you?
I think of it like going for a run in the morning. If my music isn't just right, if my clothes don't fit correctly, if there is literally any excuse, I won't go for a run. Buying books is the same. The moment it’s anything less than effortless—wrong price, wrong ship date, wrong vibe—readers move on.
Readers want:
- Cheap paperback prices
- Fast paperback delivery
- Instant access (eBook and Kindle Unlimited)
So far, I don't see how you deliver the first two with IngramSpark.
Amazon knows this. They've engineered it to be this way. And anyone trying to operate outside that ecosystem is not just swimming upstream, they're doing it in jeans with a stomach full of Whataburger.
Ethical Consumption in a Rigged System
Up until this year, I'd never heard the phrase there is no ethical consumption under capitalism, and yet it encompasses everything I've been feeling for the last year or so. Zuckerberg, Bezos, Musk... all these people are insanely wealthy and doing real damage to the world. So why, as both consumers and authors, do we keep using their products? Why publish with Amazon? Why advertise on Instagram? Every time we use their platforms, we're participating in a system that values profit over people. We know this, and yet, we keep doing it.
I didn't want to go wide with my books because I thought it would be more profitable. I started going wide because I thought it was right. Because if Amazon is the villain (there's no sense denying it; Bezos won't thank you personally), then surely the answer is to stop feeding the beast.
But this is the problem: you can't opt out of a monopoly and expect things to go well.
Amazon punishes defection. Not overtly, of course. They don't send you threatening emails yet, but they're more than happy to let your books rot in the basement, all marked up and slowed down, while their KDP-printed selections get the velvet rope treatment. They know the average reader won't care who printed the book. They just want it fast, cheap, and clickable.
So where does that leave us poor indie authors? We can spend hundreds on ISBNs, fight through Ingram's Web 1.4 interface, and hand-deliver signed copies to our local bookstores (which may still refuse them because they were printed by Amazon), and it still won't matter if the Amazon version is faster and $10-$15 cheaper.
If there's no such thing as ethical consumption, what exactly am I fighting for?
Is it enough to say I oppose Amazon, even if I keep using them to sell books and purchase bulk Gobstoppers? Is it enough to push readers toward Bookshop.org, knowing most of them will still opt for the more convenient path?
Is this all just empty theater?
Maybe the best I can do at this point is be honest about the moral compromises I’m making in pursuit of a modest dream: to become an internationally bestselling author, attending writer's retreats with Stephen King and David Sedaris, universally admired by my peers, and be an honored guest of the Daniel Verastiqui Fan Club chaired by Natalie Portman. Lofty goals, sure, but they all start with selling a few paperbacks, and right now, the Bezos Behemoth is the best game in town.
Daydreaming isn't going to change anything, though, and taking the high road won't move paperbacks on its own.
Selling Out With Style
I haven’t made up my mind yet, but the writing on the warehouse wall is hard to ignore. As much as I hate it, I’m leaning toward staying with Amazon and canceling this whole misguided enterprise of going wide. Using their tools. Buying their ads. Riding their algorithms like a slippery serpent straight into the Kindles of unsuspecting readers. Not because I love them, but because, at this point, I don’t see any other viable way forward.
Maybe one day I’ll be big enough—newsletter humming, readership loyal, direct sales flowing—to break away for good. To go fully wide on my own terms, not theirs. Until then, Amazon remains the necessary compromise I engage with while still working toward independence.
It sucks. But I’m just not David enough to take down this Goliath. Not now, and maybe not ever.
That said, my books will always be available to buy directly from me. No royalty for Bezos, no Prime discount, no plastic smiley arrow in sight. Just you, me, and a quiet rebellion in the checkout cart.
What I don’t like—what really bothers me—is how this decision feels like a domino falling. Because if I stay with Amazon… then what? Do I go crawling back to Instagram? To Facebook? I left those platforms with a lot of confidence and undeniable smugness. I don’t want to come slinking back like some cloying indie author desperate for likes.
I understand why Bezos did what he did. He's protecting his interests and his ability to dominate all other businesses. Meanwhile, I'm pretty sure Zuckerberg is only an algorithmic approximation of a person, and I don't want to put any more money in those pouches on his pants he calls his human hands pockets.
So where does that leave us?
Somewhere between resistance and resignation. Between what’s right and what works. Between Natalie Portman starring in the movie adaptation of House of Nepenthe and a warehouse full of unsold books.
At least I’m honest about the hypocrisy. That’s got to count for something… right?
