In recent years, Black British writers have achieved historic breakthroughs. As people educated themselves on race issues after the Black Lives Matter protests, sales of books by Black British authors like Reni Eddo-Lodge and Bernardine Evaristo soared to the top of UK bestseller lists, and Candice Carty-Williams became the first Black author to win Book of the Year at the British Book Awardsshu.ac.uk. But those “firsts” also highlighted long-standing barriers: as researchers note, they “shine a light on publishing’s systemic practices” that keep writers of colour marginalisedshu.ac.uk. Against this backdrop, many Black authors are taking control by self-publishing or working with small independent presses. Festival founder Selina Brown, herself originally a self-published children’s author, observes that writers from marginalised backgrounds are often “forced to take a different route” because traditional paths “are just not feasible”theguardian.com. In short, when mainstream doors stay closed, authors are finding power in going it alone.
Aspiring Black authors continue to face a publishing industry with persistent blind spots. Surveys and interviews reveal that writers of colour often encounter quota-driven thinking – a feeling that books “by or featuring people of colour” must fit certain narrow niches. Publishers frequently rely on known names and proven formulas, meaning new diverse voices struggle to break in.
As one study found, heavy submission loads lead editors to stick with familiar authors rather than scouting fresh talent, effectively narrowing the pool of published writers. Many Black writers report frustration that they are assumed to write only about race or social issues, and that the perceived market for their stories is regarded as small and risky. In practice this means limited advances, marketing budgets and shelf space, which can create a self-fulfilling cycle of low sales and continued marginalisation.
This gatekeeping can feel daunting. Selina Brown points out that accessing traditional publishing often means battling literary agents who act as blunt “gatekeepers” to the industry. Fabia Turner, founder of the Jericho Prize for Black-British writers, echoes this: she notes that submitting a manuscript to a mainstream publisher “can be daunting” for any Black author, new or experienced.
In short, many authors find the traditional route slow, opaque and emotionally draining. As one Black British writer told a forum interview, self-publishing offered an easier path: it “allows you to keep most of your royalties and I found it easier than looking for a traditional publishing house”. This sense of frustration with the traditional model is a key reason the self-publishing tide is rising.
Self-publishing puts authors in the driver’s seat creatively. In contrast to a traditional deal – where editors have final say on everything from edits to cover design – indie writers “call all the shots”. They can decide the cover art, the launch timing, even the book price. More importantly, they keep full control of their voice and story. As The Guardian interviewed novelist Ashleigh Nugent, he felt there were no publishers ready for his authentic mixed-race working-class Liverpool story, so he self-published using what he called a “hip-hop approach” – “make a record in your bedroom…bring people to the gig and make so much noise the industry has to listen”. That kind of creative freedom – to write about experiences or use language that might be edited out by a mainstream house – is a powerful motivator.
This impulse echoes a much older tradition. Scholars of African-American literature note that Black writers have long used self-publishing not because it was easy, but because “exclusionary practices of ‘mainstream’ white print culture” left them no choice. Back then, self-published authors paid for their own printing but gained complete editorial freedom – as one historian writes, they “did not need to gain the approval of editors” and could explore new genres, forms and ideas. Today’s Black British authors similarly prize this control. They can include dialect, firsthand cultural references or images of Black life without compromise. In a cultural scene where readers are hungry for stories “that speak their language and resonate” with their experiences, being able to sidestep traditional filters is a huge draw.
Practical and financial factors also drive the shift to self-publishing. Digital platforms and print-on-demand technology have made it cheaper and faster to produce books, removing a big obstacle that 19th-century self-publishers used to face. Moreover, the money is often better. Traditional book deals typically pay authors only about 10–15% royalties on each sale. In contrast, self-publishing services (for ebooks at least) can offer authors up to 70% of the sale price. In real terms, an indie author might earn four or five times the per-copy income of a traditionally published writer. As Ebony Ali, a Black British memoirist, put it: self-publishing “allows you to keep most of your royalties” and spared her the struggle of hunting for an agent.
Time is money too. Traditional publishing can involve years of delays – from finding an agent to contract to round after round of edits. Self-publishing eliminates most of this wait. Once the manuscript is ready, authors can publish digital and print editions within weeks or even days.
This speed means writers can respond to current events or community trends (for example, a surge of interest in Black history) and bring their work to readers immediately. In an industry where there’s no guarantee a trad-published book will earn back its advance, indie publishing gives authors the chance to recoup costs more quickly and retain all proceeds above those costs. For Black authors building financial independence and funding their creative careers, these economic incentives are very real.
Ironically, even as mainstream publishing has sidelined them, many Black authors say they’ve found a vibrant community in the indie world. As one observer put it, traditional exclusion has “fostered a community of self-published authors of color” who share advice, resources and moral support. On social media and forums, Black writers swap tips on editing, marketing and distribution. Online campaigns and networks (from hashtag movements like #PublishingPaidMe to groups like the Black Writers’ Guild) amplify their voices and connect them to readers. The industry research above notes that social media “allows individuals to more effectively come together and raise their voices in support of diversity” – which in turn helps propel change.
This community support has practical payoffs. Events like the Black British Book Festival (founded by a self-published author) bring together emerging and established Black writers, creating visible space for their work. Independent Black-owned bookstores and collectives often spotlight self-published titles from local authors.
Even small collaborations – joint anthologies, crowdfunding campaigns or local author workshops – can have big effects on visibility. For many writers, knowing that readers and peers are cheering them on helps compensate for the lack of a mainstream marketing machine. It also builds momentum: when one Black indie author succeeds, others are inspired to follow. As Selina Brown notes, following new paths can work – “you can pave a way in this industry by not following the blueprint” – because there is clearly an audience ready and waiting.
The turn toward self-publishing among Black authors is not just a UK story. It mirrors trends worldwide. In the United States, for example, pioneering Black writers from the 19th century onward often published their own books in order to tell stories ignored by white publishers. In the Caribbean, many writers have released memoirs and novels independently to reach readers at home and in the diaspora.
Across Africa, eager writers frequently turn to indie or digital publishing in markets where few major presses exist. In all these contexts, similar forces are at work: traditional gatekeepers underestimate or misunderstand Black experiences, while new technology and communities step in to fill the gaps. The result is a thriving Black literary ecosystem that spans continents, with independent voices rising everywhere “to create the literature they want and need”.
As mainstream publishers slowly reckon with diversity, self-publishing has already given Black authors a measure of agency and visibility. For many, going indie is no longer just a last resort – it’s a deliberate choice that comes with autonomy and rewards. Of course, self-publishing has challenges too: authors must also be their own marketers, fund their printing, and compete in a crowded market. But in practice, it has leveled the playing field for those shut out of traditional networks. The ongoing success of Black indie authors suggests this is more than a fad. If publishers want to hear these stories, they may have to follow where authors have already led. As one author put it, readers are hungry “to access content that speaks their language…that resonates with them” – and increasingly, Black writers are proving they don’t need permission to provide it