When Transparency Becomes Pressure

Readers don’t need to know your preorder goals to love your books

This is my follow-up to the previous Substack I wrote earlier this week.

Recently, I came across a post from a reader who raised some really good points to think about. And honestly, it made me stop and think, too.

For years, readers were told:

• Can’t afford every book? Join an ARC team.

• Request books through NetGalley.

• Use your library.

• Leave reviews.

• Recommend books to friends.

• Support authors in ways that don’t always require spending money.

It was presented as a mutually beneficial relationship. Readers gained access to books they might not otherwise be able to afford, and authors gained visibility, reviews, and word-of-mouth support.

Now, some readers feel like the message has changed.

• Don’t request an ARC unless you’re going to buy the book.

• Don’t join an ARC team unless you’re certain you’ll review. And post multiple times.

• Don’t borrow from the library if you could purchase.

• Don’t download unless you’re fully committed.

And from a reader’s perspective, I can understand why that feels confusing. Because the rules seem to keep changing.

The more I thought about it, the more I found myself asking an uncomfortable question:

Have we confused transparency with community? Because I don’t think the issue is ARCs. I think the issue is that publishing has become incredibly public.

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When Publishing Turned Inside Out

Twenty years ago, readers bought books. They borrowed books. They recommended books. And they moved on with their lives.

Today, readers know things they were never really meant to know.

They know preorder goals. They know sales rankings. They know advertising budgets. They know ARC conversion rates. They know NetGalley download numbers. They know launch week anxiety. They know retailer frustrations. They know when a book underperforms. They know when an author falls short of expectations.

This isn’t necessarily anyone’s fault.

Social media blurred the lines. Authors became more accessible. Readers became more connected. Publishing became more transparent. But transparency has consequences.

The more readers know about the business, the harder it becomes for them to separate the book from the business behind it.

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Readers Were Never Meant To Carry The Business

I understand why authors talk about these things.

Publishing is hard. Being an author is hard. Launching a book is hard.

People want to be honest. People want to connect. People want to share the realities of their careers.

None of that is unreasonable.

But readers experience those conversations differently. What an author views as transparency can feel like responsibility. What an author views as honesty can feel like pressure. What an author views as sharing the journey can feel like asking readers to help carry the load.

Most readers aren’t sitting around wondering how they can improve an author’s conversion rates today.

They’re wondering what they’re reading next. They’re looking for a few hours of escape after work. They’re trying to decide what audiobook to start on their commute. They’re trying to figure out how many books they can squeeze into an already busy month. They signed up for a story. Not a quarterly business review.

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Boundaries Go Both Ways

One thing I’ve seen discussed a lot lately is reader boundaries. And to be clear, authors are absolutely right to have them.

Readers shouldn’t demand unlimited access to an author’s time, energy, or attention. They shouldn’t treat authors like content machines, and they shouldn’t cross personal boundaries.

At the same time, respect needs to go both ways.

Just as readers aren’t entitled to an author’s time or labor, authors aren’t entitled to a reader’s money, reviews, promotion, or participation.

The only thing readers truly owe an author is obtaining the book legally, whether that’s through a purchase, a library, a subscription service, or another authorized source.

Everything else is support. And support is appreciated, not owed.

Healthy communities work because both sides understand that distinction.

Full stop.

Many authors use social media as a reader-facing space. They build communities. They encourage interaction. They create reader groups and newsletters. They invite readers into their worlds.

Then, in those same spaces, they discuss preorder goals, ARC shortages, sales targets, launch disappointments, advertising costs, and business frustrations.

At some point, we have to acknowledge that bringing readers into those conversations is, whether intentional or not, an invitation to the business side of publishing.

If readers know your preorder goal, your ARC numbers, your launch ranking, and your sales frustrations, it’s unrealistic to expect them to completely separate themselves from those outcomes.

We’ve spent years pulling readers behind the curtain. We shouldn’t be surprised when some of them start acting like they’re backstage.

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The Problem We Created

I don’t think the current ARC frustrations appeared out of nowhere.

For years, the industry rewarded bigger numbers.

• More ARC signups.

• More downloads.

• More influencers.

• More street teams.

• More reach.

• More visibility.

The message was simple:

More is better. So, authors built larger ARC teams. Readers joined more ARC groups. Influencers accepted more books. Everyone chased growth.

Now we’re surprised that readers are overwhelmed.

We’re surprised that review rates are dropping.

We’re surprised that people have hundreds of unread ARCs sitting on devices they’ll never open.

But that’s exactly what happens when volume becomes the goal. The system behaved exactly as we trained it to.

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When Transparency Becomes Pressure

I don’t think most authors are trying to guilt readers. I really don’t. I think most are trying to be honest. But intention and impact aren’t always the same thing.

When readers repeatedly hear about disappointing preorder numbers, weak sales, low ARC participation, missed goals, or launch struggles, the message they receive may not be the message the author intended to send.

What authors often mean is:

“This is hard.”

What some readers hear is:

“If you really supported me, you’d buy the book.”

Whether that’s fair or not almost doesn’t matter.

Perception matters.

And once readers begin to feel responsible for an author’s success, the relationship changes.

Support starts feeling like obligation. Recommendations start feeling like requests. Reading starts feeling transactional. At some point, we also have to ask a difficult question:

If a post about low preorders or disappointing sales results in readers spending money they weren’t planning to spend because they feel guilty, what exactly was the purpose of sharing it?

That’s not an accusation. It’s a question worth considering.

Because there is a difference between sharing your experience and making readers feel responsible for changing the outcome.

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Readers Want to Be Readers

One of the most interesting things we’ve learned through Buzzing About Romance is that readers often use influencers as discovery tools, not decision-making tools.

A post catches their attention. A graphic puts a book on their radar. Then they go ask other readers. In Discord. In Facebook groups. At book club. On podcasts. In group chats. They’re looking for recommendations. Not marketing materials. They’re looking for trusted readers. Not sales metrics.

The longer I spend in publishing, the more I think we’re measuring the wrong things.

Downloads don’t equal reads. Visibility doesn’t equal engagement. Reach doesn’t equal trust. And a preorder doesn’t necessarily tell us whether someone loved the book. Relationships matter more than metrics.

At the end of the day, readers don’t want to feel like part of the marketing department. They don’t want to feel responsible for an author’s success. They don’t want every reading decision tied to someone else’s business goals. They want stories. They want connection. They want their next favorite book.

Marketing doesn’t fail because readers aren’t doing enough. Marketing fails when we’re talking to the wrong audience, measuring the wrong things, or mistaking visibility for genuine engagement.

Readers don’t want to feel like employees. They want to feel like readers.