We recently had the chance to connect with Heather Ashle and have shared our conversation below.
Hi Heather, thank you for taking the time to reflect back on your journey with us. I think our readers are in for a real treat. There is so much we can all learn from each other and so thank you again for opening up with us. Let’s get into it: What is a normal day like for you right now?
I’ll be honest; it’s not what I expected.
When I left my ten-year career as an office manager for a local financial firm, I envisioned my “new everyday” would begin with a few hours of uninterrupted writing, a cup of fragrant coffee steaming beside my keyboard. After a yoga-and-breakfast break, I would switch to editing for a couple hours and then use the rest of the afternoon to take care of the less creative odds and ends necessary to run my business.
Look, I’m no math whiz, but I can do the basics, and frankly, I don’t know how I carried the one to figure all this extra time into my eight- or nine-hour day.
I expected a routine like the one I employed in my former, semi-corporate job would keep me on track by providing structured time slots for all the things I needed to tackle.
Write. Edit. Pay a bill. Apply for a show. Post on social media. Repeat… right?
It’s laughable, really. You see, I ignored one important difference in my vocational transition: it’s nearly impossible to conform a creative job to a rigid daily routine.
Perhaps Monday requires back-office work, like updating website content or paying bills. If I have a book signing over the weekend, Tuesday is consumed by marketing—newsletters, social media, and while I’m in the nonfiction mindset, a blog about a recent writing struggle or editing tip. On Wednesday, a client sends in a manuscript I’ve been waiting for—but didn’t know when to expect—and suddenly, I have editing to do on a deadline. Now, editing brain and writing brain are not the same thing, so if I’m mired in a project for another author, I can only write my books if the mood strikes me; forcing it will do little for my story’s quality and forward momentum. That’ll make Thursday another editing push before the weekend, and Friday… well, who knows what’ll happen on Friday. If I don’t have a show, then maybe I can rest and write if inspiration hits over the weekend.
Of course, if the Realm Riders Series calls to me, I must write while I can… which will further scramble everything.
The long and short of the answer is: every single day is different now, including when I eat breakfast or practice yoga. I’m not complaining! I’m living my dream! I was just wildly ignorant of what shape my dream would ultimately take.
What I had to learn as I watched my well-intended schedule fall to tatters was: it’s okay. While the Virgo in me still balks from time to time at the disordered daily chaos, my newfound flexibility is refreshing and liberating. I can organize my day in whatever fashion I choose: write when I’m inspired, rather than during a pre-planned time slot; take the day off if I feel like garbage… and try not to censure myself for it (I’m still working on that one). I’m a pretty harsh taskmaster, so I get a lot done. But I do creative work now, not data management driven by routine, and I’m still getting used to what that means. So, it’s good that my schedule can be even more creative than I am.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Heather Ashle. I own the independent publishing imprint HB Ink, LLC, and I am the author of the Realm Riders Series. I write character-driven epic fantasy novels about covertly interconnected, dragon-filled realms mired in sociopolitical espionage, and I help other authors bring their stories into the printed world with polish and purpose.
Since our last chat together, when I was preparing to transition to HB Ink full-time, my role expanded in all the best ways. HB Ink began in 2012 as an editing and formatting service, mostly for professional articles and projects. It was supposed to be a steppingstone into the writing world, but my emergence into the professional sphere came during the aftermath of the Great Recession, and a need to pay my bills forced me to relegate HB Ink to my side hustle.
This never sat well with me. With two degrees in English and a distaste for math, finance wasn’t the most logical choice. Still, the semi-corporate world ended up being incredibly valuable and rewarding, not only teaching me some ins and outs of running a business and managing my finances but also providing me with an outlet for helping others.
Yet, the medium for this outreach, if you will, was not my ideal fit. My passions are writing and helping others write. When my husband and our supportive family made it clear that my dream could be possible, I essentially detonated my world as I knew it (with as much consideration for others as I could manage without compromising my path). After giving my company a month’s notice, training my replacement, and preparing as best I could for entrepreneurship, I struck out on my own—thankfully, with a mentor nearby.
Aside from my family’s support, this mentor, Diana Kathryn Penn of Pages Promotions, LLC, made my transition to HB Ink possible. She’d been running her own imprint for years and was looking for a partner to help ease her (over)load. As she was also my editor for the Realm Riders Series, we knew we worked well together, and everything just seemed to fall into place. She’s given me the springboard I needed and continues to pull me from the muck when I get stuck. I couldn’t do this without her, and I now have the means to pay that—and another similar gift—forward.
When I decided to publish my first book, a different mentor, author Robin Praytor, stepped in to help me, and I recognized her incredible value from the start. There are so many more aspects to consider than simply writing a manuscript, finding an editor, and printing copies. As I waded through the mind-boggling seas of independent publication—a far cry from data management and customer service—I realized this process might prove unnavigable for someone lacking guidance. Robin gifted me the ability to see my dream printed between the covers of a book, and I wanted to provide that to authors who didn’t have a ready guide to help them figure it all out. I’d watched enough of my own dreams shrivel on the vine over the years, and I hated to think others could suffer the same misery when I could help them avoid such a fate.
I am fortunate not only to write my own books, but to help other writers bring theirs to life. While I still edit articles and projects, and I continue to offer such services through HB Ink, I’m also growing the company to help more and more authors “publish their reality,” as our tagline reads. From strategy meetings that help shape wandering ideas into stories to editing and formatting services that prepare manuscripts for publication, I’m here to help authors however I can. I’ve even expanded HB Ink to include my brilliant and technologically talented developer-husband, James, so we can create websites for authors (and other professionals) to bolster their burgeoning careers.
It’s truly magical to watch these tales take the shape that our authors envisioned and to see writers embark on careers they never dreamed possible. In homage to those who took me under their wings, I hope I can provide my mentors’ caliber of reassuring guidance to the next wave of authors gracing us with their imaginations.
Appreciate your sharing that. Let’s talk about your life, growing up and some of topics and learnings around that. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?
I was a dreamer, as I think most kids—at least those allowed to have a childhood—are. I read fantasy novels between classes and throughout the summers, I played make-believe with my friends, and I daydreamed at every opportunity. To this day, my mind wanders, much like Calvin of Bill Watterson’s Calvin & Hobbes… but I’m marginally better behaved.
My parents are the best—they gave me a solid, hardworking foundation, but they never squashed even my wildest imaginings. They taught me self-worth and how to bolster it by working for what I wanted in life. While they gave (and continue to give) me so much, they taught me never to expect or feel entitled to anything. That balance teaches a kid that everything is possible if it’s earned, and that’s what builds self-possession. Even in my darkest hours—and I’ve had a few—I knew, deep down, that I was worthwhile, and my eternal hope for and belief in better times ahead would see me through. That was all thanks to my folks.
I was also a hopeless romantic. As a kid, I possessed this oddly vivid fantasy of finding the love of my life at some distant college and bringing him home for Christmas break. My hair would be shoulder-length and brown (don’t ask me why; I was born blonde), and I’d be wearing a red scarf and a chocolatey brown coat when we stepped onto my parents’ porch, pie in hand, and rang the doorbell, our breath pluming in the crisp wintry evening.
Of everything, I almost got the coat right. (I met my husband through mutual friends at a game of Dungeons & Dragons that I was hosting a dozen years after college; I wore a purple-and-black witch costume under my brown-and-white plaid coat, and my diaphragm-length hair was very much the blonde I came into this world with. Ah, well—close enough.)
Some of the more persistent dark times in my not-so-distant past nearly knocked the romantic dreamer out of me, but—no matter what I said to those around me about abandoning hope—I couldn’t help but cling to what made me, me. That deeply known sense of self, reinforced by those long-lived and immutable dreams, fueled the tiny flame of hope that got me through cystic fibrosis flare-ups, the heartbreaks riddling my love life, the loss of family members and friends, professional challenges, and the nagging depression that coupled the possibility that some of my dreams might actually be unattainable.
In the end, though, my dreams came true. It took longer than idealist-me hoped for as a kid, but try as the world might to make me something I’m not, I’m grateful to find that I’m still the me I was before it posited other suggestions.
What did suffering teach you that success never could?
Pretty much everything! Isn’t that just the way of things?
I have a nasty little habit of moving past my successes with too little celebration and reflection, no matter how hard-won they were. As soon as I jump the hurdle, I’m thinking about the next thing to tackle—the next project I’ll need to take on. But there’s something to be said for celebrating the wins, especially after toiling for them. Everyone deserves this moment of joy. Plus, I’m sure there’s something to be learned from a win…!
Perhaps my inability to focus on those victorious lessons only reinforces my need to learn through the hardship I experienced in the run-up to them.
I’ve always had a different perspective on life because of my early diagnosis of cystic fibrosis, a genetic disorder that makes breathing and digestion… a challenge. Technically terminal, I never experienced the full sense of invincibility that other youths often feel in their teens and twenties. But I’ve worked hard to outlive the grimmest odds—and succeeded!
This health challenge has been a blessing because of how it tempered my expectations in life, but it’s never entirely dampened my spirit. I remain the dreamer and hopeless romantic of my childhood years. Yet, I’ve waged enough slow wars to know things may not be quick to change for the better, and I can usually muddle through until they do without too much complaint… barring a few whiny exceptions. I’ve never marked myself as a terribly patient person, but that semi-patient mindset has saved me from despair on countless occasions.
So has that unfailing little flame of hope. Some may call it optimism, but I try to lace that with a heavy dose of realism… and a generous dash of blind faith. One thing we can count on in life is change, so I try to go with the flow, aiming for the optimistic as much as I can. Whichever way you appraise it, the proverbial glass is sitting at fifty-percent capacity, right? Whether I choose to see it as half-full or half-empty, something will eventually come along and adjust my perspective. Rather than wallow, I want to be ready for that next perspective shift, and that’s more easily done if I stay open and positive.
Perhaps that’s part of the reason I don’t sit still after a win. I know life is fleeting, change is constant, and something else is always coming around the bend. If I’m positive through the ups and the downs, I stand a better chance of being prepared enough and in the right frame of mind to deal with whatever sashays across my path next.
Sure, so let’s go deeper into your values and how you think. Is the public version of you the real you?
What a fun question! And one I expect will expose my eccentricities for the world to see… not that I was taking much pains to hide them.
Look, I’m an author, so a community of characters lives inside my head and speaks through me regularly. I will be the first to tell you that every one of them embodies at least some aspect of me. Why should public-me be any different?
I think we all have multiple faces. Some of us wear them all on their sleeves. Others eke them out, one character at a time. Does the public version of me wear my pajamas to the art and book fairs that host my signings? No. But do my villains encompass a few of my innermost vices, printed for the world to read? Sure.
If I can expose all that—barring my pjs—I obviously have little to hide. So, the short answer is, “Mostly, yes.”
What distinguishes behind-closed-doors-me from the me you see at shows or in interviews is adrenaline. Admittedly, there are days when I have to screw on my smile if I’m feeling unwell, but I’m thrilled to be living my dream, even when my body isn’t enjoying the full experience. I don’t prefer to share when I’m in pain, tired, or struggling to breathe, and the excitement of a show hides a lot of that. Yet, I still try to be authentic without burdening anyone with my momentary troubles. We all have our own personal battles and journeys; no one needs mine added to theirs.
Yet, while I choose not to issue a public complaint, I keep no great secrets. I’m open to sharing a speech I made to the CF community or blog about my writing troubles to help others avoid similar gaffes. If someone can learn from my mistakes or find solace in a comedic chronicling of my struggles, I’m not terribly afraid of disclosing my foolishness, my failures, or my humanity. I’ve spent enough time in hospitals to have relinquished most of my pride, and I’ve voluntarily dressed in costume, paraded on stages, and put my soul in print for years. Half my author brand is me learning from my blunders. What’s left to conceal? And, honestly, why bother hiding, when laying it all out there could help someone else know they’re not alone on their journey?
Okay, so let’s keep going with one more question that means a lot to us: If you laid down your name, role, and possessions—what would remain?
This one’s easy—and remarkably short.
Love.
The love of my husband, my family, and my friends. It’s the fuel that keeps me going; my lifeblood. If I couldn’t write anymore, if I forgot my name, if everything I owned burned to a cinder, that would sustain me. The rest is just pastime fluff, and fulfilling as it may feel, it can never hold a candle to love.
Contact Info:
- Website: www.heatherashle.com and www.hbinkllc.com
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/realmridersseries/ and https://www.instagram.com/hbinkpublisher/
- Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/heather-ashle/
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Heather.Ashle.Author/ and https://www.facebook.com/HBInkLLC/
- Other: Threads: https://www.threads.com/@realmridersseries and https://www.threads.com/@hbinkpublisher
