I Didn’t Know If Anyone Would Buy Zamora. So I Printed 30 Copies.
I wasn't trying to become a publisher overnight. I just wanted to find out if people would actually buy something I made.
“You don't need to know if everyone will buy your work. You only need to find out if someone will.”
Introduction: The 30-Copy Experiment
I didn't know if anyone would buy Zamora Volume 1.
So I printed 30 copies.
That was basically my entire business strategy.
Very sophisticated.
Very corporate.
“Let's print thirty and see what happens.”
After years of drawing, rewriting, delaying, redesigning, second-guessing, and wondering whether this graphic novel would ever actually become a physical book, I finally reached the point where I had to answer a very uncomfortable question:
Would anyone actually pay for it?
Not like the post.
Not comment, “This looks awesome!”
Not share the artwork.
Not tell me, “You should definitely publish this.”
Actually pull out their wallet and buy the thing.
That's a completely different kind of validation.
So when Cagayanime came around, I decided not to gamble my entire savings on a massive print run.
I printed 30.
Then I brought them to the convention.
And waited.
The Deep Dive: Artists Get Plenty of Likes. What We Really Need Is Evidence.
One of the strangest things about being an artist today is that you can receive a lot of positive feedback without actually knowing whether you have a product.
Someone says:
“Bro, this is amazing!”
Someone likes your drawing.
Someone shares your character design.
Someone comments:
“When is this coming out?”
And naturally, you start thinking:
People want this.
Maybe they do.
But there's a gap between attention and transaction.
And I learned that the hard way over the years.
I've posted artwork that got attention and went nowhere.
I've worked on projects that people complimented but never bought.
People have told me they loved an idea and then disappeared when it was time to actually support it.
That's not necessarily a bad thing.
It's just reality.
A compliment is encouragement.
A purchase is evidence.
And when I printed those 30 copies of Zamora, I wasn't just selling comics.
I was running a tiny experiment.
I wanted to see what would happen when the artwork left the screen and became something people could actually hold.
The 30-Copy Principle
This is something I've started thinking about as an independent creator:
Don't ask the market to believe your dream. Give it something small enough to test.
I didn't need to know whether Zamora could sell 1,000 copies.
I didn't need to know whether it could become a major franchise.
I didn't need to know whether bookstores would carry it.
I didn't even know whether people outside my immediate circle would care.
I only needed to answer one smaller question:
Can I sell 30?
That's a much less terrifying question.
And that's something artists can apply to almost anything.
Don't know if people will buy your art?
Make a small batch.
Don't know if people want your artbook?
Create a limited edition.
Don't know if your workshop idea will work?
Run one workshop.
Don't know if your comic concept has an audience?
Put a small version of it in front of people.
Don't spend a fortune trying to prove a theory.
Run the smallest experiment that can give you real evidence.
That's what Zamora Volume 1 became for me.
An experiment that happened to look like a comic book.
Then Cagayanime Happened
After years of working mostly behind a screen, I finally had a physical table again.
Booth M03.
Thirty copies of Zamora Volume 1 sitting there.
Lorebooks.
Stickers.
Shirts.
Sketch cards.
A bunch of things I had made myself.
And then people started stopping.
Some recognized the artwork.
Some were curious about the mythology.
Some wanted to know what Zamora was about.
Some picked up the book and started flipping through it.
And then something happened that still feels slightly surreal:
People bought it.
Not just compliments.
Not just likes.
Not just encouragement.
Actual readers.
Actual transactions.
People took Zamora home.
And by the end of the event...
20 of the 30 copies were gone.
Twenty.
Out of thirty.
That's 66.7%.
Which, for a guy who wasn't even sure whether I should print the book in the first place...
felt pretty damn good.
Emotion Commits the Crime. Logic Does the Cover-Up.
Here's the interesting part.
People didn't necessarily buy because they had calculated that Zamora Volume 1 was an objectively good financial decision.
Nobody stood at my table with a spreadsheet.
They bought because something made them care.
Maybe they liked the art.
Maybe they loved horror.
Maybe Filipino mythology caught their attention.
Maybe they wanted to support an independent local creator.
Maybe they simply thought:
“This looks cool.”
That's emotion.
But then logic arrives afterward.
“It's a physical book.”
“It's locally made.”
“I like collecting comics.”
“I've been looking for Filipino horror.”
“I want to support this artist.”
The emotion gets someone to pick up the book.
The logic makes buying it feel reasonable.
That's something I'm learning to remember when I market my work.
Don't only explain the product. Give people a reason to care about it.
The story behind the work matters.
The struggle matters.
The process matters.
The world matters.
The creator matters.
And then the product becomes the physical proof of that story.
Name It and Claim It: The Milestone Report
After the convention, I could have simply posted:
“BUY ZAMORA VOLUME 1! AVAILABLE NOW!”
But honestly?
That doesn't tell the real story.
The interesting story is:
30 copies.
20 sold.
1 convention.
1 weird little universe.
10 copies left.
That's not really an advertisement.
It's a milestone.
And milestones are easier to believe than hype.
I'm not saying:
“Zamora is the greatest graphic novel ever made.”
I'm saying:
“I printed 30 because I didn't know what would happen. Twenty people bought one.”
That's much more interesting.
And much more honest.
The Artist's Proof-of-Concept Principle
Finishing a personal project feels like the finish line.
But I've discovered something after publishing Zamora:
Finishing is actually the beginning of the experiment.
Before publication, I had a goal:
Make the book.
After publication, I have new questions:
Will people buy it?
Will they recommend it?
Will they come back for Volume 2?
Can I sell it outside conventions?
Can bookstores carry it?
Can I build an audience around the universe?
Can I create another book?
Can I turn one successful event into a sustainable publishing system?
Those are much bigger questions.
But now I have something I didn't have before.
Evidence.
I know that at least some people want it.
That's incredibly valuable for an independent creator.
Because the next decision isn't based entirely on imagination anymore.
It's based on what actually happened.
What I Would Tell Another Artist
If you're sitting on a personal project because you're terrified nobody will care...
I understand.
I've been there.
But here's what I've learned:
You don't need to prove that everybody will love your work.
You don't need thousands of followers.
You don't need a massive launch.
You don't need a perfect website.
You don't need a giant inventory.
You don't even need to know exactly where the project will end up.
Sometimes you just need to put a small version of the dream into the world.
Let people react.
Let them buy.
Let them ignore it.
Let them criticize it.
Let the market teach you something.
Because making something privately gives you opinions.
Putting something in front of people gives you information.
And information is incredibly useful.
Before Zamora
I was thinking:
“Will anyone buy this?”
That question created anxiety.
Because there was no answer.
It was all speculation.
Maybe people would love it.
Maybe nobody would care.
Maybe the book would sit in a box in my studio forever.
Maybe I had spent years making something nobody wanted.
I didn't know.
After Zamora
The question changed.
It's no longer:
“Will anyone buy this?”
Now it's:
“How do I get this into the hands of more people who would enjoy it?”
That's a completely different problem.
And honestly?
I'll take that problem.
Because one is fear.
The other is business.
The Solution: Make the Risk Small Enough to Take the Leap
This is probably one of the biggest lessons I'm taking away from this experience.
You don't have to eliminate risk.
You just have to make the risk manageable.
Thirty copies was manageable for me.
It allowed me to test the idea without betting everything on it.
And now I have something to build on.
That's how I want to approach future projects too.
Small experiments.
Small releases.
Small audiences.
Small improvements.
Then scale what works.
That's much less glamorous than:
“I'm going to spend everything and launch the next Marvel.”
But it's probably much more sustainable.
And Now There Are 10 Copies Left
Which brings me to the funny part.
I started this experiment with:
30 copies.
I sold:
20.
And now I have:
10.
So technically...
The experiment isn't over yet.
The convention proved that people would buy Zamora.
Now I have another problem.
How do I sell the remaining copies when there isn't a convention crowd walking past my table?
That means content.
Follow-ups.
Online sales.
Word of mouth.
Potential resellers.
Bookstores.
Comic shops.
And eventually, future conventions.
The game has changed.
At Cagayanime, I had to get people to stop.
Now I have to get people to come back.
And that's where marketing becomes interesting.
The Bigger Lesson for Independent Creators
I think many artists focus almost entirely on making the thing.
I know I did.
We obsess over:
The drawing.
The anatomy.
The colors.
The lettering.
The paper.
The printing.
The packaging.
The details nobody else will notice.
And yes...
Those things matter.
But eventually, you have to ask a different question:
“How does this thing get from my desk to another person's hands?”
That's publishing.
That's business.
That's distribution.
That's marketing.
And I'm discovering that being an independent artist means learning all of these things, whether you planned to or not.
I didn't wake up one day and say:
“I want to become a distributor.”
I just wanted to draw a comic.
But apparently the comic came with homework.
Before vs. After: What 30 Copies Taught Me
Before:
I was afraid of the possibility that nobody wanted my work.
I was thinking about audience in the abstract.
I was waiting for confidence.
I was treating publishing as the final destination.
After:
I have actual sales data.
I have actual readers.
I have a physical product.
I have a better idea of who is interested.
I have questions worth answering.
And most importantly...
I have momentum.
Thirty copies didn't make Zamora a massive success.
That's not the point.
They gave me something more useful:
Proof that the idea can move.
And sometimes that's all the proof you need to take the next step.
What's Next?
Those remaining 10 copies?
I'm going to keep working on them.
And while I'm doing that, I'm already thinking about the next experiment.
Volume 2.
More episodes.
More lore.
More fan art.
More products.
More conventions.
More ways to get the work in front of people.
And hopefully...
A much bigger stack of books someday.
But I don't need to print that stack today.
I'll earn my way there.
One page.
One product.
One reader.
One sale.
One experiment at a time.
Because that's how this whole thing started.
I didn't know if anyone would buy Zamora.
So I printed 30.
Twenty people proved that somebody would.
Now I have 10 more chances to find the next reader.
And that's a much better problem to have.
Ask, and You Shall Receive
If you're an artist sitting on a project you've been afraid to release, here's my question:
What is the smallest version of it you could put into the world?
Don't worry about whether everyone will love it.
Don't worry about becoming successful overnight.
Just find a way to test it.
Because sometimes the hardest part isn't making the thing.
It's finding the courage to let somebody else decide whether they want it.
And if you've ever launched a personal project, I'd genuinely love to hear what happened afterward.
Did people buy it?
Did nobody care?
Did you discover an audience you weren't expecting?
Did the project lead somewhere completely different?
Tell me about it.
Because I'm discovering that every independent creator eventually has to answer the same question:
“I made the thing. Now what?”
For me...
The answer is:
Keep going.
Thirty became twenty.
Twenty became readers.
And now those remaining ten are waiting for their next chapter.
Keep drawing.
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