Viewing: Notes » Doors.
Doors.
(4 minute read.)
What lies within...
Elsewhere onsite it'll mention that I currently have a large/significant/ridiculous amount of domains registered for book projects.
I'm of course aware that this may call into question what remains of my sanity (having been in business for 45+ years and internet-active for 25+, I'll not pretend to be undamaged). 🙂
For me, there's various solid reasons why I use a specific domain for each book, rather than simply have them as pages of my wordshifters publisher site.
It looks more professional when seen elsewhere. When a book link appears in a review, an interview, a podcast description, or a social media bio, a dedicated domain reads as a considered, finished thing. A subfolder or subdirectory on a publisher site signals infrastructure; a standalone domain signals identity.
It's easier to remember. Readers who hear about a book in passing, and mean to look it up later, are far more likely to actually find it if the address is intuitive. A domain that matches the title removes the step of having to remember which site it lives on, or how the URL was structured.
It's easier to say. In audio contexts especially—podcasts, radio, speaking events—I want an address that can be spoken once and understood. A clean, title-based domain does that. A nested URL on a publisher site rarely does.
SEO and discoverability. A dedicated domain lets the book compete on its own terms in search results. 'DistandCampfires.com' can rank for its own title, characters, themes, and genre keywords without competing internally against my other books or publisher content.
Series or world expansion. If the book becomes a series, the domain is already the right home for it. A subdomain or subfolder on my publisher site is much harder to gracefully expand.
It enables better presentation and potential expansion. A dedicated site can be designed entirely around the book's world, tone, and audience, without the constraints of a parent site's template or navigation structure. And if the book grows—into a series, a universe, a community—the infrastructure is already in place to grow with it.
It works better technically in a CMS. Keeping a book's content in its own installation reduces complexity across the board. Categories, tags, search functions, and navigation all stay clean and relevant. There's no risk of the book's content becoming tangled in the broader taxonomy of a site serving multiple purposes. There's two-way quarantine—a problem on the book site doesn't bleed back and affect my publisher site's reputation, uptime, or SEO standing either. Clean separation protects in both directions.
Analytics clarity. Traffic, conversions, and reader behavior are cleanly isolated. I know exactly who's interested in that book, which is useful for marketing decisions and for talking to future publishers or agents.
Independent lifespan. The book site can outlive the current publisher setup. If I ever change platforms, restructure my publisher site, or move to a different CMS, the book's URL stays stable and all external links pointing to it remain intact.
Rights and licensing conversations. A dedicated, polished web presence signals to film/TV scouts, foreign rights buyers, and licensing partners that this is a serious, standalone property—not just one title in a catalogue.
Reader community anchoring. If I build a mailing list, forum, or reader community around that specific book or world, having its own domain gives it a home that feels native rather than bolted onto a broader site.
Direct sales and affiliate flexibility. A standalone site makes it easier to run targeted promotions, test different retailer links, or eventually sell direct—without that logic tangling up my publisher site's structure.
It builds initial IP. Registering the domain, establishing the site, and dating the content all contribute to a documented trail of ownership and intent. Before there's a contract, a copyright registration, or whatvever involved, the domain and site are already staking a claim. For anyone who might later want to option, license, or challenge rights to the property, that early digital footprint carries real weight.
The core principle running through all of this is that a book with its own domain is a property, not just a page. That distinction matters practically, professionally, and psychologically, both for me and for those who encounter it.
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