When Author Virtual Assistant Services Miss the Mark

I Sent the One-Pager. They Sent Silence.

[Note to my non-author friends: This is one of those "peeking behind the indie publishing curtain" moments. No algorithms. No CRISPR gone rogue. Just a real-life story of a well-meaning author who tried to outsource before the foundation was ready. I’ll be back to biotech nightmares and DNA-fueled drama next week. Promise.]

Like many indie authors trying to juggle writing, editing, marketing, platform-building, and not accidentally feeding the dog twice, I decided it was time to bring in help.

Everyone says it: "Work smarter." "Outsource the overwhelm." "Hire a VA."

So when a platform I already trusted launched a virtual assistant service just for authors with curated matches, flexible terms, and glowing testimonials, I said, "Yes, please. My kingdom for a second brain."

And reader? I did not half-send it. I went full Type A corporate vet.

I Brought the One-Pager

Not the cute kind with fun facts and favorite snacks. I mean a CX-savvy, strategic-priority-mapping, operationally-minded, clearly outlined document-of-dreams kind of one-pager. Goals, tech stack, pain points, ideal support structure. The works.

I sent it before the discovery call. The response?

"Wow! This is fantastic. Our assistants will love it. Can’t wait to match you!"

High hopes were had. I was feeling business-lady vibes. I was ready.

Interview One: Polite, Pleasant, Not Quite It

The first candidate was lovely. Warm. Enthusiastic. Professional.

But the 30-minute interview format left no room for a second look, follow-up, or portfolio review. It was a "pick one and go" structure. And the match, while kind, didn’t reflect the complexity I had outlined in the very document they said they loved.

Still, I stayed open. Maybe the next candidate would click.

Interview Two: Just Me and the AI

The second candidate did not attend. No cancellation. No explanation. Just me and their AI notetaker, hanging out awkwardly in a quiet Zoom room.

I waited ten minutes. Nothing. I logged off.

Then I did what reasonable humans do. I sent a professional message saying I wanted to pause the process. Not quit. Not burn bridges. Just pause.

The Real Moment

The moment wasn’t when the AI showed up alone. It wasn’t when the second interview no-showed.

The moment came after: They canceled the onboarding session. And never replied to my email.

Not a thank you. Not a "we got your note. "Not even a polite "best of luck" or soft sell to win me back. No "let us know if anything changes." Nothing that signals they wanted to keep the relationship alive.

Just delete key energy.

My email reply, probably.

I Thought I Needed a VA. What I Actually Needed Was Confirmation

Confirmation that my prep wasn’t the problem. That my instincts were still sharp. That when people say "we match to your needs," it means very little if the pipeline is misaligned and the follow-through disappears.

I wasn’t unclear. I wasn’t flaking. I was offered less than what I prepared for. And when I paused, the system didn’t flinch. It just moved on.

Plot Twist: I Sent an Email to the CEO

Because of course I did.

I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t chasing anything. I just thought someone should know that a brand built on warm, high-touch experience had closed out with silence.

To their credit, the CEO replied. They were gracious. Apologetic. Offered to waive the first month if I ever came back. Professional and appreciated.

The same team member who had reached out to ask how the first interview went—and who I had replied to when I decided to pause—followed up after the fact. The note was friendly. Supportive. Slightly revisionist.

They framed the whole thing as me suddenly realizing I needed a consultant, not a VA.

And yes, I did come to that conclusion. But I came to it after being served a lukewarm match, ghosted by the second interview, and met with radio silence when I communicated a pause.

I did not flake. I did not find clarity in a Target parking lot. I realized the support I needed wasn’t what was on offer.

If You’re Building a Business of One

You’re allowed to trust your prep. You’re allowed to expect follow-through. You’re allowed to say, "This looked better in the brochure."

Most importantly: You’re allowed to pause without being painted as confused.

This Is What It Looks Like When a System Isn’t Ready

To be clear, this wasn’t a disaster. It wasn’t even a meltdown. It was momentum outpacing infrastructure — a small but telling gap between the promise and the delivery.

If you're going to offer high-touch support to high-functioning people, the system has to hold what they bring. That means candidates who actually match the brief. A process that rewards curiosity, not just checklists. And someone who closes the loop when a prospective client says, "This isn’t quite working."

This time, the gap showed early. And honestly? That’s a gift. It gave me space to recalibrate without wasting time, money, or energy. No yikes, no drama. Just a quiet chance to trust my prep and pivot.

I’m not writing this off entirely. If they shore things up, I’d consider trying again. These things happen — and sometimes, growth shows up in the form of feedback someone was brave enough to send.

No hard feelings. Just a hopeful pause.

I’ll be over here. Runway mapped. Systems humming. Scaling anyway.

Watch this space.

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Update: They Wrote Back

After this post went live, the same team member who had originally reached out sent me a thoughtful, professional reply. She owned the silence, called it out as not their standard, and even confirmed they had reviewed my one-pager and checked with the first candidate.

It was the right tone and I respect that. People are human. Things slip. Even strong CX teams miss beats sometimes.

Would I consider them again? Maybe. Trust would need rebuilding and follow-through would have to match the promise, but I believe brands can grow from moments like this. The real win is spotting the misstep, pivoting without burning bridges, and leaving the door open just wide enough for the “better version” of them to walk back through.

Because sometimes the smartest move is knowing when to step away—and still keeping a chair at the table if the dinner gets better.

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Let’s Zoom Out: A Note for Fellow Authors

This wasn’t just a customer service wobble. It was a useful mirror.

Hiring help isn’t magic. It’s logistics. And clarity.

If you’re scaling a creative business of one, your systems are the business. The prep matters. The handoff matters. And if you skip defining the right kind of support, it’s easy to end up disappointed — or worse, doubting your own instincts.

Before you hire:

• Know what you actually need versus what sounds good.

• Prep like a partner, not just a buyer.

• Treat mismatches as data, not failure.

  
  

And if something feels off? You can pause, pivot, and still protect the momentum you've built.

Want a copy of the one-pager I used to kick this off? DM me. No sales pitch. Just a gift for fellow authors trying to make smart moves.

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PS: Ever been ghosted by a service after they told you how excited they were to work with you? Or sent your best prep into the void? I’d love to hear your story. The near misses, the pivots, the surprising wins. I’ll bring snacks. And the eyebrow raise.