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I was speaking with a writer recently who shared a question that a friend asked them. You see, this writer is embarking on a new phase of her life where she wants to write fiction and creative nonfiction. This, after decades of building an amazing career in other fields. So this friend of hers asked:

“If you were going to do something with your writing, wouldn’t you have done it already?”

The implication was something like: You are in your 40s now, why bother starting from scratch with this new pursuit when you are so accomplished in these other fields, and at the height of your career there? Why not focus on what you are an expert at and what has been working well for you?

Of course, this kind of question can be deflating for a writer or creator. It’s not uncommon for those who dream of creating to get comments like this from well-meaning friends and family. I try to have empathy with the person asking the question. They aren’t trying to crush anyone’s dreams, instead I think they are often confronting their own pre-established narratives of who this person is and how they fit into their lives.

It can be difficult for a friend, a brother, a partner, a coworker to be asked to see you in a brand new way. Why? Because you likely already have so many easily defined “roles” in their lives. And maybe they rely on you so much, they appreciate you so much, that they feel threatened that a new interest will lead to them being abandoned. Maybe they are struggling and desperately want to feel that you are always going to be the same person, in the same role, supporting them in the same ways.

There are millions of variations of questions like the one above. Do any of these sound familiar to you?

• “That’s so cute you want to write a novel. But I mean, let’s be real… how are you gonna do that with our big party coming up?”
• “That’s you… always dreaming. Remember that time you wanted to start your own TV show?”
• “Writing? Everyone I know who tried writing never made a dime on it.”
• “A memoir? Why not work on something else that would be perfect for you? Like that cupcake business idea you had years ago?”

It is common for writers to express to me their own conflict about deciding to commit to writing and creating. There are many inner doubts that one can have, even if they feel totally competent in their actual skills in the craft of writing. So of course, when someone close to you questions your creative goals, it can exacerbate one’s inner doubt.

So let’s answer the question that was posed at the start of this piece: “If you were going to do something with your writing, wouldn’t you have done it already?” Below is a sample answer, and I’m inserting my age just to customize it. If it resonates with you, feel free to borrow it for conversations you have with those around you:

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“If you were going to do something with your writing, wouldn’t you have done it already?”

That is a great question. Thank you for putting it that way, it helps me get clarity on why this matters so much to me. You see, I’m 49 years old. And up until now, I have kind of followed this expected path. When I was young, I did as my parents said, and honestly, I was truly excited to live up to their expectations. It deeply mattered to me. Then I went to school, and that progression sort of had me tumbling along the path set by that huge system. Third grade leads to fourth, and so on. By the time I got to high school, there was already talk of careers and clubs and internships, all with an eye on creating this sort of resume for my college applications. Oh, yes, it was absolutely expected that I would go to college. And I very much appreciated that I was fortunate enough to go to college. That I had support systems around me, and that my parents were going to find some way to make it work: third mortgage, loans, etc.

Then I was asked to pick a major. At age 19, I was asked to decide what I wanted to train in as a career for the rest of my life. What?! I mean, all I wanted to do was listen to music and go to thrift shops to find super cool vintage clothes.

Like many people I know, this lead to getting a job, then a career. Of wanting to afford rent with friends, then my own place, then a bigger place, then eventually a house. I wanted to find love and then raise a family. One thing just seemed to lead to the next.

Now, don’t get me wrong, at every moment in this journey, I got to choose. I made the choices I did conscientiously and often with vigor. But now, here I am at age 49 getting to make another choice. And that is the point: I get to make this choice. Doors are not closed to me because of decisions I made years ago. Doors are not closed to me because I have responsibility or others see me in certain roles. Doors are not closed to me because of my age.

You ask, if I were going to do something with writing, wouldn’t I have done it already? I suppose the answer is no. I was too busy putting that dream on hold to attend to other dreams and responsibilities. I didn’t develop that skill of writing because I was developing other skills. But now is the time. I want to not only learn this craft, but explore that identity. What I’m realizing at 49 is how much more I have to create and share than I realized. And to be honest, I’m excited. And I don’t want to look back at age 59 and think, “Gosh, I wish I would have started a decade ago. How much could I have accomplished with my writing in that decade?”

Thank you for this question. It just illustrates how much you support me and care about what matters most to me. It’s such a clear and hard question to answer, and exploring it has added fuel to this fire. I appreciate you being here with me on this journey. Now tell me, what are you excited about doing this year?

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I feel it is critical to explore what matters to you at any age. Regardless of where you feel you are in life, and what others expect of you. Working full-time with writers for more than 12 years has certainly illustrated this to me. Writers can begin any age, and be truly ALIVE in their creativity. That is the opportunity that each of us have. No one can tell you the right moment except for you.

Is there well-meaning advice others have shared with you that felt like it diminished your creative goals? Let me know.

Thanks.

-Dan

I recently rewatched the 1954 Alfred Hitchcock movie, Rear Window. I can’t help but feel as though it is a lens into the challenges that writers face in navigating social media. Today I want to talk about how the movie is a metaphor for these challenges.

If you are unfamiliar the movie, it takes place in a single room. The main character, Jeff (played by James Stewart), has a broken leg, and spends his days staring out the window to the courtyard in his New York City apartment, able to see into the lives of his many neighbors. Their windows are all open because of the hot summer days. Here we see our main character on the left (along with a friend), looking out onto the courtyard behind other buildings:

 

It all looks so ordinary. A guy in a tiny apartment looking at the backs of other buildings. Yet this is the entire movie. This is akin to how we can experience social media, peering into the lives of others from our screens.

Jeff observes strange behavior from one neighbor in particular and begins to suspect that he has murdered his wife. I won’t give away the ending, but throughout the film, he collects evidence to back up his thesis, as skeptical friends around him poke holes in his theory. One by one, these friends go from skeptics to believers that the neighbor committed murder.

Just like how we observe others in social media, we have partial information. It’s easy to draw conclusions about the lives of others with a few key facts (or Instagram photos), even if we are missing so much context. What’s more, by following someone on social media, we can feel involved in their lives.

It’s not uncommon for someone to compare their own life to the lives of others on social media. To become envious of someone else who got a book deal, or whose work is being celebrated, or is on vacation, or is simply having a great hair day. So many writers and artists I speak to talk about the difficulty of “doom scrolling” on social media, where they are drawn to social media, but end up feeling worse about themselves the more they scroll.

In the film, there are multiple times where Jeff comes to his senses reflecting on having become a person who uses binoculars and cameras to spy into the apartment across the way. Yet, he is constantly drawn back into a preexisting narrative of wanting to solve the mystery of the woman who disappeared from the window across the courtyard.

Social media can be a WINDOW. A one-way look into the lives of others. And we too can observe others with preexisting narratives of what their lives are like and why.

What is another way to look at social media? As a GATEWAY. I wrote about this in my book, Be the Gateway: A Practical Guide to Sharing Your Creative Work and Engaging an Audience. What is the difference between a window and a gateway? In the gateway, you move through it. As do others when you welcome them in. It is about shared experience and connection, not distant observation.

The movie shares a wonderful example of this with two of the other neighbors that Jeff observes. One is a woman who seems lonely. Another is a frustrated pianist who can’t seem to finish a piece he is working on. Here we see the woman setting dinner for two, but then only pretending to be eating with another person, holding a conversation all by herself:

 

And here is the frustrated piano player, working alone:

 

At a pivotal moment in the movie, when all hope seems lost for the woman, she hears his piano and comes alive, moving toward the window. We later see them together, engaged in a lively conversation, having come together over their shared love of music. Here, music is the gateway, reaching out across that courtyard. And theses two people moved across it as well to meet each other, to find a real connection and a meaningful experience:

 

I will simply encourage you to focus on social media as a gateway, not just a window. A way to truly connect with others. Yes, this can happen in a variety of ways, but I want to encourage you to not just be a silent onlooker. We all have the opportunity to reach out and connect with others. To validate who they are and create a shared experience. What if you are the person that celebrated someone’s book, amplified their voice, or simply said ‘hello’?

This is the opportunity we each have every day. What will you make of it? A window or a gateway?

Thanks.

-Dan

As a writer or creator, I’m sure you have read that you should connect directly with your potential readers on social media, a newsletter, and elsewhere online. And when you ask “Um, what exactly do I share? How — specifically — do I do this?” You may have heard the advice of:

“Just be authentic!”

But that isn’t as easy as it sounds. So today I want to talk about what it means to share your work, how “authenticity” works, when it becomes ridiculously complicated, and how you can approach all of this as a craft that feels safe and meaningful. You know, one where you slowly learn and build, instead of feeling like you are flopping around, a fish out of water.

I want to present this in two ways, the first is how I think people intend “authenticity” to feel, which is this: that it is deeply true. That it resonates in your bones. That you are sharing what matters, whether that it a moment of total excitement, or an experience of deep truth. The idea of “being authentic” in how you share online is supposed to mean, “Don’t be a fake poser,” which I have to imagine resonates with most people.

But, I kinda fear that the encouragement to be “authentic” online also makes people feel, well… bad. That it creates an expectation that they every day they can conjure up something “authentic” via a status update, photo, or video, that feels right and others love. Where this gets complicated is when you share something that feels authentic, only to hear crickets. No one comments, no one clicks “like,” no one shares it, no one validates you. This can effect someone’s mental health in a negative way. They may think:

“Well, I shared myself and no one cared.” Or simply: “Me being authentic is me not knowing what to share.”

Knowing how to communicate what we care most about is not easy. I mean, in college I majored in Communications. Even at the time, it felt a little odd because all around me, everywhere I went, people were communicating. So on the surface, how to communicate isn’t a mystery. But of course, there are layers to how we communicate well. For sharing your creative work, I think this can also get wrapped up on our own sense of identity too.

For instance, we can dream that “being authentic” is wearing an amazing outfit, on a great hair day, sitting in a trendy cafe in a cool city, writing a book next to other people who are awesome and creative. Oh, and eating a delicious brownie.

But the reality of “being authentic” is often the opposite: sitting on an old chair in a room by oneself, in sweatpants that are fraying at the bottom, watching a YouTube video on their phone of someone renovating a kitchen. Oh, and eating Cheez-Its.

This idea of “just be authentic” can also make someone feel like it’s easy for everyone else. They can look at others sharing on social media, and it just looks so wonderful and effortless. So in that moment, the idea of “just be authentic!” can often feel like, “Well, I want to be authentic, but a certain kind of authentic. Not THIS KIND of authentic. Not the kind where my home is a mess. I feel like I look horrible. Where the lighting is bad.”

The conversation around “Just be authentic” that feels like it is missing is that of mental health. Our complicated relationship with self-esteem, with wondering who we even are, what we are projecting , who it is for, how it relates to our goals, of wanting to both stand out yet also fit in, and just this pervasive feeling of: “am I doing this right?”

Maybe none of this resonates with you. Maybe some of it does, but you have your own spin on it. I spend my days working with writers and talking to creators, and this stuff comes up constantly. So what do I recommend to help you feel a path to sharing with authenticity, but avoiding the downward spiral of second guessing and feeling bad about it? Some ideas:

• Be clear about the topics and themes you want to be known for. Think of it like this: “what topics am I endlessly curious about?” Or: “What topics do I love exploring?” Know your messaging inside and out as a way to give yourself permission to go deep and share frequently.
• Focus on sharing a moment, not a thing. Just share something that gives you joy, gives you pause, or you want to share because it felt interesting
• Connecting with one person should be the goal. Don’t try to speak to “an audience.” Because that can be terrifying to feel you are pleasing everyone.
• Ask questions. Simple questions that make people feel a part of, or connected to what you are sharing. I mean, just look at this question that author Sara Petersen shared with her followers the other day: “What are some of the most infuriating things people have said to you re: motherhood?” The response? 677 replies and 125 people resharing it to others.
• Define ways that feel safe for you to feel seen. For example, look at my Instagram feed. You see one corner of my studio, that’s pretty much it. Yet within that corner, I can do a lot!
• Don’t be afraid to hone the craft of how you share. Give yourself time: weeks, months, years to learn how to share in a manner that feels authentic to who you are.
• Show up. Don’t hide. Your voice and your message deserves to be heard.

These actions don’t have to be complicated. They can be sharing a question:

 

Or Sharing a selfie:

 

Or recommending a book. Sure, this is celebrity, but I only saw it because a friend shared it, along with the comment: “I. Need. This.” Her other friends quickly commented, “For real me too lol especially lately” and “same.” This is how word-of-mouth-marketing happens.

“Authenticity” in how you share is what you make of it. I want to encourage you to set clear boundaries so that you feel comfortable and safe, but then consider how you share as a craft. The goal is not a vying for a “like” or going viral, but truly connecting a theme or idea with another human being.

Thanks.

-Dan

There are many writers and creators who think that marketing is the act of getting in someone’s way. Of tricking someone to subscribe to a newsletter by giving them a freebie; using a hashtag to game the social media algorithm to share your work; or posting a random meme to social media to get any kind of attention for your book. But the opposite is what is true.

Great marketing is giving people something that they want to be a part of, and that they want to share with others.

I watch a lot of YouTube channels in my downtime, and one of them is a video game streamer. So this person’s profession is to play video games, and more than 1,000 people will tune in live to watch him do it because he’s really good, and they just like his personality. One day, someone asked him about his sponsor, which is Red Bull. The person asked if Red Bull requires the streamer to wear their logo on hats, sweatshirts, etc. Here’s what the streamer said:

“Am I contracted to wear Red Bull merch as part of my contract? I’ll be real, Red Bull does not have any sort of rules or regulations for me at all. They absolutely prefer if I wear their hats when I’m doing things. But what Red Bull does to get around requiring you to wear any of their stuff, is they send you a lot of their stuff that’s all such high quality; these hats are physically better than New Era hats. I also have unlimited access to it.”

I had to look it up, New Era hats go for around $30-50 each, and they are the official hat company for Major League Baseball. But I just loved this idea… of not making a streamer feel locked into having to wear something. Why? Because personal style matters to people, including to someone who earns a living sitting in front of their screen all day playing video games.

Good marketing isn’t tricking people. Instead it is connecting with their passions, their needs, their goals, their challenges. It is them feeling seen for the first time, of feeling connected with something — or someone — who deeply resonates.

When you consider how you share your creative work, how you will approach developing your platform, or launching your book, I encourage you to keep this in mind. This is not about you “putting on your marketing hat,” it is not “now I have to become a marketer,” and it is not “Ugh, people are going to think I’m a marketer now.” The act of marketing is about understanding your ideal reader. It is connecting with them in a way that is meaningful to them. It is sharing something that they want to participate in. It is them talking about it because they truly want to.

When you look around at author events, authors on podcasts, #booktok, Instagram, literary festivals and the like, watch for this. The people who show up to hear and support these authors — aren’t they doing so out of enthusiasm? Don’t they seem to love it? Connecting with books, authors, and other readers. Is this a moment where they feel “tricked by marketing,” or is it the one moment in their day where they feel filled with joy, purpose, and connection?

I would encourage you to think of the purpose of marketing in this manner: to give people the opportunity to be a part of something that truly matters to them.

Thanks.
-Dan

Isn’t it enough just to create a great book or work of art? Why would a writer ever have to feel responsible for marketing their own book? Shouldn’t that be the job of the publisher?

Many people share questions like these with me, and I have empathy for them. I grew up as an artist, starting in art classes at age 5, marking my years through my 20s by the artistic projects that fueled me. I believe in the creative process, and in the value of art for art’s sake.

Yet here I am, 12 years into working full-time with writers and creators helping them share their work to connect it with readers. So… why? Am I a sellout? A horrible “marketing guru”? I don’t think so. My days are spent in conversation with writers and artists. My wife is an amazing artist, my clients are passionate writers, my friends are creators of all sorts, and this is my youngest son earlier this week (click the photo to see him talk about himself as an artist):

So, why would a writer or artist have to worry about marketing at all? Let’s dig into this topic. Where do we start? Well, with the Wizard, of course. You see, I have this obsession with the making of The Wizard of Oz. Here are some books from my collection:

Currently I’m reading the 1977 book, The Making of the Wizard of Oz, which is still considered one of the best researched narratives on the topic. I came to a passage that talks about how the movie got to become known as a classic, beloved by generations. You see, at first The Wizard of Oz received mixed reviews. Then it was a commercial failure, not earning back the money it took to make it until more than a decade after release.

We like to think that great art ALWAYS rises to the top. That it is always celebrated and remembered. But there are hundreds (thousands?) of movies from that era that were wonderful and they are… forgotten. And The Wizard of Oz may would have been forgotten except for two things, according to the author of The Making of The Wizard of Oz, Aljean Harmetz. The first:

“In 1956, CBS tried to lease Gone With the Wind from MGM for $1 million. MGM refused. As an afterthought, CBS made a $225,000 offer for The Wizard of Oz. MGM agreed and also gave CBS an option to broadcast the film annually. Without the once-a-year repetition on television as a special, the film would not have been seen enough times for a new generation to become aware of it. Nor would it have become an event rather than just a movie.”

I’m 49 years old, so I remember the yearly tradition of The Wizard of Oz playing on TV. Plus, the dozens of ads leading up to it, each promoting this as an event not to be missed. We would watch it as a family, because this was the days before VCRs, so this was your only chance to see the movie at all. For kids (and adults) in the 50s, 60s, 70s, and even into the 80s, it didn’t just give people access to the movie, it made them feel a part of a ritual. This was a shared cultural experience.

The second marketing reason that author Aljean Harmetz cited as a reason The Wizard of Oz is considered a classic today:

“Without Judy Garland’s unique voice and tragic future being tied to “Over the Rainbow” — so that one could never watch the frenzied self-caricature of her last years without being reminded of a time when rainbows were possible for her — the picture would never have taken on the qualities of poignancy, seriousness, and irony.”

This too, exists outside of the work itself. I know only as much of Judy’s life as I’ve seen in documentaries or movies about her, but I know that there are many people who have been obsessed with her through the years in a manner that they aren’t with any other Hollywood celebrity. She seems to have a singular role in how she affected some of her fans, even to this day. Judy’s life is part of what fueled continuing interest in the Wizard of Oz. Of course, vice versa applies too.

I hear from plenty of writers who feel that an author should never be seen or heard from. The book should “stand on it’s own” in the marketplace. But that isn’t quite how it happens. There is a train of people that lead each of us to a book. The editors, salespeople, librarians, teachers, friends, family, distributors, and so many others. Why not the author as well?

I always go back to this 2013 acceptance speech by author John Green. In it, he talks about how he is often held up as this example of a paradigm shift, of an author whose success is due to his incredible following on social media. Even though this is indeed partly true, he goes on to cite the large number of people responsible for his work reaching readers:

 

Should you — the writer — share your work? That’s up to you. All I can say is this: when I was younger and creating art projects in my bedroom in the 80s and 90s, I would have loved to have an avenue for them to reach more people. More people than my parents and the audience of stuffed animals in my room. Why? Because that art is gone. It never lasted. We share our work not to diminish our role as creators, but to celebrate the act of creativity, and that each of us has a voice. And sometimes sharing that voice is the respite that someone else needs in their lives.

Thanks.

-Dan