Becoming a publishing rockstar

I have had a lot of conversations after revealing the depth of my chronic illnesses that have gone something like this:

Person: “sucks your body is broken, dude. I’m just gonna go hard until I become a superstar and then they’ll do it for me. So, I won’t have the same problem as you.”

Me: …

Me: …

Me: “I can’t even tell you all the things wrong with that statement”

So, I figured I would clear this up once and for all with a harsh truth.

You will never be a superstar.

It won’t happen.

There are maybe 1,000 rockstar creators like that in all of publishing, and I’m being exceedingly generous. The odds of it as so minuscule and statistically insignificant that it’s not even worth examining it.

I’m talking about people that draw a crowd wherever they go, who can greenlight any project, and who are known throughout the industry as the surefire bets. I’m talking your Neil Gaimans, your Ta-Nehisi Coates, your Nora Roberts. People that are so successful they can write their own tickets and barely lift a finger to get a million sales from their name alone.

Most of those creators broke years ago, and are living off that fame still to this day. In any given year, fewer than a handful break through to that elite status.

Even if you happen to be a superstar for a year or two, it’s harder to remain a superstar than to become one. Most stars burn bright and fade fast.

Could it happen? Yes, theoretically, but in practice, it will never actually happen to anyone and is impossible to plan for even if it did. There is so much luck involved that striving for it is a lesson in futility.

More importantly, the publishing industry sells the idea of becoming a superstar to sell all sorts of awful things, all the while making creators feel bad about themselves when they do everything right and don’t break like their idols.

It’s not that you won’t be a superstar. Simply pursuing that as your goal is toxic to your mental and physical health.

Besides, even publishers don’t know which authors will become superstars.

They are basically using a scattershot approach, launching a bunch of books and knowing that one will rise above the rest, even if they can’t predict which one will be a hit.

If they can’t even predict which author will become a superstar, then what hope do you have of doing so? None.

That is not to say you can’t be successful. You can be very successful in publishing without being a superstar. You can plan for success. You can’t plan for superstardom because there is too much luck involved in being plucked from obscurity and anointed as the golden child.

You can absolutely be very, very successful, though…

…but if you’re just very successful you’ll be doing it all yourself. You’ll be doing 99% of your marketing. You’ll be lugging books to shows. You’ll be booking your own flights…

…and people will tell you to suck it up and be grateful for the privilege of getting ignored by them because you are living the good life.

Now, here is a sober fact…

…nobody in publishing, save the very, very tippy top, lead the good life.

There is no money in publishing for almost anyone. I know people writing for Marvel who are on food stamps. The average salary for a published writer is less than $10,000.

Those not struggling are doing illustration commissions or have some other way to bring in money, like writing on tv shows, cuz working in publishing is no way to a thriving bank account.

That’s not to say that there are not people in publishing with thriving bank accounts, just that they are the rare exception.

I do very well in publishing and usually it’s just enough to rob Peter to pay Paul so I can get from one month to the next. Even if I have a good launch it slowly whittles down over the next few months until I’m right back to where I started.

Publishing is a war of attrition. For most titles, you’re just trying to break even so you can live long enough to find a hit that can pay for the rest of your line.

That is not to say working in publishing is not a worthy goal, but if you are hoping to be magically plucked from the masses and given the diamond key to the golden palace, then you should know…

…the diamond is really cubic zirconia and that castle is only plated in gold which flakes off at the slightest touch. It’s still a castle, which is cool, but underneath that beautiful veneer is a lot of rotten wood and cracked stone.

For most creators, it will be a full-time job just to keep it from crumbling. It might not be worth killing yourself to inherit such a castle.

After all, your health is all you have. You’re trapped in this one, singular body, and when it fails, that’s all you get.

I’m not saying don’t go hard if this is your passion. I think running hard until you find success is extremely helpful in the beginning, but that effort will bring in lesser returns with every passing year.

You have to change your approach all the time, which is one thing that is utterly exhausting about doing this work.

If you simply want to barrel through until you are a superstar then you will be barreling through forever and your body just can’t handle that.

Not to mention, your mental health will suffer irreparably if you don’t get there, which you won’t.

It’s much better to say “I’m going hard for x time” or “I’m going hard until I have this much work done”, or “let’s test this and see if it works, and then redirect if not”.

If you have hypotheses to test and markers to hit along the way to prove your concepts, then it’s easier to shift your plans as new information becomes available.

My deadline was five years of backbreaking days and nights away from my wife before I couldn’t do it anymore.

I had that deadline in my head from start of my journey and I discussed it with my wife constantly.

It was never about running forever. It was always until “X point and/or Y conditions” are met. When those conditions were met, I assessed the effectiveness of my assumptions and made new ones based on what I learned.

I presented the plan to my wife at regular interviews for her comments, too. I had to defend my plans like people defend their dissertations, and we had to agree on the next steps together.

During those years, I wanted to finish a body of work large enough that I would never have to run hard again. I now have a bookshelf full of my own work with more on the way. It took over a decade, but I got there.

Still, I’m not sure even that will bring long-term success beyond what I have already achieved. I constantly worry that it will all go away with the snap of a finger.

But I have no other choice but to pivot because I mentally can’t do a book a month anymore, and I physically can’t do shows anymore, which puts me at an impasse.

I’m on sabbatical right now because the thought of writing ever again fills me with so much dread I have panic attacks when I open a fresh word document. I need time off because I did so much damage to myself over the past several years.

Now, some people have better stamina than me, and still run the circuit after 20 years. Some artists especially those who don’t have books to lug around the world can do it more easily than I can, but for me it was those years and that goal of amassing a body of work.

But for all that, I am paying the price for those years on the grind now.

You can’t guess how your body will handle the stress.

I didn’t know I would have overlapping chronic conditions that would zap my strength. I also don’t know how many of them presented because of how I worked myself in the past.

I wish you nothing but the best of health, but for your own mental sanity, do not risk it all trying to become a superstar…

…and don’t agree to run hard forever.

I know the dream seems worth it, and it is a very worthy goal to be the best in your field, but it’s just a job at the end of the day. It’s a cool job, but it’s a job, and you shouldn’t kill yourself for any job.

I know you probably think it’s easy for me to say this from the other side of the divide, but it’s not. I want to say all that running, all those nights away from my wife, was absolutely worth it…

…I’m just not sure if I knew then what I know now that I would have said to move forward, given the risks and the returns.