First Envision, Then Figure Out The Compromise

I’ve got a long history of advising writers to clarify their goals and vision around writing, and a recurring question is often how? It’s too big a question to tackle in blog posts, but something that occasionally gets some clarity during the longer, face-to-face (or email-to-email) conversations that take place with friends.

One insight is this: envisioning a career is a two-step process.

The first step is envisioning the kind of career you’d like to have—how much you want to write, what kind of work you want to do, what kind of readership you’d like to develop. Looking to benchmarks—writers whose career (not necessarily work) like to emulate in terms of approach and schedule—then doing research to figure out whether their current approach to work represents the way they built their profile up in the early days.

No writer comes out of nowhere, and overnight successes are often the product of decades-long effort and build.

The second step is figuring out where you’re willing to compromise and the circumstances in which you’ll do so. If your principal goal is “doing good work,” how far are you willing to compromise that to make working at writing full time happen? If your heart is set on working in a particular genre, are you willing to switch genres—or go to non-fiction—in order to achieve other parts of your goal. If you’ve set yourself the goal of writing one book a year, in order to really give it your focus, are you willing to do two or three if publishers really want you to push the pace? Are you content to write to a small audience, or do you crave recognition and large crowds?

Are the things you were unwilling to sacrifice as a single author the same when you have a working partner, or a family who needs your support? What happens to your vision of what productive means as a writer if you get sick, or develop a chronic illness? Do you want to build your career fast, or would you prefer to take your time?

We all make bad comprises over the course of our careers and only learn we’ve crossed a line in retrospect. Moments when we look up from the long, hard slog of a project and wonder, “what the hell was I thinking? This is making me miserable!”

Bad compromise is inevitable. (And doing work that makes them miserable is a boundary plenty of writers will compromise on if the trade-off gains them something else they desire; I use it because it’s frequently the area I don’t want to compromise on). 

But thinking about your boundaries in advance—the permeable goals that will shift and mutate because of circumstances—helps you cut back on the mistakes, and gives you a clearer vision of what each opportunity represents and what it costs you to say yes. 


Want more insights into building a writing career, but don’t want to mess about digging through blog archives? You Don’t Want to Be Published compiles some of my best writing-about-writing from this website, along with articles and essays I’ve written for other publications.

Available in print and ebook direct from Brain Jar Press, or from your favourite bookstores.

The Weird Time Delay on Writing and Publishing Mistakes

The Weird Time Delay on Writing and Publishing Mistakes

Wibbly Wobbly Timeline Alert: This is your heads up that the post below speaks about two books that Brian Jar Press hasn’t officially announced yet, but will have available once this goes live on the blog in two weeks. 

This week, I started publishing books again.

The weirdest thing about publishing is this: you don’t pay for your mistakes in real-time. Stopped writing because of a serious illness? The books and stories you’ve already sold will keep appearing for another six months to two years, after which there will be a mysterious gap and the deafening silence feels like the end of your career.

Did your layout and design computer go boom, preventing work on new books in your small press publishing queue? The books you’ve already developed will chug along for a while, and it’s not until three-to-six months later that you’ve got no new releases and your cash-flow becomes the stuff of nightmares.

And the worst part: you forget the awful stuff happened. The flow of cause-and-effect gets muddy, and it never feels like you’re not publishing because bad stuff happened a while back, it feels like some personal flaw that means you should pack your bags up and give up this writing and publishing malarky for good.

Half the reason I embrace writing weekly newsletters about Brain Jar and my writing is so there’s an archive I can refer back to when it feels like shit is going wrong. I can trace the current problem back to its origin and see the decision I made at the time. It’s the back-up for my very fallible brain, which is prone to catastrophic thinking around pursuing a creative career.

Back in May, I made mistakes. Brain Jar Press went through a fallow period, where no new books were coming out. Those computer issues created a knot of problems that took time to work out, but they were hidden by projects that were already underway and ready to release when the computer noped out on us.

And yet, we’ve been quiet for three months now. The books that came out weren’t new releases, but projects from the in case of emergency draw. I went back to old logs a lot to remind myself how and why it was happening.

And now we’re through the gap, and the books are starting up. We’ve announced Sean Williams Little Labyrinths, and Kim Wilkins’ Headstrong Girl. The next round of books is underway, and it’s business as usual once more.

The Window For Raving About Stories You Love

I’m sufficiently old that I feel like the window for talking about We Are Lady Parts is over, what with the series coming out in May of 2021 and our engagement with it taking place in early September.

I’m old because I’m trapped in a cultural paradigm where immediacy is a primary virtue when recommending narratives—the same paradigm where books have a shelf-life of three to four weeks, television shows get consumed in scheduled blocks and paid for by advertising, and films exist to be shown on the big screen or pulled off the limited shelf-space of your local blockbuster.

Talk about a film, a book, or a television show four months down the line in that kind of environment, and the moment is already over. You wait for re-runs or the DVD release that might never happen, scour second-hand bookstores or badger your library to order in a copy.

But this is the streaming age; the binge watch age; the ebook age. Online stores don’t have the limitations of physical shelf space, and they’re free to stock vast back lists if you’re eager to engage. A penchant for addressing things while they’re new is an atavism of an earlier age, and while we still get the occasional blockbuster that goes strong right out of the blocks, we mostly come to new works in our own time.

We lose some things with that transition: the sense of cultural conversation is more difficult to find, and you can no longer wade into a discussion of Game of Thrones or Big Brother with any real confidence that people understand what you’re saying.

But the gains are incredible, and open up an array of film, TV, and fiction that wouldn’t be feasible in a sales environment characterised by limited shelf space and short sales windows.

And We Are Lady Parts—a six-episode TV comedy about an all-female Muslim punk band in London—is an absolute cracker of a TV show that quietly picking up viewers ever week (this week, it’s shown up in two newsletters from writers I follow, both of whom are basically begging for people to watch it so they can talk bout it).

The show is smart, well-acted, funny, and packed to the gills with catch punk/riot grrl songs that will have you searching for the soundtrack within minutes of watching it. The kind of show that’s built for an era where slow discovery and conversations have replaced the gospel of immediate hype.

It’s easily the best thing I’ve watched all year, and will probably remain so for other people regardless of whether they watch it in 2021, 2025, or 2031.

The window for talking about works you love is open, and it will not close just because a few weeks have gone by.