On Writing, Ideas, and Making a Difference
Sometimes, I feel like I’m missing the boat as a writer.
We live in an age when more people are writing than ever before. There are 180 million blogs, and that number is growing. So if you want to become an author, like I do, you feel the heat of competition.
And maybe, like me, you feel the urge, in the heat of the struggle, to write what gets attention — controversy.
What’s a writer to do?
Drug addicts, alcoholics, people with suicidal tendencies — and writers. We can all relate to each other.
I work in wilderness therapy with clients who struggle with various addictions and behavioral problems. And I’m also a writer who has spent the last five years writing a book.
Believe it or not, there are a lot of parallels between addiction and creativity. And over the past five years, I’ve learned how they can make us better at writing and at living.
The Internet is full of cat videos, bad lip readings, and hilarious memes. But, believe it or not, there’s actually some useful stuff online, too.
When I set out to start my own online course, I didn’t know much about this space. I knew I wanted to deliver a quality learning experience to my readers that went beyond the scope of this blog, but that was about it.
After hearing Ramit Sethi say in an interview that before you can charge a certain amount for a information product, you better be willing to pay that much, I started signing up for online courses.
And boy did I learn some things.
It’s easy to write to try to make something popular. Just follow the standard formula:
-Choose a proven headline.
-Write a catchy intro that surprises, intrigues or seduces your reader.
-Follow up with supporting paragraphs.
-Make sure it’s scannable!
-Follow the template.
There’s only one problem with this: Formulas rarely work.
It’s not because they’re not based on sound principles. It’s because they sap all the energy and passion from your writing.
If you’re trying to build a platform in a world full of distractions, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Really, you only have two choices:
1. Get a friend named Donald Trump.
2. Build a platform you can be proud of.
If you happen to have a billionaire patron who’s willing to help buy your way into influence, great. Shut the computer down and go start building your empire.
But if not, then you had better get to work.
When I was young, my dad used to tell me stories before bed. These were tales that rivaled those of Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn — only they were true. He told me about growing up in Chicago, the same place where I was born, but our experiences were vastly different.
Each night, I got to hear a different story from my dad. He told me about the time he saw a UFO or when Santa Claus broke into his bedroom to give him a candy cane.
I became the audience of a mastery storyteller, enthralled with the unusual and interesting characters from another lifetime. These were incredible, audacious tales of bravery and adventure. And I was immediately captivated.
Every night, I would go to bed amazed. And every night, my dad would tell me the same thing: “Some day, you’ll have stories of your own to tell.”
But I never believed him. There was just no way I’d ever have stories like my dad’s — I was certain of it. They were just too incredible. And for the longest time, I was right.
It began with a simple question: “So what’re you giving up for Lent?” my friend Chad asked of our couples group from our church.
Most of us fidgeted uneasily, myself included. Some shared profound insights on the discipline of fasting, while others admitted they weren’t sure if they were giving up anything. When it was my turn, the silliest words imaginable escaped my mouth:
“I’m giving up coffee.”
“I can’t,” I said as a kid, growing up.
“There’s no such word as ‘can’t,’” Mom told me every time. And how right she was.
Funny how some conversations burrow themselves deep into our brains. There’s no such word as can’t? I wonder what would happen if we actually believed that — especially when it came to creative pursuits.
This next book I’m working on is risky. Scary. I keep telling people that I don’t know if it’s the best idea I’ve had — or the worst.
But still, I’m doing it, in spite of fears and reservations. In spite of my anxiety that it might not work. And maybe that’s the secret to doing anything important.
I meet lots of people who tell me they’re thinking about doing something risky and new. It might be starting a blog or leaping out into the realm of self-employment. Heck, it could even mean starting a family or making the move across the country or globe.
And always I hear the same question, that same anxious wonderment. Sometimes, it’s implicit, and other times the person comes right out and says it.
But it’s always there. The question, lingering and taunting.
A friend of mine who’s a millionaire told me this story:
For years, all I wanted was to be known. I would’ve done anything — ANYTHING — to get you to recognize me. I thought that was all that mattered. But it wasn’t until I stopped caring about being famous that I really started to succeed.
It’s an interesting thought, isn’t it? Especially in a culture where we often equate fame with success. But, friends, the two are rarely the same.
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