Why Am I Not Famous?
Should I give up? Is writing a worthy use of my time?
In January 2022, The Evening Standard named me as one of the faces to watch in 2022. The Times, Stylist and The Daily Mail all reviewed my book which was coming out in March that year. At that time, I was a debut author, entering the public arena with some hype. However, a year and eight months later and I’ve fallen a bit flat and I’m asking the question: Why am I not famous?
The Times book review was beyond my wildest dreams. I didn’t know that it was coming out until I stepped off a plane and saw my phone inundated with kind messages of congratulations. My boyfriend and I were on our first holiday together, and I felt on a good path. Then, it all went wrong.
My boyfriend cheated on me and moved out. My rent and living costs more than doubled and I was earning less money because of the market crash. I could handle the exhaustion of the constant money hustle if I felt good about my creative career, but I don’t. I feel stagnate, unsuccessful, and certainly not part of any hype. In 2023, I am not a face to watch.
The creative career is not for the faint-hearted. Writing is a competitive sport and you perform your job in public. This means people from all moments of your life get to witness your career highs and lows. And unlike the usual career path, the creative one is more like a rollercoaster than a ladder. You need a maddening determination to keep going.
Author Bernardine Evaristo, who found (wild) success later in life talked about how most writers find it too hard and give up.
Should I give up? Is this a worthy use of my time?
The problem with the people we see talking about success is that they’re already successful. They talk down to us from up high that getting to the top isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and they’re right: success can be an empty well. However, they also may have forgotten the realities of not being successful.
Sure, we as creatives can focus on the process and our intrinsic motivation. However, financial stress and feeling like you’re not getting positive feedback from the outside world, whether that’s through commercial or audience growth, doesn’t feel good either.
The goal is to have the internal and external world align. I want to write what fulfils me, be well paid for it and get feedback that it adds value.
The truth is that publishing your work is a public sport and fame (often less crudely called ‘having an audience’) helps in this business. If I didn’t want anyone to read my writing, I’d just write in my diary. But fame begets fame, as money begets money. The backing of a big publisher’s marketing machine can fuel you as a creative just as a trust fund can help you build long-term wealth via the stock market.
I’m in a difficult moment as a single 35-year-old when I compare my life to my peers. In our twenties, we were all the same and struggling our way through. Now, people who chose one career path and stuck at it are reaping the rewards. Friends are earning more, spending more and moving forward with their lives. I’ve opted out of the conventional path (and some of its rewards) which I’d feel smug about if the creative life was working… but I’m not sure if it is. What is this sacrifice all for?
‘All too often, it is audacity and not talent that moves an artist to center stage.’
Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way
So to answer the question of why I’m not famous, there are two uncomfortable truths I must face. The first is that maybe I’m not good enough.
There is some truth to this. I read tons of writers who are far better than me. Yet, I also read so many books that are worse than mine that have sold a lot more copies. Talent and success are rarely intertwined. As Julia Cameron writes in The Artist’s Way: ‘All too often, it is audacity and not talent that moves an artist to center stage.’
I find comfort in those words. It tells me that maybe I’m not good enough but maybe it doesn’t matter. The question is no longer am I good enough, but am I audacious enough to keep going?
Then there’s the second fact that maybe I don’t work hard enough. Successful people love to tell stories of the hard graft they did to get to where they are today with a tone that strikes with the narrative of The American Dream. We don’t want to hear stories of someone easily gliding their way through the top with doors opened for them via nepotism. They need to believe and we need to believe that they’ve earned their place and we can, if we work hard enough, too.
I could work harder. I don’t write on evenings or weekends and I procrastinate a lot. However, I’m not convinced that forcing myself to sit in front of a screen for longer hours is the answer. So much writing happens when we’re not writing. My best work happens fast and my most popular newsletters are ones that passionately fly out of me with little effort. The parts of my book that I found hardest to write were the ones most criticised. My favourite line in Fleabag: ‘The only person I’d run through an airport for is you’, Phoebe Waller-Bridge wrote in a cab on the way to set.
In a way, if our talents are well-placed, we should experience ease. Then there’s also the desire for balance in my life: creativity should service me, not be a source of struggle and pain. Rarely the answer to our problems is that we need to do more, despite what capitalist mythology would have us believe.
Writing comes fairly naturally to me. It’s the noise around it - ‘the industry’ and now Substack that creates feelings of frustration and failure.
I started this newsletter three and a half years ago with no expectations and a beginner’s mindset. My original tagline was that it was a playground for my thoughts and ideas. Few people had heard of Substack back then. Today, I watch on as established writers join the platform with huge fanfare and subscriber numbers that make me feel like my years of slogging away on the platform have been a waste of time. Writers are making money on Substack, but not me. Substack is no longer my playground but an amphitheatre for my failure.
When I start thinking about growth on Substack, it becomes a marketing exercise. What is my value proposition? Who is my audience? What tactics can I use to reach new subscribers? What is my business plan to convert people to pay?
I don’t particularly want to do it. If I wanted to do marketing, I’d go back to my marketing job and make more money than the top earners on Substack are making.
I want to write. I want to go back to the playground of thoughts and ideas. Back in the day, I was so new to it that I assumed I wasn’t very good and that was freeing. It didn’t matter. However, I want to be read, valued and appreciated. I want to receive signs from the outside world that the sacrifices I’m making for this writing life are worth it. I need to truly believe that there aren’t better uses of my time. There is no shame as a writer to want to share our creations with the world.
I blame my break-up. This year has felt like one of stagnation because healing is an internal process. It’s frustrating when I look back and feel like I’ve achieved little.
, author of , shared this quote with me by American author, Zora Neale Hurston:“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”
I’ve been sharing those words with anyone who regrets wasting time or feels stuck in their grief. The progress I crave starts with questions. The reality is that there’s no guarantee that next year is the year that answers them, but they will come eventually.
Will those answers lead me to fame and fortune, deeper fulfilment, fewer frustrations, or an entirely new career path? We’ll have to wait and see.
With love,
Tiff x
Tiffany! I nodded my way through this piece partly because I recognise much of my 46-year-old self and also because you didn’t come to play and hit us with some stone-cold truths, particularly “The problem with the people we see talking about success is that they’re already successful. They talk down to us from up high that getting to the top isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and they’re right: success can be an empty well. However, they also may have forgotten the realities of not being successful.” By the time I was done reading, I wanted to do a ‘testify’ dance 🤣
Only last night, I admitted in the comments of another Substack that this platform has brought out the anxious writer in me. Yesterday, I watched some mutherf pass of my work as his and read it word for fricking word with over 1 million views on Tik Tok. 17 years to get a book deal as I watch the world and it’s dog get one and sometimes see people start a blog or whatever, eat breakfast, fart, and be lauded within weeks or months, and let’s just say that my recent publishing experience has been rather lacklustre.
And yet, I crack on, albeit at a slower pace because I had to stop working the way I did because it fed into feels of not being good enough. I know there are many ways of being ‘successful’ and that I have done lots of great creative work precisely because I haven’t waited for permission or a pat on the back. I also know all about the sense of not comparing yourself and blah blah, which is all on point, but seeing what’s happening for others is bound to raise questions in ourselves.
You are most definitely not alone, and I so appreciate your honesty.
I'm sorry you're feeling this way, Tiffany. I can relate! You made me — and I bet lots of other people — feel less alone by sharing these thoughts. That's a mark of success. I hope you keep writing. Your perspective is so valuable! xo