Laziness Is A Lie: Six Controversial Tips for Struggling Authors
Because we're human beings, not human doings...
Note: The following is a clipping from my published work Yes, The Tree Makes Noise: Hope, Storytelling, and Humanity’s Connection With Art. The full article can be read here.
“Art is a craft, an expression of humanity, a pillar of storytelling, a tapestry of history, and a beacon for hope in suffering. Within academia, it is regarded as a dying, dead-end, and starving field to pursue, where typically those graced with nepotism, pre-existing connections, or white privilege can succeed. The notion of the American Dream is a lie, and with it brings the death of concepts of media literacy, intellectualism, and creation for creation’s sake. The death of knowledge for knowledge’s sake.
Yet, it is used as a skill for profit. It is this post-colonial, late-stage capitalist Western world we live in that rips away the integrity of artists and the significance of art. All in favour of clickbait entertainment, consumerism, and the engorgement of human entitlement. Songwriters and artists that cannot release albums back-to-back are soon forgotten. Those that can muster the strength to do so, a quantity of work our bodies were never meant to sustain, are never truly appreciated for the art they create, rather for the limited-timed entertainment they bring. Ninety-thousand-word manuscripts are adapted to tv shows with only eight episodes, in which every scene is either cut or squished together so that the producers can make more money for lower quality films. The show will be cancelled after the first season because consumers didn’t immediately become obsessed with it, and the showrunners only made fifteen million dollars instead of one billion dollars. Literary publishing houses promote story selling over storytelling. Art classes are cut from elementary school curriculums due to budget cuts. Theatre productions cost hundreds of dollars to see. Concerts costing even more. AI steal from artists, writers, and creatives so corporations don’t have to pay their artists.”
Note: Clipping ends here.
As a two-job working, chronically ill, diagnosed depression writer, I’m constantly feeling lesser than my creative peers. With every: ‘I Wrote A 90,000 Word Novel In A Week’ viral video, online interview with a best-selling author who wrote their first draft on a napkin during their server shifts, trending writing routine of waking at 2am to write by hand for hours before your morning shift, ‘Writer’s Block Is Fake’ hot-take TikTok, ‘Success is a choice. Discipline is key. Push past your fatigue and grind, your exhaustion is a sign your efforts are working’ mentality… I die a bit inside.
Not all of us are physically, financially, socially, or mentally capable of such extremes, and while being able to crank out three books in one month is a wonder, it is the message mainstream consumerism demands of us. Well, I’m tired of being told how to create, and I’m sure you are too. I’ve hence comprised a list of controversial, but ultimately healthy tips for struggling authors and writers. My credentials? I’m a book editor, a published author, a ghostwriter, a forever storyteller, and most importantly, a human tired of doing labour unfit for my body, soul, and mind.
Disclaimer: I am a storyteller, not a storyseller. I promote writing for the sake of art, not for the sake of profit. My advice reflects that.
1. Don’t treat it like work.
We all heard the “If you love your job, you’ll never work a day in your life” quote. If you’re disabled or struggle with mental issues, you know how untrue this can be. I absolutely love my job as a book editor, but it’s still work and it’s still hard for me to stay motivated to do. When getting out of bed is hard, it doesn’t matter how passionate you are for your job. When you get zero sleep because your two kids under four kept you up, it doesn’t matter how much you love writing. When your wrists ache and throb to the point where you can lift them, it doesn’t matter how much you enjoy what you do. You’re still exhausted. Still struggling. Still sick. In the truthful words of Seth Godin, “Art involves labor. Not the labor of lifting a brush or typing a sentence, but the emotional labor of doing something difficult, taking a risk and extending yourself” (‘Linchpin: Are You Indispensable?’, 2010).
That being said, what’s great about art and storytelling, is that it is accessible to everyone. So no, don’t treat it like work. Treat it like it’s human, a being that struggles yet perseveres. Write when you can. Practice to improve your craft, not to meet a quota that some discipline coach online told you. Keep a routine if that helps you. Throw out a routine if you work better in the unplanned. Not everything works for everyone. Find what works for you. Listen to your body, and listen to your creativity. What does it want to do?
2. Story tell, not story sell.
My mantra. My beloved muse. Don’t limit yourself to writing what’s popular or what will sell well. Write the weird stories. The unconventional stories. Write the kind of books you would want to read. Chances are, you aren’t the only person interested in that kind of story. People will want to read it. And hey, write the conventional stories too! Who cares if a concept is “overused”. If it’s never been used by you in this way, you can absolutely still bring a fresh outlook to it. Your voice is your own, no common idea can take that away from you. At the end of the day, the most important thing is to create for the sake of creation. In the great words of Audre Lorde’s Poetry Is Not A Luxury (1977), storytelling will always be an act of rebellion in a world where self-expression is persecuted. So write for you. Be angry. Be devasted. Be grieving. Be vengeful. Most importantly: feel. As further discussed by Lorde in The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle The Master’s House (1984), this post-colonial white western dominated world functions on apathetic greed. So feel collectively.
3. Don’t write everyday.
True art is not something that can be forced. Language and connection is our blood, and when we bleed it out too quickly, the art is unauthentic and rushed, and we, the artists, die from creative burnout. There is a difference between a writer and a storyteller, in which one sees “waiting for inspiration” as a waste of time, and the other recognizes that creating for anything but the sake of creation is the loss of the soul. Screw capitalism. Screw creation for profit. Write when and how you want to, because you want to. By empowering ourselves to listen to our bodies and listen to our imagination when it says to slow down and take a break, we allow our creativity to flow at its healthiest potential.
As an editor, I’m constantly telling people to leave their finished manuscripts for a minimum of one month before they go back and self-edit. The reason is because creativity needs time to breath and exit outside of judgement and view. Outside of a hypercritical lens. Your story needs time to exist, and your imagination needs time to reflect and grow before you can get back to using it at full capacity. You need to experience life outside of the world you’ve created. It’s the only way you’ll learn, the only way you’ll improve, and the only way you’ll ultimately gain new ideas for your projects. As Austin Kleon states in Steal Like An Artist: 10 Things Nobody Told You About Being Creative (2012), “Creative people need time to just sit around and do nothing. I get some of my best ideas when I'm bored.”
Don’t write everyday. The world is meant to be taken in slowly, one second at a time. Writing for anything else will only cause resentment of the craft, which is the opposite of this practice’s intention. Practice, yes, but don’t burn yourself out in the process. Being disciplined in your pursuit of literary advancement doesn’t mean writing yourself to death. There are other ways you can experience creativity and enrich your imagination, outside of writing. Listen to music. Talk about your stories with friends. Appreciate everyday beauty. Go out. Stay in. Watch films. Read books. Listen to podcasts. Dance. Sing. Paint. Sketch. Cook. Eat. Be human. That’s all you need to be creative.
4. Believe that you ARE that good.
Back when I first started out, a beginner creative writer prof told my class “Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to write Stephen King level stories”. Back then, I understood the effort of not putting pressure on people, but I found the guidance discouraging rather than comforting. Who’s to say that you aren’t storytelling that well? Anybody can be a writer, as anybody can be taught how to weave prose, but only a storyteller can display the nature passion that brings a piece to life. Storytelling is an essence of bones that cannot be taught. You can learn to love books and learn of that part of yourself, but that potential for imagination was always there to begin with, you just hadn’t discovered it yet. Regardless of experience, you have a purpose within you that cannot be critiqued by some superficial rubric of worthiness. Storytelling can come in all forms, and whether unconventional or not, is deserves respect at all stages.
What helped me get over my imposter syndrome was to hold myself with the same respect I have for my favourite authors and role models. You have two options, be insecure, or be determined. The latter will be the one that improves both your writing and your wellbeing. So write like you’re already a bestselling author. Write like you’re a whole generation’s favourite author. Because you will be.
5. Never pay to be published, and yes, that includes entry fees for literary contests.
When you think of vanity presses, you often think of small indie hybrid publishers that prey on unknowing authors. What if I told you that any publisher, even traditional ones, can use tactics of vanity presses? You often see literary contests online by publishing firms advertising the opportunity to have a short-story or poem published, with an entry fee of 35$ in order to submit. If an indie publisher asked you for money up front for the off-chance opportunity of being published, would you do it? No, because you should never have to pay to be published. It works the same with traditional pubs.
Now, I’ll admit, I’m a hypocrite when it comes to this rule. I’ve paid to enter literary contests before. But in principle, I know that if I truly valued myself as a creative and I truly valued my work, I wouldn’t fall for the capitalization of art and pay for the chance of being noticed. It’s hard to break out of this mindset, but it’s important that we try to anyway.
6. Know that art is art even when there isn’t anyone around to interpret it.
Note: The following is once again a clipping from Yes, The Tree Makes Noise: Hope, Storytelling, and Humanity’s Connection With Art. Scroll to the beginning of this post find the link to the full article.
“We create magic through art and storytelling, the sharing of knowledge, and the connections we make with the land and people around us. Yet, there is a popular saying in theatre, ‘A performance without an audience is just a rehearsal’. The significance behind this is emphasized throughout modern teachings of all arts, its common interpretation being that, ‘Art cannot be art if there is no one there to interpret it’.
Human society is built on storytelling, and as such one can never escape the existence of art. The notion that art is determined by the viewer completely discredits the already existing interpretation of the creator and furthermore creates a culture of consumer entitlement and the capitalization of the arts. It’s like asking the ridiculous question of ‘If a tree falls and no one is around to hear it, did it really make a sound?’ Yes, the tree made a sound, and yes, the artist decides the true meaning, because even if there is no one around to witness something, it still happened. It still existed, just as life exists outside of our perception, and art exists outside of our entitlement. A performance without an audience is still a performance, because the people who put the show together are performing it. A story that no one reads is still a story, because it was written as a story. While the viewer can interpret art however they please, the first and true meaning will always belong to the creator.”
Note: Clipping ends here.
Disclaimer: The following applies to the creative process and lifestyle of the author, not the words and/or ideologies within said published works. We have a moral responsibility as writers to uplift the practices we preach. Looking at you, every dystopian/fantasy author who isn’t advocating for Palestine. Looking at you, J.K Rowling.
In short, while you should absolutely appreciate your supporters and readers, at the end of the day, you don’t owe them anything in regards to your creation. So write what you want to write, even if it will upset them. Kill off that character. Pivot to another genre. Change your career path. Follow your dreams. Take your work offline; I will forever support the decision of the author of Crimson Rivers after being overwhelmed by online spam. Why? Because they don’t owe us anything. And neither do you.
References
Galarneau, H., & Solis, D. (2025, May 15). Yes, The Tree Makes Noise: Hope, Storytelling, and Humanity’s Connection With Art - Harley Galarneau — Rising Dawn. Rising Dawn. https://www.risingdawn.net/risingdawnarticles/yes-the-tree-makes-noise-hope-storytelling-and-humanitys-connection-with-art-harley-galarneaunbsp
Godin, S., Hagy, J., & MacLeod, H. (2010). Linchpin: Are you indispensable? http://ci.nii.ac.jp/ncid/BB08635710
Kleon, A. (2012). Steal like an artist : 10 things nobody told you about being creative. http://ci.nii.ac.jp/ncid/BB11324286
Lorde, A. (1977). Poetry Is Not A Luxury. https://makinglearning.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/poetry-is-not-a-luxury-audre-lorde.pdf
Lorde, A. (1984). The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle The Master’s House. In Sister Outsider: Essays and speeches. http://ci.nii.ac.jp/ncid/BA01234259
