You're at a local literary event, feeling proud as you chat with other authors about your recent success. Your self-published novel just hit 10,000 copies sold, you've built an email list of devoted readers, and you're finally earning enough from your writing to cut back your day job hours. You're explaining your journey to a traditionally published author when she nods politely and says, "Well, that's great for indie publishing. But when are you going to try to get a real publisher?"

"Literature cannot be the business of a woman's life, and it ought not to be."

This devastating response came from Poet Laureate Robert Southey in 1837 when a twenty-year-old Charlotte Brontë sent him a collection of her poetry, seeking guidance and encouragement.

Southey's dismissal wasn't just personal cruelty—it was the official position of the literary establishment.

But Charlotte Brontë didn't disappear. Instead, she did something revolutionary: she became Currer Bell.

The Terror of Trends. You're at your local bookstore café, laptop open, working on the fantasy novel you've been passionate about for the past year. A fellow writer slides into the chair across from you—someone you know from the regional writers' group who always seems to have their finger on the pulse of the industry. "Still working on that dragon book?" they ask, glancing at your screen. "You know fantasy is kind of over, right? Everyone's writing BookTok romance now. Have you seen how much money those authors are making? You should pivot to enemies-to-lovers contemporary romance. That's where the readers are."

Sound Familiar? You're at Sunday dinner with your family, feeling pretty good about the progress you've made on your novel this week. The revision is coming along nicely, and you finally solved that plot hole that's been nagging you for months. When Uncle Bob asks about your book, you're happy to share that you're working on making your manuscript the best it can be.

Tamora Pierce published her first novel in 1983. Think about that for a moment—when many of today's debut authors were being born, Pierce was already building the foundation of a career that would span decades. What can her marathon approach teach authors just starting their sprint?

Want to see how the historical erasure that Jason Stanley writes about in “Erasing History” actually works? Meet Alice Guy-Blaché, the woman who invented narrative cinema and then was systematically written out of film history.

Picture This: You're at a writing conference. That familiar buzz of excitement fills the hotel conference room as authors swap business cards and publishing war stories. You've just struck up a conversation with a fellow novelist, and she asks about your publishing journey. You light up—this is exactly the kind of conversation you'd hoped to have here.

After my last post about escaping the publishing grind, I received messages from authors asking the same question: "Okay, Lynn, I'm convinced the hustle culture is killing my creativity. But what's the alternative? How do I build a sustainable career without falling into the productivity trap?" The answer lies in what Tricia Hersey calls "trickster energy"—and it might just be the most powerful tool in your author arsenal.

You're at a family barbecue, feeling proud because you just hit "publish" on your debut novel last week. Your aunt approaches with genuine curiosity and asks about your book. Your heart swells as you start to explain your story, the characters you've grown to love, the themes you've woven throughout. Then she asks where people can buy it. "Oh," she says, her expression shifting slightly. "So you self-published? You couldn't get a real publisher?"

"The goal of the fascist assault on education is to produce individuals who cannot think for themselves, who cannot question, who cannot challenge authority." - Jason Stanley, Erasing History

I've sat across from dozens of authors during strategy calls, and I've heard the same hesitant tone of voice more times than I can count.

The hesitation to take up space, to be loud, to tell their story.