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.