
Yes, I could rant about this.
I could tell you about the genre side of the internet, where success means shipping a dozen books a year, outlining everything in a spreadsheet, and treating your creative life like a content factory. I could tell you about the literary side, where success means an MFA, the right connections, and a quiet disdain for anyone who thinks about the market or indie publishing. I could tell you that neither feels like I belong there.
But instead of ranting, I want to tell you about three pieces of advice I wish I'd gotten more than a decade ago when I started my indie author journey. And it’s not writing advice. It’s thinking advice. The stuff that unstuck me after trying and failing to follow rules that weren't made for writers with more ideas than is healthy for them.
This is for you, whether you are a fiction or non-fiction writer, or just started dreaming of becoming a writer.
1. Figure out what you actually write.
This sounds stupidly obvious. It isn't.
For ages, I marketed my books as historical mysteries. I was also perpetually annoyed by most historical mysteries, which should have been a clue.
When I finally analysed my own work properly, the answer came back: upmarket fiction — page-turning plots with the character depth and prose of literary fiction. I'd been writing that all along and failing to sell it, because I was describing it as something it wasn't. I hadn’t even heard the term upmarket fiction before.
Once I knew, things shifted. I stopped following advice built for rapid-release genre authors. Stopped cramming my square books into round marketing holes.
For you: If the genre label you use makes you wince, pay attention to that. Maybe you’re writing something that can’t be squeezed into neat categories.
2. Your process isn't stupid or wrong. It's yours.
I thought I was a pantser. I also couldn't figure out why I'd hit walls at the same point in every manuscript.
Then I learned I'm autistic with ADHD, and my "process problems" became information. My brain doesn't plot top-down or freewheel. It works in pattern bursts — whole structure in a flash, then months filling in texture.
The advice I needed wasn't about which method to use. It was: understand how your brain works first, then build around that.
For you: When you're writing at your best, what does your process actually look like? Not what it should look like according to the internet or books written by famous writers. What does it look like when it feels right for you?
3. "How fast should I write?" is the wrong question.
Yes, I can write a book in three months. But I can’t maintain that speed for my kind of fiction. Period.
Better question: What pace produces work I'm proud of, and how do I build a career around that?
Once I stopped competing on volume, I could compete on depth — the one thing content mills and rapid-release factories can't do.
For you: If you threw out every expectation about speed, what pace would let you do your best work? Also: don’t forget the joy!
The real problem with writing advice
Most writing advice is not wrong. It's contextual. Someone solved their problem at their career stage might have broadcast it as universal truth.
The advice you actually need accounts for who you are, what you write, and how your brain works. Which means — annoyingly — you'll have to figure most of it out yourself. But if you’re just starting out: Write what matters to you at the pace and style that works for you. Your writing won't look like anyone else's. And that's the point.
Notes from the road
Our first two snail mail issues are out and I’m super proud of how they turned out:

Two photos from Magnus and two draings from me.

The ugly blob stage of drawing
And then I started creating a spontaneous mini workshop on drawing a ruby-crowned kinglet in pastel. No skills needed. The first videos are up and here’s what members are saying: “Oooh, thank you! I had no small amount of anxiety about outlining anything, because I can‘t draw and was afraid that the whole thing would look more like a blob. Now I am more confident…”

Until next time,

