When You Stop (Inconsistency)
Here’s some transparency:
· 10 years ago I started a podcast
· I turned that podcast into a book, signing a publishing contract
· Bad things happened
When bad things happened, I put the podcast on hold. And that hold held longer than what I originally intended.
The publishing deal turned out to be a bad deal.
I both started and stopped stand-up comedy at this time.
And eventually, I let these things fall by the wayside.
But I Didn’t Give Up
I didn’t give up, but I focused on a different strategy.
I made new material. Right as my debut novel was released, I turned in my second. (My third was well underway.) It was during this second submission that I uncovered long, twisty complications with my publisher.
I want to share these details about my publisher. I have wanted to scream and shout about their practices for some time.
But I won’t.
Because that publisher is too shady for me to feel safe speaking out against it.
And frankly? The battle isn’t worth it.
How It’s Handled
I didn’t give up writing.
There were times I tried to give up writing. Just let the idea slide away so I can “be normal,” with thoughts not preoccupies with creativity.
That doesn’t work for me.
I’ve tried in different ways at different times in life, and it always leads me to feeling like I aborted something precious and necessary.
I didn’t give up writing because I couldn’t. But I gave up performing and I gave up podcasting.
Plus, the magazine I was writing for folded. My publishing creds might as well have been zero, even though I was thankful for every piece that made it through someone else’s channels.
When things with my publisher got wild, I thought I had a small but trusty network of some folks who could help me turn the buzz on and fight back.
Didn’t happen.
I didn’t give up writing. I didn’t give up creating. But I didn’t handle things the best, either.
I became obsessed with researching my publisher. I uncovered:
· An international tax loop
· A family of interconnected companies
Where each of these companies explicitly stated, in their articles of incorporation, that:
· Executives, or the relatives or associates of executives
· May withdraw any amount of money
· At any time
· For any reason
Which seems kinda fishy, considering I’d given them thousands of dollars for a marketing campaign that never happened.
It was a hybrid publisher. I understood I would foot some of the costs, and frankly, because I was a new author, I didn’t have a problem with that.
With performance and podcasting, it has always been my goal to take literature to new areas, not just the page or the audiobook.
But when I submitted my second manuscript, the publisher asked for even more money.
And there was not a shred of evidence that any marketing was done on their side of things.
It went from “your satire has market value” to “we can’t find a market for your work.”
Bonus
As my emails were tossed around, I eventually was put into contact with the new editor.
It was her first week on the job.
And she was vacationing.
She said, “We are working around the clock. But sorry, I’m on vacation right now. I’ll respond in more detail when I get back.”
I found a recent interview of her talking about her new position. She actually said she thought her new job was beneath her.
Fantastico.
I signed that publishing contract nine years ago. Here’s what I would do differently.
Keep Performing and Podcasting
What happened with the publisher, and what I uncovered about them, was hardly all the “bad stuff” that happened.
In fact, the “bad stuff” was really, really bad.
It was dangerous.
Ugly.
Awful.
The “bad stuff” messed me up.
The “bad stuff” led to issues of safety for me and potentially other people.
In light of that, it makes sense to hold off on performing and podcasting.
But I kept holding off.
I let the terror and the threats scare me into keeping my head down and my mouth shut.
The more I kept my head down and my mouth shut, the more that became my habit, and the farther away I got from my dreams.
A break from performing and podcasting was necessary, at least for a short time.
But a break should not have turned into a decade.
Slipping Away
Once a creative practice begins slipping away, stresses and catastrophes can further rip it from your grip until it’s a thing of the past, no longer a current activity — and therefore, no longer part of your daily identity.
I kept writing.
And certainly, I kept consuming comedy and podcasts and books and stories.
But I put the performance and the podcast down.
And then more “bad stuff” happened.
I made the wrong choices. I made the wrong sacrifices. And I responded to situations more and more poorly as time went on.
Shoulda, Woulda … Didn’t
It is easy to wish, and it is easy to regret.
I do have those wishes, and I do have some regrets, and these things inform lessons.
The biggest lesson I can gather from all of this?
I should have kept the podcast going.
My microphone wasn’t the best. The platform I started on wasn’t really designed for podcasts. But it gave me a chance to practice, to start, to begin getting things out there — and I fell in love with it.
The podcast propelled the book, and both of these things fed my performance.
If I had done a consistent job over the last 10 years, I firmly believe:
· I would have a decade of podcasting experience
· My craft would be considerably sharper
· I would have a decade of evidence
· Prioritizing the podcast would have let me to make different decisions
We make the choices we make.
I choose to carry forward.
I don’t care if it’s easy. I don’t care if it’s hard.
I only care to make things that make people’s lives better.
Even if it’s just a smidgeon better.
Prince: “I only want to see you laughing in the Purple Rain.”
Swivels in, Swivels out.
