Prepping to be on the New York times best seller list

Play your own game

My book, We Need Your Art, comes out in March. I’m working towards hitting the New York Times best seller list…

Sounds about right doesn’t it? It’s not true, but that sentence makes a lot of sense. It’s what we are told we should want as authors. I can’t tell you the amount of content I’ve consumed where artists are celebrating their NYT bestseller spot, or practically begging people to buy their books so they can have a chance at a spot, fuck, I’ve seen videos of authors crying and heartbroken because they missed the list.

And this isn’t just an author phenomenon. Each craft has their own NYT equivalent.

All artists are told what success is. Our creative success is prepackaged, predefined, handed to us the moment we decide to take our art seriously.

Amie, are you suggesting you don’t want to be a best seller?

No. This is not what I mean. A bestseller would be very cool. But it isn’t the game I’m playing.

This sort of conversation often ends up as a very holier than thou rhetoric about how we should create art only for the love of it. Who cares about sales! Wanting traditional success is dirty and immoral. ‘True artists are just happy to create things.’ This is not what I am saying. I vehemently disagree with that perspective, it gives me the fucking ick.

I am incredibly ambitious. I write because I fucking love it, and I write to make money. I write to understand myself and I write for the attention. I write to connect to myself and to connect with others.

I want this book to do well. I want to reach as many artists as possible. I want collective change for creatives everywhere. I am ambitious about this book. I still refuse to have my success defined for me. I still refuse to play their game.

What is ‘the game’

The game is chasing metrics that someone else decided matter—bestseller lists, awards, followers, prestige. It’s the belief that if we don’t hit these milestones, our art is lesser. The game is PUSHING, forcing, trying to control. For writers, it’s the relentless push to hit the New York Times list, to secure blurbs from literary giants, to hustle for reviews from the right publications. The game makes us believe there isn’t enough for all of us. The game has us convinced there is a hierarchy that we must climb, the game asks for more, more and more. The game promises prizes, but the prizes are unsatiating.

Why I don’t want to play

Firstly, I don’t like goals that I can’t control. The journey of being an artist demands surrender, there is much I cannot control. But I can control my goals, my definition of success. I refuse to let my joy, my success, my vision be in someone else’s hands. It is exhausting. It makes me feel powerless. I am not powerless.

Secondly, Playing the game has me feeling like I’m proving myself, pushing, begging. It is not magnetic. To me, it is literarily repulsive. The game leaves me feeling like I need to be someone else in order to succeed. In reality, I need to be Me to succeed.

Finally, I don’t like feeling less than. I am a writer, who gets to do this full time, who lives in a gorgeous cottage. I am joyful and successful. The games leaves me feeling wanting. And I am not wanting. The game leaves me feeling less than other people, and that simply isn’t true. The game makes me feel like I’m in high school, and I’m a fucking grown ass adult.

I want to feel incredibly fucking powerful as I promote my book, write my next books, speak, take up space. And the game leaves me feeling small. Why would I play a game that leaves me feeling small?

PLAY YOUR OWN GAME.

If the game is: Hit the NYT list, My Game is: Promote this book with my whole heart because it fucking slaps.

If their game is: win awards. My game is: realise every single day that I have won THE award, of writing books and connecting with artists. This beautiful life is the award.

If their game is: Be invited on huge podcasts. My game is: Record my own podcast.

If their game is: Ask for favours upon favours, harrass people to share your book. My game is: be incredible, wait for people to notice.

If their game is: End up at some sort of event with James Clear. We get along famously My game is: Delight, truly delight in every single interaction I have with a creative person. It is a privilege every single time.

If their game is: High profile endorsements. My game is: a DM from the reader who says they’ve already started writing their book, because they read mine.

If their game is: CRAZY sales and bestseller lists. My game is: A devoted audience of real artists who can’t stop telling OTHER people about my book. I’m a writer, I don’t fuck with numbers. I fuck with connection.

If their game is: Immediate new huge book deal. My game is: A complete devotion to writing my next book (girl’s already started). I am focussed on the creation process, and the knowledge that no matter how this next book gets distributed (through a publisher or by myself) it will get out there, it will make impact.

I am playing my own game.

I am not competing with anyone.

When other authors thrive around me, it contributes to my own thriving.

My book will bring more art into this world, whether it hits any best seller charts or not.

I am doing the work I was put on this earth to do.

I am putting myself out there and taking up space bravely, and courageously. That is all that is in my control.

Write the rules to your own game. Do not play theirs. It’s rigged. And even when you win, you are left wanting something more.

Define success on your terms. Define the game your playing. Realise that you’re the only one who’s playing it, so you’re already a fucking winner. Take the power back. When you write your own rules, you are no longer rushed, stressed, not enough;. You are the fucking authority. You are on the throne. Exactly where the Artist belongs.

A