I’ve been thinking a lot about something that came up recently. I read this newsletter about the controversy around Elizabeth Gilbert’s new book, and it turned into a really interesting conversation in the Forever Writers Club. We started out chatting about the ethics of sharing deeply private parts of your life, but then our convo morphed into something bigger: the pressure of always having to “top” the last thing you did. The last book, the last project, the last milestone. And wow, that can feel like such a trap.
What if instead, we looked at each project as its own living thing? Part of a larger whole, sure, but not dependent on what came before it to matter. That shift feels huge to me.
I talk about this in Safekeeping, but I keep coming back to it: defining your own success. Not success as the industry tells you. Not success as “bigger, louder, more.” But success as you see it for this particular project, in this particular season.
That means pausing to really check in with your values ... what you stand for, the standards you set for yourself, the boundaries that flow from those values. It means asking: what’s my message here, as a human being, not just a writer?
It also means sketching out a picture of what success looks like for this specific project, something we are rarely invited to do, but also, I'm like why the heck am I even waiting for the invitation? lol
Success. Maybe for you it’s a very specific connection or collaboration. Maybe it’s a conversation you've always wanted to be a part of. Maybe it’s just proving to yourself you could finish the damn thing. Whatever it is, it’s yours. And then, when the work is done, you can hold it up next to past projects and notice the differences. Not “better or worse,” but different. Because the conditions that shaped each piece are different. And you are different.
What if you started revisiting all of your project pillars for each project:
Your why. (This one, I swear, will become a lifeline in your career.)
Your project’s action—what it’s meant to do in the world.
Your nonnegotiables. What you won’t compromise on, whether that’s in the work itself or in how you move it into the world.
Of course, doing all this doesn’t come with a guaranteed ROI (return on investment), at least not in the financial sense. But maybe the return is somewhere else. Maybe the return is bigger, more valuable to you. maybe the return comes in the form of energy you didn’t have to waste pretending to be someone you’re not. That’s the stuff that keeps you going, y'all. And hey, when you create from a place of authenticity, then you create the conditions to make your $$$ in ways you probably never thought of. Hmm!
Having a bigger platform doesn’t always equal more sales. How do I know? Because I've had writers who have six figure followings reach out to me to talk about it lol. But large followings definitely give whatever controversy you’re pulling out of the closet a lot more space to land (yeah, no thanks!). Especially now, in this influencer culture where you can post yourself doing a backflip, go viral, and suddenly gain a million followers based on something that has nothing to do with who you are or what you stand for. Like… what?! Lol.
A big ol' no (with love) from me on that one.
Things are shifting though, I can feel it. For me, the slow burn of building a creative ecosystem is far more powerful than the shiny, misleading vibe of the 1.5 million follower count. Because honestly, there’s massive value in a smaller, engaged audience built on trust. I’d take that any day over a giant crowd just waiting for your next backflip.
⬆️ Example of one of many ways to look at our creative work alongside who we are and how we live—this is a big part of what I do in my studio with authors
The industry, and honestly, society too, loves to push writers into extremes. But being someone you’re not is exhausting. The decision-making we face as creatives requires us to know who we are and what we actually want from this writing/creative life.
So I keep asking myself: if publishing disappeared tomorrow, would I still create? My answer is yes. That’s where I try to root myself. There are so many other ways to share my message and stories—ways that pour from my values—and that won’t always take the shape of a book. The good news is, my creative ecosystem has room for books and everything else I create and I know how it all connects vs competes. THAT is pretty damn valuable, if you ask me.
Yes, I’m working on a new book, but you better believe it’s not where I’m putting all of my eggs. I’ve got a big, growing basket—and there’s room for potatoes and toast too! How can you tell I'm working on a food piece? haha
People sometimes ask why I insist on working this way, against the grain. And the only answer I have is: because it’s me. This is who I’ve been practicing being for years now. And I just can’t keep showing up outside of myself anymore, even if it promised me more book sales. That cost is way too high.
Reflect + Rewrite
This Week's Reflection Question: What does success for this project actually look like to you, outside of numbers and outside of anyone else’s expectations?
After answering the reflection question, revisit what you wrote. Is there a single line—just one—that surprised you? Maybe it stirred something. Maybe it made you pause. Copy that line out. Sit with it. As always, if you feel called, I’d love to see it. Hit reply and share it with me.
See you next week! If this letter moved you in some way, please forward it to a friend.
with love, Chelene
Founder, Breathing Space Creative
Want to explore more of my work? I offer bespoke writing mentorships, creative support calls, and free creative resources through my studio. But for now, just take what you need. I’ll be here.
New in the shop: The Unsent Letters Project a gentle self-awareness offering that invites you to explore four parts of yourself—through letter-writing, reflection, and creative ritual. This is for anyone craving quiet, emotional clarity without pressure or performance.
