Some people build their lives like spreadsheets, color‑coded and laminated. Others sell their house, throw everything in storage, and fly to Sweden for a job they’re not qualified for because something deep inside says, “Go.” Sabine Hutchison is definitely the second kind.

And maybe that’s why her story stuck with me. It isn’t about luck or chaos. It’s about that moment every creative hits, the one where you have to decide whether to stay safe or choose yourself.

Listening to the Gut

When Sabine told me she packed up her life and flew to Sweden to work for David Copperfield, I laughed at first. It sounded wild.

We love to overthink. We spreadsheet our dreams until they stop breathing. I do this all the time. But Sabine reminded me that instincts aren’t mystical. They’re practical. They’re the part of you that knows the truth before your brain catches up.

She didn’t have a plan or a safety net. She had a moment. A choice. Stay safe or step into the unknown. And she moved. That one decision changed everything.

Creatives hit that crossroads constantly. Do I take the gig that scares me? Do I publish the thing that might flop? Do I move toward the life I want or stay in the one I know? Sabine’s answer was simple. Move. Even if you’re terrified. Especially if you’re terrified. Because staying still costs more than trying.

Reinvention as a Way of Life

Sabine’s career reads like a novel with too many plot twists to count. Chemistry. Hazardous waste. Touring with a magician. Moving to Germany for love. Starting at the bottom of a lab. Climbing into corporate leadership. Founding her own company. Writing a book. Building a global network for women.

Most of us panic if we change our Instagram bio twice in a year. Sabine changes her entire identity and keeps going. Her path proves that success doesn’t have to be straight. Creatives zigzag. We pivot. We burn things down and rebuild them better. We follow curiosity, not convention.

If your career looks like a tangled ball of yarn, you might be doing fine.

The Myth of Doing It Alone

We love the idea of the lone genius. The artist who disappears into the woods and comes back with a masterpiece. But Sabine’s story kills that myth in the best way.

When she moved to Germany, she had no network, no language, no credibility, no clue what she was doing. And she still built a career. She volunteered. She showed up. She asked for help. She built relationships on purpose — not in a slick networking‑event way, but in a “I want to contribute and learn” way.

Most creatives don’t need more talent. They need more people who know they exist. Visibility is a network effect. Opportunities flow through relationships. Money flows through people.

Trying to build a creative career without community is like running a marathon with one shoe.

The Power of Sponsors

Sabine made a distinction that stuck with me. Mentors give advice. Sponsors give access.

A mentor says, “Here’s how you could improve.” A sponsor says, “I told them to hire you.”

That difference matters. Creatives need people who say our names in rooms we’re not in. You don’t get those people by accident. You get them by showing up, contributing, and being someone worth betting on.

Story as Strategy

Sabine also talked about storytelling, not the kind we sell, but the kind we use to explain ourselves. Most creatives freeze when someone asks, “What’s your book about?” or “Why should I care?”

She keeps a notebook, her “Spotify playlist of herself,” full of wins, lessons, and moments worth remembering. Because when you practice your story, you can use it. And when you can use it, you can sell your art.

That hit me hard. If you can’t tell your story, no one else will either.

Pushing for Change

One moment in our conversation still makes me pause. Sabine told me about a female physician who was asked in a job interview, “Why are you so concerned about your salary? Doesn’t your husband earn enough?”

That was last year. Not decades ago.

It reminded me that the world doesn’t change just because the rules do. It changes because people push. Sabine pushes for women. You might push for artists. Someone else might push for indie creators or people who don’t fit the mold. The point is the same. Your voice matters, not just for your art but for the world you’re trying to build.

Where It Leaves Me

If I had to distill what Sabine taught me, it’s this. Creative careers are built on risk, connection, and story. Not talent or luck or waiting for permission.

She went from chemical disposal to touring with a magician to building a global network because she trusted her gut and kept reinventing herself.

And maybe that’s the takeaway for the rest of us. You don’t need a perfect plan. You just need to move.

Learn more about Sabine Hutchison: https://sabinehutchison.com/career-book/

Podcast: https://brentxp.podbean.com/e/lightminded-arts-26-reinvention-risk-and-the-lie-creatives-believe-wsabine-hutchison/?token=7cacdcc72656ef45c0c7f51dd89e9403

“I can’t keep living like this.”

When I sat down with dark romance author Bria Rose, that moment showed up in a way I didn’t expect. She didn’t describe it as a breakthrough or an awakening or a spiritual download. She called it her “villain era.”

Now, before you picture her swirling a cape and plotting revenge, let me clarify: she wasn’t talking about becoming a bad person. She was talking about finally stepping out of survival mode, the version of herself that was always hustling, always pleasing, always pushing through and stepping into the version that actually creates.

The Lie of the “Good Creative”

Most creatives are raised on a quiet little myth:
Be agreeable. Be grateful. Don’t rock the boat.

We’re taught to be the “good creative,” the one who says yes, who doesn’t ask for too much, who stays small so everyone else stays comfortable.

Bria grew up in the most literal version of that myth: Disney.
Her nursery was Disney. Her childhood was Disney. She even worked at Disney for seven years. She lived inside the brand of optimism, magic, and moral clarity.

But real creative life isn’t a theme park.
It’s messy.
It’s contradictory.
It’s full of moments where you have to choose between who you’ve been and who you’re becoming.

For Bria, that choice showed up the moment she realized she wasn’t living — she was surviving.

Survival Mode Is Not a Creative Strategy

When Bria talked about being in survival mode, she didn’t sugarcoat it:

“I was doing everything myself… super independent… always in that masculine, get-it-done energy.”

If you’ve ever tried to create while your nervous system is on fire, you know exactly what she means.
Survival mode feels productive, you’re always moving, always grinding, but it’s the kind of movement that keeps you in the same place.

You’re not building, you’re patching leaks. But there’s something even more to survival mode… Its expensive. I don’t just mean financially, but also emotionally, and creatively.

When you’re constantly bracing for impact, you don’t have the bandwidth to take risks, explore ideas, or follow the weird little impulses that lead to your best work.

You’re too busy trying not to drown.

The Snap — And Why It Matters

At some point, Bria hit the wall.
She told me:

“I’m probably the villain in somebody’s story… but I’m the hero of mine.”

That line stuck with me.

Because what she’s really saying is this:
There comes a moment when you stop performing the version of yourself other people expect, and start becoming the version that actually creates.

It’s not about being rebellious, or edgy, or “bad,”, its about allowing yourself to choose yourself. That choice can be uncomfortable, especially if you’ve been a people pleaser your whole life. It can even cost you relationships, expectations, and the illusion that you can make everyone happy.

But it gives you something you might desperately need: your voice.

The Creative Rebirth

Once Bria stepped out of survival mode, something wild happened.

The ideas didn’t trickle back, they flooded.

She wrote, experimented, and stopped apologizing for wanting a creative life that actually worked. She didn’t reinvent herself, really, rather she returned to herself, or at least the version of her that loved stories, that wanted to create worlds, and that wasn’t afraid to take up space.

That’s the real “villain era.”
Not darkness, clarity.

The Hidden Cost of Creative Dreams

People see Bria’s success, the special editions, the TV segment, the 30+ podcasts, the book deals, and assume it just… happened.

But behind the curtain?

It’s spreadsheets, cold emails, paying for editors, covers, marketing, and hoping the invoice doesn’t land the same week as rent. It’s sending 90 messages to subscription boxes and hearing back from maybe three.

Even something as simple as a book signing isn’t simple. You’re paying for travel, inventory, displays, and praying the bookstore doesn’t stick you in the corner behind the scented candles.

Creative dreams have a price tag. Not because the dream is flawed, but because the world doesn’t automatically make space for artists. We carve that space ourselves.

The Real Lesson in Bria’s Story

The point of Bria’s “villain era” isn’t that creatives should tap into their dark side. It’s that creatives need to stop shrinking.

They should stop apologizing, or waiting for permission. Stop trying to be the “good creative” who never asks for too much, because the truth is simple:

You can’t build a creative life while pretending you don’t want one.

Bria didn’t become a different person. She stopped hiding the person she already was.

If You’re a Creative Stuck in Survival Mode…

You don’t need a villain era, or to burn everything down. You especially don’t need to become someone else. You just need to stop treating your creative life like a side quest.

Make space for it. Protect it. Let it matter.

Because the moment you stop surviving and start creating, that’s the moment your real story begins.

If you’d like to learn more about Bria Rose, check out her website at:

https://authorbriarose.com

There are interviews that feel like interviews… and then there are interviews that feel like someone just handed you a flashlight and said, “Hey, you’ve been stumbling around in the dark—want to see where the walls actually are?”

My conversation with award-winning author Teri M. Brown was the second kind. And yes, I do plan on revisiting my conversation with her myself over the coming months to help me in my own efforts as an author! So Pay attention.

I brought her on Light-Minded Arts because she’s one of those rare creatives who has figured out both sides of the creative life: the soul-driven, character-obsessed writer and the business-savvy professional who actually sells books. Lots of them. Sustainably. Without losing her mind.

And honestly? I wanted to learn from her. I wanted other writers to learn from her. Because the struggling artist trap isn’t just about money—it’s about mindset, systems, and the courage to keep going even when your first attempts are “no good” (her words, not mine).

This blog is a breakdown of the biggest lessons she dropped—lessons that can help any creative stop flailing and start building something real.

1. Reinvention Isn’t a Luxury—It’s a Survival Skill

One of the first things Teri shared was her backstory. Everyone I’ve talked to has one, but hers gave her that motivation to keep going. I share this with you, only because it sets the frame for the marketing drive she created later.

She didn’t start writing novels until after escaping a 14-year emotionally abusive marriage. She’d been writing for small businesses, mostly practical, research-based nonfiction, but she’d never had the safety or confidence to write fiction.

Then she left.

And the words poured out.

Not perfect words. Not publishable words. But her words.

“My first manuscript was no good. My second manuscript was no good. But I wrote them.”

Because the struggling artist trap often begins with the belief that your early work must be brilliant. Teri’s early work wasn’t brilliant. It was practice. It was healing. It was the foundation for everything she’s built since.

Takeaway for creatives: Your first attempts aren’t supposed to be good. They’re supposed to get you to the next attempt.

2. Big, Bold Actions Change Your Identity

Teri and her new husband Bruce rode a tandem bicycle across the United States—from Oregon to Washington, D.C.

Let me repeat that: A woman who hadn’t been on a bike in 40 years rode across the entire country. And that experience rewired her brain.

“If I can do that, I can do anything I put my mind to.”

This wasn’t about fitness. It was about identity. She stopped seeing herself as someone who wanted to be an author and started seeing herself as someone capable of doing hard things.

Fourteen months later, her first novel was published.

Takeaway for creatives: Sometimes you need a big, unreasonable challenge to break the mental ceiling you’ve been living under. It doesn’t have to be a cross-country bike ride, but it has to be something that forces you to see yourself differently.

3. Writing the Book Is the Easy Part. Selling It Is the Job.

This is where I really got interested, because, I’m doing the writing, I’m publishing my books, but selling them is the hardest part.

When her first novel came out, she did what most new authors do:

She published it, and waited.

Nothing happened.

This is where many of us have been, and often still are. But Teri didn’t quit. She learned and built a system.

4. The Newsletter Is Your Lifeline (Not Optional)

Teri’s newsletter has 1,400 subscribers and a 70% open rate—numbers most authors would sacrifice a kidney for.

But she didn’t get there by accident.

She built it one person at a time:

• Every event she does includes a sign-up sheet. 
• Every craft fair. 
• Every library talk. 
• Every coffee shop appearance. 
• Every podcast interview. 

Did you catch that? Look at that list again. Are you doing these things? They might not sell a lot, and you might never break minimum wage, but there is something increadibly important about doing all these in-person events!

Its that list she gains, one person at a time. One PERSONAL connection at a time. And she emails them twice a month—consistently, for years.

One newsletter is book reviews (including mine, which was a fun surprise).
The other is updates, behind-the-scenes stories, personal notes, and engagement prompts.

She treats her readers like a community, not a sales funnel.

Takeaway for creatives: Do the little events as often as you can to build an email list. Then talk directly to your audience. If you don’t have an audience. All you have is hope. Hope doesn’t sell books.

5. Reviews Don’t Fall from the Sky—You Have to Ask

Teri has 511 reviews on Daughters of Green Mountain Gap and 238 on Sunflowers Beneath the Snow at the time of our interview.

These numbers matter. Amazon’s algorithm rewards books with reviews. Readers trust books with reviews. Reviews are the social proof that keeps a book alive.

But people don’t leave reviews naturally.

“They read your book, they liked your book, they told you they liked your book… and that’s the end of the story.”

So she asks. Repeatedly. Kindly. Strategically.

She includes review links in her newsletter.
She explains that reviews can be short.
She asks people in person.
She asks them to do it right now on their phones.

And it works.

Takeaway for creatives: If you’re not actively asking for reviews, you’re leaving your book to die quietly in the algorithmic wilderness.

6. In-Person Events Still Matter (Maybe More Than Ever)

We’ve already covered this a little, but it needs to be reiterated. Teri does:

• Library talks 
• Coffee shop events 
• Craft fairs 
• Local meet-the-author nights 
• Anything that gets her in front of real humans 

She doesn’t worry about turnout. If three people show up, that’s three new readers.

She also uses local Facebook groups to promote events—simple, free, effective. Often, all it takes, is calling up a place and asking. I’ve done this with book stores, and while those are good, you’re only getting passive visitors who need to be sold on you. Libraries and coffee shops often have email lists of their own that they use to advertise events. They do marketing for you, free, and so you already have an audience who came, just to see you talk.

Takeaway for creatives: Visibility isn’t just digital. If you want readers, go where readers physically are.

7. Paid Ads Can Work—But Only When the Foundation Is Solid

Teri didn’t touch paid ads until she already had:

• A strong newsletter 
• A consistent presence 
• Over 200 reviews
• A clear brand 
• A book that converts well 

Then she tried Facebook ads.

And they worked.

She tripled her investment. Her sales graph shot upward and stayed there. She sells about two books a day from that one campaign.

But she also shared a crucial insight:

“I’ve been told that if you don’t have at least 100 reviews, Facebook ads don’t work well.”

This tracks with what many marketers say: ads amplify what’s already working. They don’t fix what isn’t.

Takeaway for creatives: Ads are gasoline. They only help if your engine is already running.

8. Genre Isn’t a Prison—If Your Brand Is Clear

Often I’ve been worried that the common wisdom of “stick to one genre, or you’ll confuse your audience” was going to plague me, since I write what I want to write, and often in multiple genres, even blending them sometimes.

Teri wrote three historical fiction novels… and then wrote a modern, humorous contemporary novel. And her readers are excited for it.

Why?

Because she didn’t brand herself as a historical fiction author. She branded herself as a character-driven storyteller.

That’s the glue. That’s what readers follow. I’ve done something similar. Since I do write in multiple genres, I brand myself as a creator in the “clean fiction” space. My books aren’t squeaky clean, but they are for the most part PG or very mild PG-13, something most families are okay enjoying together.

Takeaway for creatives: Your genre can change. Your voice can’t. Build your brand around what makes your storytelling yours.

Final Thoughts: Teri’s Path Isn’t Magic—It’s Method

What struck me most about Teri is that nothing she does is mystical or unattainable.

She isn’t relying on luck or waiting for a viral moment. She isn’t hoping the universe notices her She’s building a career brick by brick:

• Write consistently 
• Show up in person 
• Build a newsletter 
• Engage your readers 
• Ask for reviews 
• Learn the business 
• Take bold risks 
• Keep going 

This is the opposite of the struggling artist trap. It’s the blueprint for escaping it.

And honestly? Talking to her made me rethink my own systems, my own habits, and the places where I’ve been relying on hope instead of structure.

If you’re a creative trying to build something sustainable, her example is a reminder that the path exists—and it’s walkable.

The only question is whether you’re willing to take the next step.

Check out Teri’s new book, Peg Unhinged today: https://www.amazon.com/Peg-Unhinged-Teri-M-Brown-ebook/dp/B0GTML786F/

Catch the whole podcast at: https://brentxp.podbean.com/e/no-one-is-coming-%e2%80%94-how-teri-m-brown-succeeded-in-marketing-her-creative-career/?token=3dc1a2ce83b5a72dd495c276b2555b60

Visit Teri M. Brown’s Website: https://www.terimbrown.com/  

When I booked an interview with a professional dancer, I had one fear — that she’d ask me to clap on beat. If you’ve ever seen a baby deer try to stand for the first time, that’s me trying to find rhythm. But Alexandra Beller didn’t ask me to dance. Instead, she walked me straight into one of an honest conversation about creative identity, rejection, and the quiet ways artists accidentally sabotage their own careers.

And here’s the twist: her story isn’t just about dance. It’s abouhttps://youtu.be/-ae_QMuwPYct every creative who’s ever felt like the dream was rigged against them.

The Dream That Feels Rigged (Because Sometimes It Is)

Alexandra has been in the dance world for over 30 years — long enough to see the industry shift, mutate, and occasionally eat its young. Early in her career, she watched a tiny handful of “golden children” get every grant, every commission, every opportunity. Meanwhile, she was grinding away, making deeply personal work that didn’t fit the commercial mold.

She told me something that hit like a brick:

“It felt like I had been born into the wrong era in the dance world.”

Every creative knows that feeling.
You’re doing the work.
You’re improving.
You’re committed.
And still — the doors don’t open.

This is where so many creatives fall into the struggling-artist trap. Not because they lack talent, but because they assume the system’s rejection is a verdict on their worth.

The Pivot That Saved Her Career (And Could Save Yours)

After years of pouring her soul into dance pieces that ran for a weekend and cost her months of unpaid labor, Alexandra made a move that most creatives are terrified to make:

She left the traditional dance world and shifted into theater.

Suddenly, she wasn’t fundraising for every project.
She wasn’t producing everything herself.
She wasn’t performing for three nights after three years of work.

She was getting hired, paid, respected, and sustained.

“In theater, I get to come in and do my art. I don’t have to fund it.”

This is the part creatives don’t talk about enough: Sometimes the most artistic thing you can do is choose a path that pays you.

It doesn’t mean you’re selling out or compromising. Your just choosing a version of your craft that doesn’t require you to bleed for it.

The Most Personal Work Is the Most Universal

One of my favorite moments in the interview was when Alexandra talked about the difference between commercial art and deeply personal art.

She said something I think every creative should remember:

“The most personal material is the most universal.”

When you flatten your work to appeal to everyone, you end up appealing to no one.
When you chase trends, you become replaceable.
When you try to fit the mold, you disappear into it.

But when you make something so specific it almost feels embarrassing? That’s when people say, “Oh my gosh… that’s me.”

This is the antidote to the struggling-artist trap: Stop trying to be universal. Start trying to be honest.

The Inner Critic Isn’t the Enemy — It’s a Terrified Intern

One of the most surprising parts of the conversation was Alexandra’s take on the inner critic.

Most creatives treat their inner critic like a villain. She treats it like a teenager who needs boundaries.

“There’s a real message underneath what your inner critic is trying to say.”

It’s not saying “you suck.”
It’s saying “I’m scared.”
It’s saying “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
It’s saying “Can we please not embarrass ourselves again like last Tuesday?”

And instead of fighting it, she suggests acknowledging it:

“I can’t talk right now, but I’ll come back to you.”

This is emotional intelligence for creatives — and it’s the difference between burnout and longevity.

Because burnout isn’t caused by working too hard. Burnout is caused by working in fear.

The Real Currency of a Creative Career

When I asked Alexandra what meant the most to her over the years, she didn’t say awards, or reviews, or applause. She said trust.

The trust of collaborators.
The trust of students.
The trust of artists who let her shape their work.

That’s when it clicked for me:

The opposite of the struggling-artist trap isn’t fame. It’s community.

You don’t build a creative career by being the most talented person in the room. You build it by being the person people trust to show up, do the work, and stay human in the process.

So What Do We Learn From Alexandra?

If I had to boil it down:

• Your dream isn’t fragile — your expectations are. 
• The system might be rigged, but your path doesn’t have to be. 
• Pivoting isn’t failure; it’s strategy. 
• Your weirdest, most personal work is your competitive advantage. 
• Your inner critic isn’t the enemy — ignoring it is. 
• Community is the real currency of a creative life. 

And maybe most importantly:

You don’t have to choose between art and stability. You just have to stop assuming they’re opposites.

To learn more about her and her work, visit her at: https://www.alexandrabellerdances.org/

If you’ve ever tried to turn your art into income, you’ve probably had this moment:

You’re staring at your bank account, wondering how you can be this talented and still this broke… while some 19-year-old on TikTok is selling crocheted frog hats and somehow clearing six figures.

Welcome to the creative economy — where talent matters, but financial literacy matters more.

And that’s exactly why my conversation with Sheila Slick hit so hard. Sheila is a fourth-generation entrepreneur, a business coach, a tech founder, and the author of Momentum. She grew up in a family where dinner conversations were basically Shark Tank without the cameras. Meanwhile, most creatives grew up hearing things like:

“Just follow your passion and the money will come.”

Spoiler: it won’t.

Not unless you treat your creativity like a business — and Sheila breaks down exactly how.

1. Ideas Are Cheap. Execution Is Expensive.

Creatives love ideas. We collect them like Pokémon.

But Sheila said something worth remembering:

“An idea is just the beginning. The question is, how do you go from idea to action?”

Writers know this intuitively. “I have an idea for a book” is not a book. It’s not even a chapter. It’s a sentence fragment.

But when it comes to business? Creatives forget this rule entirely.

We think:

• “I’ll publish this book and see what happens.” 
• “I’ll post my art online and hope it sells.” 
• “I’ll make a film and pray someone discovers it.” 

Hope is not a business plan.

Sheila’s entire career — from NASA hackathons to building a micro-SaaS — is proof that ideas don’t pay the bills. Systems do.

2. You Need a Business Plan (Yes, Even You, Painter-Who-Hates-Spreadsheets)

Sheila spent years helping entrepreneurs through SCORE, where she taught the nine essential elements of a business plan. And she’s blunt about it:

Most creatives skip this step entirely.

Why? Because it feels boring. Restrictive. “Uncreative.”

But here’s the truth:

A business plan doesn’t kill creativity — it protects it.

It keeps you from:

• Underpricing your work 
• Overspending on tools 
• Getting blindsided by costs 
• Burning out 
• Quitting your dream because you “can’t afford it” 

Sheila put it perfectly when she said:

“At one point, unless it’s a hobby, you have to figure out how not to lose money.”

That’s the line creatives avoid. We don’t want to admit we’re running a business. But if you want to be a working creative, not a struggling one, you need to know:

• What your work costs 
• What your time is worth 
• Who your audience is 
• How you’ll reach them 
• How you’ll price sustainably 

This isn’t selling out.
This is staying in the game.

3. Validate Your Market Before You Build Anything

Sheila’s story about building Pod2Book AI is a masterclass in creative entrepreneurship.

She didn’t spend a year building a perfect product.

She didn’t disappear into a cave to “work on her craft.”

She didn’t assume people wanted what she wanted to make.

Instead, she validated the idea while building it.

She watched what podcasters were already doing manually. She saw the pain point. She built a rough version. She gave it to testers. She asked for feedback. She iterated. She improved. She partnered with people who already had audiences.

And she said something every creative needs to hear:

“If it’s going to fail, you want it to fail fast.”

Creatives do the opposite.
We fail slowly. Painfully. Expensively.

We spend:

• 3 years writing a novel 
• $20,000 making an indie film 
• 6 months painting a collection 

…before ever asking:

Does anyone want this?

Market validation isn’t selling out.
It’s making sure you’re not building a business on quicksand.

4. Collaboration Is Not Optional — It’s Survival

One of Sheila’s first moves with her app was to collaborate.

Not “network.”
Not “ask for favors.”
Not “hope someone shares it.”

She created revenue-sharing partnerships with people who already had audiences.

That’s how you scale without burning out.

Creatives often try to do everything alone:

• Write the book 
• Edit the book 
• Design the cover 
• Market the book 
• Build the website 
• Run the ads 
• Manage the social media 

And then we wonder why we’re exhausted and broke.

Sheila’s approach is simple:

Find people who are already serving your audience and make it worth their while to help you.

This is how real businesses grow.

5. Momentum Is a Financial Strategy

Sheila’s book Momentum isn’t just about productivity — it’s about financial survival.

Because the #1 killer of creative careers isn’t lack of talent.

It’s inconsistency.

She said:

“Momentum is where I see a lot of people get stuck.”

Creatives sprint, then collapse.
We binge-work, then ghost our own projects.
We get excited, then overwhelmed.

Momentum isn’t about working harder.
It’s about working sustainably.

Sheila uses:

• Time blocks 
• Boundaries 
• Project prioritization 
• Saying “no” to good opportunities to protect great ones 

She even turned down lucrative software clients because they didn’t align with her current focus.

That’s discipline.
That’s strategy.
That’s how you build wealth instead of chaos.

6. Fear Is Expensive

Sheila talked about participating in a NASA hackathon — despite knowing nothing about space.

She almost didn’t do it.
She was intimidated.
She doubted herself.

And then her team’s project was chosen as one of the best worldwide.

Her takeaway?

“Fear stops us. Limiting beliefs stop us.”

Fear is one of the most expensive emotions a creative can have.

Fear keeps you from:

• Charging what you’re worth 
• Pitching your work 
• Publishing your book 
• Launching your product 
• Asking for help 
• Showing up consistently 

Fear costs more than failure ever will.

7. The Hardest Part of Creative Entrepreneurship Isn’t Money — It’s Consistency

When I asked Sheila what the hardest part is, she didn’t hesitate:

“Consistency. Staying sane. Staying focused. Taking it to the finish line.”

Creatives love the beginning of things.
We love the spark.
The inspiration.
The rush.

But businesses are built in the boring middle.

The unsexy grind.
The follow-through.
The repetition.

Momentum isn’t glamorous.
But it’s profitable.

Final Thought: Your Art Deserves a Financial Strategy

Sheila’s entire journey — from tourism to tech to publishing — is proof that creativity and business are not opposites.

They are partners.

Your creativity is the engine.
Your business strategy is the steering wheel.

Without both, you crash.

If you want to stop being a struggling artist and start being a working creative, take Sheila’s advice seriously:

• Validate your ideas 
• Build a simple business plan 
• Know your numbers 
• Collaborate strategically 
• Protect your time 
• Stay consistent 
• Don’t let fear run the show 

Your art deserves to be seen.
But more importantly — you deserve to be paid.

To learn more about Sheila Slick, visit her website at: https://sheilaslick.com/

Every creative has a version of the same fantasy.

You write the book.
Or finish the screenplay.
Or record the album.

And then—like magic—the world discovers it.

Readers fall in love. Audiences show up. The work spreads organically. Success arrives because the art is good enough.

It’s a comforting myth. It’s also one of the fastest ways to become a struggling artist.

In a recent interview with publishing strategist Ally Machate, we dug into what actually makes creative work succeed in the marketplace. After more than 25 years working in publishing—including time at Simon & Schuster and now helping authors launch books through her company, The WritersAlly—Machate has seen the same pattern repeat itself again and again.

The artists who thrive aren’t necessarily the most talented.

They’re the ones who learn how creativity and strategy work together.

Here are some of the biggest lessons creatives can take away if they want their work to support their life instead of draining it.

The Hard Truth: A Good Book Isn’t Enough

Most creatives assume that quality is the main barrier to success.

Write a great book and the market will reward you.

But publishing—like film, music, or any other creative industry—doesn’t work that way.

Machate explains that a great book is just the starting point. Publishers and audiences are looking for something else as well: marketability.

In other words, they’re asking a very practical question:

Who is going to buy this?

That might sound harsh to artists who prefer to focus on creative expression. But if your goal is to become a working creative, it’s a reality worth embracing early.

The market cares about things like:

• Your existing audience
• Whether readers are already interested in the topic or genre
• How easily the book can be positioned and sold
• Whether you have a platform that helps spread the word

This doesn’t mean art must be cynical or soulless. It simply means that once you decide to sell your work, you’re no longer creating in a vacuum.

You’re creating for people.

Platform: The Visibility Problem Creatives Ignore

One of the most misunderstood concepts in publishing is “platform.”

Many creatives hear that word and assume it means becoming a social media influencer—posting constantly, chasing algorithms, and building a massive following.

Machate pushes back on that assumption.

A platform simply means visibility.

It’s any way people can find you and your work.

That might include:

• A mailing list
• Relationships with other creators
• Media appearances or speaking opportunities
• An existing audience in your niche
• Previous publications or awards

Social media can be part of that, but it’s only one plank in the platform.

For creatives worried about time, this is a critical insight. Building an audience doesn’t require turning yourself into a content machine. It simply requires showing up consistently in places where your audience already exists.

Fiction vs. Nonfiction: Two Very Different Businesses

Another financial insight many creatives miss is that not all books serve the same purpose.

Machate describes two very different models.

Fiction: The Book Is the Product

For novelists, success typically means selling more books.

That means building an audience that grows over time—so each new release launches to more readers than the last.

The strategy is simple but demanding:

Write books readers love.
Deliver them consistently.
Keep your audience coming back.

Nonfiction: The Book Can Be a Tool

For business owners or experts, the book often serves a completely different role.

It becomes a gateway product.

Instead of making money directly from book sales, the book introduces readers to:

• coaching programs
• consulting services
• speaking engagements
• courses or memberships

Machate gives a simple example.

Imagine selling 100 copies of a book and earning $5 per copy. That’s $500.

Now imagine giving away those same 100 books—and gaining just one $10,000 client as a result.

The math becomes very clear.

This is one of the most powerful ways creatives can escape the struggling artist trap: thinking about how their work fits into a larger ecosystem.

The Review Problem (and Why It Matters)

If you’ve ever browsed books online, you’ve probably noticed something interesting.

You almost never buy a book with three reviews.

Reviews function as social proof. They tell readers the book has been tested and enjoyed by others.

Machate says a practical goal for new authors is:

• 25 positive reviews as a bare minimum
• 50 reviews where algorithms start helping visibility

But getting reviews isn’t about begging friends and family.

It’s about distribution.

You need to get your book into enough readers’ hands that a percentage of them will naturally leave feedback.

Strategies include:

• launch teams of early readers
• book promotion sites that reach genre audiences
• mailing lists and communities

At the end of the day, reviews are a numbers game.

The more readers you reach, the more reviews will follow.

The Secret Creative Advantage: Formulas and Tropes

Many artists cringe when they hear words like formula or tropes.

They sound unoriginal.

But Machate argues that the most successful books actually rely on them.

Genres function because readers have expectations.

Romance readers expect:

• emotional tension
• relationship obstacles
• a happy ending

Mystery readers expect:

• clues
• rising suspense
• a satisfying reveal

When authors break these expectations, readers often feel cheated.

The key isn’t avoiding formulas.

The key is using them creatively.

Think of tropes as the frame of the house. Your unique voice, characters, and storytelling fill in everything else.

Readers don’t want something completely unfamiliar.

As the saying goes:

People want the same thing—just different.

The Most Important Mindset Shift

Perhaps the most important idea Machate shares is one many creatives resist.

Your book is not your baby.

Your book is a product.

That doesn’t diminish the creativity behind it. But it changes how you approach it.

Products require:

• understanding customers
• researching the market
• positioning and packaging
• strategic marketing

When creatives accept this shift, everything changes.

Instead of wondering why great work isn’t selling, they start asking better questions:

• Who is this for?
• What do they already love reading or watching?
• How does my work fit into that conversation?

That’s when creative careers start becoming sustainable.

The Final Lesson: You Can Do Anything—But Not Everything

At the end of the conversation, Machate shared a quote she keeps on a sticky note beside her computer:

“You can do anything, but not everything.”

For creatives, this advice might be the most financially important of all.

You could:

• write multiple genres
• post on every social platform
• chase every marketing tactic
• launch endless creative projects

But trying to do everything leads to burnout—and mediocre results.

Successful creatives narrow their focus.

They pick the right audience.
The right strategy.
The right creative lane.

And then they commit.

Because escaping the struggling artist trap isn’t about abandoning creativity.

It’s about giving your creativity the structure it needs to thrive.

When art and strategy work together, the result isn’t just better business.

It’s a creative life that actually lasts.

To learn more about how Ally can help you, visit: https://thewritersally.com/

Russell Van Brocklen didn’t overcome dyslexia—he weaponized it.

In our latest Light-Minded Arts interview, he shared how a first-grade reading level didn’t stop him from thriving, and launching a multi-year educational study funded by the New York State Senate.

For creatives trying to escape the struggling artist trap, Russell’s story is more than inspiring—it’s tactical.

The System Said “No”—So He Rewrote the Rules

Russell’s neuropsychological evaluation confirmed the worst-case dyslexia. When he applied for a New York State Assembly internship, they nearly rejected him outright. But instead of being sidelined, he was placed in the Majority Leader’s Program in Council’s office—a graduate-level policy internship. Despite his writing challenges, he earned top marks through oral presentations and Q&A sessions. Then came the gut punch: SUNY Buffalo overrode the state’s accommodations and gave him 15 credits of F.

That moment of institutional betrayal became a turning point—not just for himself, but to show other dyslexics how to do it.

Law School as a Creative Battleground

Russell’s breakthrough came in a law school classroom. The Socratic method—designed to crush students with rapid-fire questioning—didn’t faze him. His frontal lobe, hyperactive due to dyslexia, allowed him to respond with clarity and speed. He didn’t just survive the class—he matched the professor blow for blow in a 15-minute intellectual duel.

That moment proved something powerful: dyslexia doesn’t have to be a deficit. It’s a different operating system. And when paired with the right environment, it can outperform traditional models.

The $900 Miracle: Turning Struggling Students into Graduate-Level Writers

Russell didn’t stop at personal success. He designed a pilot program in the Avon Park Central School District, targeting the most motivated dyslexic juniors. After one class period a day for a school year, their reading and writing jumped from 7th grade to graduate school level. The cost? Less than $900.

Every student went on to college. Every student graduated. The secret wasn’t just hard work—it was leveraging the creative strengths of dyslexia.

What Creatives Can Learn from Dyslexic Brains

Russell breaks down the neuroscience: dyslexic brains show reduced activity in the rear (traditional reading centers) but hyperactivity in the frontal lobe—where creativity lives. That’s why dyslexics like Steven Spielberg and Walt Disney didn’t just succeed—they reshaped entire industries.

Spielberg edits in his head. Disney built Disneyland not for kids, but for adults seeking escape and control. These aren’t just anecdotes—they’re blueprints for creative domination.

The Trap: Scattered Ideas with No Organization

Russell identifies the biggest barrier for creatives with dyslexia, ADHD, or similar traits: ideas flying around at light speed with no structure. The fix? Force the brain to organize itself using writing as a measurable output.

He recommends starting with specific-to-general questions. Instead of asking, “What effect did MLK’s speech have?” ask, “What personally compelled MLK to give that speech?” That approach triggers a cascade of answers, forcing clarity and structure.

AI as a Writing Partner, Not a Replacement

Russell’s current workflow blends dictation, Anthropic’s Claude 4.5, ChatGPT Pro, and human ghostwriters. He’s not outsourcing creativity—he’s orchestrating it. He uses AI to mimic his style, refine drafts, and then hands it off to trusted editors who strip out the generic and bring the human voice back.

For creatives, this is a roadmap: use AI to accelerate, not replace. Stay in control of your message. Treat writing as a tool to organize your brilliance.

Final Takeaway: Find Your Micro-Lane and Own It

Russell’s advice to creatives is blunt: find your area of extreme interest and ability, and stay there. Step outside it, and your performance drops. Stay inside it, and you become unstoppable.

Whether you’re dyslexic, ADHD, or just scattered from the chaos of creative life, the lesson is clear: your brain isn’t broken. It’s built for something specific. Find that thing. Build around it. And never let the system tell you what you can’t do.

If you’ve been walking around feeling like the world stopped making sense a while ago — like you’re doing your best to stay afloat in a place that keeps changing the rules — then Hard Boiled Cabbage might be exactly the story you’ve been craving.

It’s not just a hard-boiled mystery.
It’s not just absurd humor.
It’s not just grit and heart and strange characters trying to survive a stranger world.

It’s a mirror.

A funhouse mirror, sure — but one that reflects something real:
that feeling of trying to hold onto your dignity when everything around you feels chaotic, unpredictable, or downright surreal.

If you’ve ever:

• Felt like you’re living in a Dick Tracy story without the trench coat 
• Wondered why the world feels so bizarre lately 
• Needed a break that actually pulls you out of your head 
• Wanted a story that’s weird enough to be fun but honest enough to hit home 

…then this book was written for you.

Hard Boiled Cabbage is the kind of story that lets you laugh at the absurdity, feel the heart beneath the chaos, and walk away thinking, “Okay… maybe I’m not the only one trying to make sense of all this.”

And on March 2nd, the book finally arrives.

If you’re ready for something different — something that doesn’t fit in a box, something that gives you escape and resonance — grab it on release day.

PROMO:

For the 1^st 50 people who buy AND leave a review, I’ll send a complementary gift. Just email me a screenshot of your purchase confirmation and your published review at: Storyteller@LightMindedArts.com

👉 Releases March 2nd
👉 Available in Audiobook too!

Upcoming Book Signings (Utah):

March 14^th   Barnes & Noble – Sugarhouse Location : 11:00 am – 3:00 pm

April 25^th       Barnes & Noble – Sandy Location: Noon – 3:00 pm

1. Book Links:

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/hard-boiled-cabbage-brent-lindstrom/1148353176

2. Ebook Links:

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/hard-boiled-cabbage-brent-lindstrom/1148353176

3. Audiobook Links:

I  sat down with Rodney Carpentier (R.L. Carpenter to his readers) and picked his brain for an hour. He’s an 18-year law enforcement professional, a lieutenant counting down the days to retirement, and somehow, in the middle of all that, he’s written and published two crime novels with a third on the way.

But the part that stuck with me wasn’t the résumé. It was the way Rodney talked about creativity with the same grounded practicality he brings to police work. No fluff. No tortured-artist mythology. Just discipline, curiosity, and a willingness to learn the business side of the craft.

And honestly? That’s exactly what struggling artists need to hear.

So let’s break down the lessons from Rodney’s journey—the ones that can help you stop struggling and start working as a creative.

1. Creativity Doesn’t Need Permission—But It Does Need Direction

Rodney grew up writing stories with his mom on Sunday afternoons. Locked-room mysteries. Clue-style puzzles. The kind of imaginative play that plants seeds without you realizing it.

But he didn’t become an author until decades later, after a career in corrections, patrol, investigations, and eventually leadership. The turning point wasn’t a sabbatical or a perfect moment. It was a night shift. An idea. And the realization that waiting for “the right time” was a trap.

“I’m not going to wait around for the time to be right. I have something—I’m going to chase it.”

So often, we all feel the same way.

Lesson:
Stop waiting for the universe to clear your schedule. Start with the idea you have today, not the perfect idea you hope will show up tomorrow.

2. Master the Rules Before You Break Them

Rodney said something that made me laugh because I’ve heard it a thousand times from young creatives:

“I don’t want to follow the rules. I want to do something avant-garde.”

And look—there’s nothing wrong with innovation. But Rodney hit the nail on the head:

“If you don’t master the old ways, how can you make something new?”

He’s right. You can’t subvert structure if you don’t understand structure. You can’t reinvent storytelling if you’ve never studied storytelling. You can’t build a career on vibes alone.

Rodney went back to his college books. He studied the Hero’s Journey. He read Robert McKee. He listened to podcasts. He experimented. And eventually, he found the framework that clicked: For him, it was: Save the Cat.

Not because it’s trendy. Because it worked for his brain.

Lesson:
Learn the craft. Learn the rules. Then twist them into something that feels like you.

3. Writing Isn’t Just Typing—Thinking Counts Too

One of my favorite moments was when Rodney talked about his 45-minute commute. He uses it to talk through scenes out loud, puzzle out plot problems, or let ideas simmer.

If you drove past him on the freeway, you’d probably think he was arguing with himself. And you’d be right.

But here’s the thing: that’s writing.

We forget that sometimes. We think writing only happens when our fingers are on the keyboard. But the subconscious is doing half the work long before we sit down.

Rodney leaves himself cliffhangers on purpose:

“And then she opened the door…”
Stop.
Let the brain chew on it.

That’s a pro move.

Lesson:
Give yourself space to think. Thinking is not procrastination—it’s part of the process.

4. Discipline Beats Inspiration Every Time

Rodney writes in sprints. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. An hour. Then he gets up, hits his electronic drum kit, moves his body, resets his brain, and goes again.

It’s not glamorous. It’s not romantic. It’s not the tortured-artist stereotype.

It’s work.

And that’s why it works.

Lesson:
Build a system that fits your life. Don’t wait for inspiration—train it to show up on schedule.

5. Your Day Job Isn’t the Enemy of Your Art

Rodney’s job is demanding. Stressful. Bureaucratic. Emotional. And yet, it feeds his writing in ways he didn’t expect.

He understands procedure. He understands people. He understands fear, trauma, and the way small communities operate. All of that becomes texture in his fiction.

But more importantly, he doesn’t resent his job for “getting in the way” of his art. He uses it. He works around it. He lets it support the life he’s building.

And his coworkers? They’re some of his biggest fans.

Lesson:
Your day job doesn’t have to be the villain. It can be the scaffolding that lets your creative life grow.

6. Art Is Emotional—But the Business Is Practical

He didn’t just write a book. He learned how to publish it. How to market it. How to navigate KDP. How to hire a narrator. How to deal with ACX. How to attend conferences. How to network.

He didn’t romanticize any of it.

“Art is business. If you want people to read it, you have to think about the business side.”

That’s the line most struggling artists avoid. But it’s the line that separates hobbyists from working creatives.

Lesson:
If you want your art to reach people, you have to learn the business. There’s no shortcut.

7. Community Isn’t Optional—It’s Fuel

Rodney spent most of his adult life surrounded by cops, not creatives. So when he started attending writing conferences, something shifted.

He found people who spoke his language. People who understood story beats and character arcs and plot holes. People who could challenge him, inspire him, and push him forward.

And he lit up talking about it.

Lesson:
Find your people. Creativity grows faster in community than in isolation.

8. You Don’t Owe the World Perfection—But You Do Owe Your Readers Payoff

Rodney is writing a trilogy. And he said something that every storyteller needs to hear:

“I have checks I wrote three years ago that I need to pay off.”

That’s accountability. That’s respect for the reader. That’s the difference between “I wrote a book” and “I’m building a career.”

Lesson:
Your audience isn’t an afterthought. They’re part of the creative equation.

Final Thought: You Don’t Need to Struggle to Be an Artist

Rodney’s story isn’t glamorous. It’s not dramatic. It’s not the tortured-genius narrative we’ve been fed for decades.

It’s better.

It’s the story of a working creative—someone who shows up, learns the craft, respects the audience, builds systems, and treats art like a discipline instead of a destiny.

And that’s the path out of the “struggling artist” myth.

Not suffering, not waiting, not hoping, but working, learning. creating. And repeating.

If Rodney can write novels between night shifts, court papers, administrative meetings, and a 45-minute commute, then you can build your creative life too—one intentional step at a time.If you’d like to learn more, visit his website at: https://www.rlcarpentierwriter.com/

Every once in a while, I sit down with someone whose creative journey feels like a mirror held up to my own—only with a few more plot twists, a couple more passport stamps, and significantly better hair. That was my conversation with actor-turned-author Max Shippee, a man who has lived in more states than I’ve owned pairs of work boots, and who somehow manages to balance acting, writing, gym ownership, and fatherhood without spontaneously combusting.

Acting to Author

Max grew up in rural Maine, dancing on stage with his siblings in what I can only imagine was the most wholesome production of “Shippees and Shippettes” ever performed. From there, he pinballed across the country—Oklahoma, Nevada, Texas, D.C.—before landing in Hollywood and eventually Bali. Along the way, he collected stories and experiences.

His debut novel, Moonshine: Path of the Raven, was a natural evolution of his creative journey. It made me think back to my first book which was… well, let’s just say it was a learning experience. But Max’s first chapter hooked me instantly. The man writes like he’s been doing it for decades.

When I asked him how he pulled that off, he gave credit where credit was due: his wife. “She taught Shakespeare for years,” he said. “She’s way smarter than me.” And honestly, after hearing how she pushed him to deepen the spells in his book—turning them from cute rhymes into layered, prophetic poetry—I believe him. As Max put it, “Writing is rewriting,” and those spells took them three to four days to get right.

That became a theme in our conversation:

The work beneath the work

The drafts behind the draft. The reps behind the performance.

Max told me his book went through 13–15 drafts depending on the chapter. I laughed because I’ve lived that life. My first drafts are basically a crime scene—bodies everywhere, no structure, characters wandering off into the woods. But like Max, I’ve learned to love the refining process. That’s where the magic happens.

And then Max dropped a phrase I’m never going to forget:

Earned endings

He talked about how the ending of his book came to him early, and how that created a kind of pressure—good pressure—to make the rest of the story worthy of that final moment. “If someone spends nine hours with you,” he said, “you better leave them with something they’re thinking about.”

He’s right. Whether it’s a book, a film, or a YouTube video, people remember two things: the highlight and the ending. If you can nail those, you’ve done your job.

But Max’s journey isn’t just about writing. Acting has been a huge part of his life, even though he didn’t originally plan on it. In college, he majored in chemical engineering… while on a theater scholarship. By his second semester, he had done six shows and earned a D in chemistry. “This is what’s working,” he told himself. “This is what isn’t.”

That honesty about what’s actually working, is something a lot of creatives struggle with. We cling to the idea of what we should be doing instead of what we’re built to do.

Today’s acting environment

Max leaned into what came naturally: movement, storytelling, and emotional truth. That led him to commercials, soap operas, and a long run on The Young and the Restless, where he learned to shoot 70 pages a day. Yes, you read that right. Seventy. “You learn to make choices fast,” he said. “You don’t get to internalize everything. You hit your mark, trust the music, and go.”

But acting isn’t a stable career, and Max is brutally honest about that. Commercials can pay well, but they can also lock you out of other work for months. TV royalties aren’t what they used to be. Streaming changed the game. And the industry has been hit hard by strikes, COVID, and shifting budgets.

Surviving financially

So Max did what many working creatives eventually have to do: he built a side business. In 2009, he opened a CrossFit gym—not to get rich, but to create stability. “It pays some bills,” he said. “It takes stress off the plate.” It also kept him fit, gave him community, and provided a place where lawyers, plumbers, teachers, and actors all sweat together.

I resonated with that deeply. I’ve said it before: your creative life is only as strong as the foundation you build under it. If your finances are chaos, your art will suffer. If your schedule is dictated by someone else, your creativity gets squeezed into the cracks. Max and I both learned that the hard way.

And yet, despite the challenges, Max radiates gratitude. He credits his wife, his kids, his in-laws, his gym community. He knows he’s lucky to have support. I feel the same way. Without my wife, none of this—Light-Minded Arts, the books, the filmmaking—would exist.

When I asked Max what advice he’d give new creatives, he didn’t hesitate: get your reps in.

Whether it’s writing, acting, painting, filmmaking—do it every day. Not once a month. Not when inspiration strikes. Every day. “The muse doesn’t show up unless you’re already working,” he said. And he’s right. Consistency beats talent every time.

His second piece of advice echoed something I preach constantly: build a stable life so your creativity has room to breathe. It takes five to ten years to build anything meaningful. Whether it’s your financial base or your artistic skill, you have to be patient, persistent, and willing to iterate.

Max’s journey is a reminder that the creative life isn’t a straight line. It’s a winding path through dance studios, chemistry labs, Vegas stages, CrossFit gyms, and quiet rooms where you rewrite the same stanza for the tenth time. It’s messy, unpredictable, and occasionally ridiculous. But if you stick with it, if you earn your endings, it’s worth every step.

And if you want to see what an earned ending looks like, go check out Moonshine: Path of the Raven. Max is building something special, and I’m excited to see where his story goes next.

You can find his book here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DFWQWXQ9?maas=maas_adg_0B8544EDDA6DC04070F85D78EDC0CF03_afap_abs&ref_=aa_maas&tag=maas