You’re not alone. You’re not too late. You can do it (whatever it is).

It’s not empty cheerleading to say these things. I know because I did it (whatever it is) myself, and I see other people doing it every day, right now. Writing books. Selling art. Developing apps. Teaching workshops. Becoming celebrities. Changing opinions. Starting movements.

The Internet is many things, and will be many more things by the time this book hits the shelves/screens, but it will always be fertile ground for connection—real, breathing humans sharing ideas with other real, breathing humans, which is where all good things begin to grow.

In 2005, I started a blog. By now, you’ve probably heard a hundred stories that start with this line. But it’s important for me to start here so you have context for what comes next.

I’d already been a writer for many years, but I was a relatively new parent and I was reeling from it, utterly disoriented by my new life. My description of early parenthood sounds overdramatic, but I can’t seem to find more accurate words.

I started Parent Hacks as a way to share practical tips for simplifying life with young kids. I wasn’t an expert in such tips—I needed them myself. Starting a blog wasn’t a strategic decision nor was it a career move. It was a cry for help. I figured that if someone had a good idea, I could pass it on. If I shared enough good ideas, perhaps it might help other new parents.

Like most pivotal moments, I had no idea at the time that this was mine.

Within six months I found myself with a thriving community of readers, contributors, and colleagues. The following years brought opportunities to write, speak, and travel, along with a network of friends all over the country.

But that’s the sparkly part. Nobody’s career is a straight arrow pointing to the stars. There have been bad decisions, broken commitments, and periods of insecurity and self-doubt. Home life grew more complicated as my kids got older, and there were months when my work retreated into the shadowy corners. Sometimes I would disappear from the Internet entirely, without notice.

And yet, I was never alone. For me, “starting a blog” wasn’t just starting a blog—it was the beginning of a conversation that bolstered me when I could barely respond with a weak “thank you.” It also continues to sustain me today as my oldest child strides off to high school.

My blog’s origin story has an obnoxiously Golden Ticket aura about it. Success came quickly, without much effort or planning. I’m not saying I haven’t earned it—I’m a good writer and a decent human, and I had enough chutzpah to proclaim my idea worthy of other people’s attention—but timing and luck played a crucial part in my initial success, arguably the most crucial part.

The thing about quick success is that it can’t last, at least not in its initial form. Making a real go of it takes persistence. And therein lies the secret of my hustle, the quieter, less glamorous months and years that followed the early salad days of my blog. The part where I kept going after the initial flash bulbs faded, and I had to rely on the light of my own candle flicker to see my way forward.

The narrative would bore you to tears, so rather than dragging you along the switchbacks of what I’ve been doing for the last ten years, let me instead share what I’ve learned.

It’s all been said and done before. But not by YOU.

The worry that your big idea isn’t big enough or original enough or special enough can stop you right out of the gate. Smarter, more talented, better-funded people than you have already done it before. In fact, they might be doing it right now. What chance could you possibly have?

You have the same chance I had when I launched a website with no plan beyond “write” and “help” to an audience of zero, at a time when few parents had even heard of blogs.

I believed I had something of value to contribute even though my idea wasn’t entirely new—I certainly didn’t invent parenting tips. But I suspected I wasn’t alone in feeling let down by the expert advice in the parenting magazines I pored over every month. And I wanted to do something about it. So I did.

I placed myself in the path of the lucky lightning bolt, should it happen to strike.

Work harder, not smarter.

For many, confidence isn’t the problem; overanalyzing is. Believe me, I know. I’m a lifelong overanalyzer (ask my friends).

Does this sound familiar? Before you can even get started, you need the perfect business plan or outline or software setup. You need better connections and the right social media profiles and a sound strategy. You need to work smarter, not harder. Right? Wrong.

Internet hustlers begin by working harder. A lot harder, for a lot longer than you think. It’s only in the hard work that you become smarter.

A growing portfolio of work, even imperfect work, is a hundred times more valuable than a “proven” strategy and 100,000 followers.

Connection before perfection.

The Internet may seem like a cyberworld wired together by code and fueled by algorithms, but it’s actually a simple framework built to support the most basic of human needs: connection.

Your audience is your ally. When you deliver thoughtful, honest work, week after week, month after month, your audience not only grows, but the people in it also look past your work and come to trust you.

Never forget: Trust, more than anything else, is your metric for success. When you have the trust of your audience, they will move and grow with you. They will root for you when you try something new.

They will support you as your interests change, and they will wait if you need to step away for a time.

It’s all too easy to be seduced into “crafting your social media strategy” and “optimizing your content for viral sharing,” but in so doing, your audience ceases to be the living, breathing humans they are, and instead they just become numbers. I don’t trust anyone who treats me like a number. And neither will they.

I’ve fallen into this trap myself. The more distracted I was by my strategy, the further I drifted from the work that earned me an audience in the first place.

I found myself cranking out material that was easy to digest, but lacking in substance. I gradually went from feeling like a contributing member of a vital community to a burnt-out production worker. It took time and humility for me to admit that some of my own choices got me there.

I’m not suggesting you fly by the seat of your pants, abandoning any attempt to influence your trajectory. I’m reminding you that maintaining and growing your audience starts by seeing the people as people, not as statistics. In return, they’ll see you as a person, not a product.

Forget the money for as long as you can.

Part of the driving need to plan and strategize is the fear that there’s no money in it if you don’t.

Fair enough. You’re looking to start a business or create an income. No matter how good trust feels, it doesn’t pay the bills.

Except it does. Which is to say, trust is the foundation on which paying customers stand.

Tempting as it is to quit the boring day job and throw your lot in with the hustlers, doing so may actually short-circuit your progress.

The longer your livelihood depends on a different source, the more risk you can take with your creative work and the more time you have to build a connection with your audience based on trust rather than a desire to sell. Think of your day job (or well-employed partner) as a patron of the arts, taking care of the groceries and the phone bill so you can focus on your creative dream.

Oddly enough, the time constraint may actually increase your creativity. The less time to fret and “research” (read: procrastinate), the more work you’ll get done.

I come to these lessons as a writer, but they’re relevant to anyone who dreams of offering something of themselves to the world. Because, really, isn’t that what creative entrepreneurship is at its heart? Sure, we hope there’s some recognition and money down the line, but that spark, that urge to make something and present it to the world is a fundamentally generous one.

Go. Start that conversation. It’s your time to shine.

Play 20 questions with yourself: ask things that
have complex (or multiple) answers.

***

Investigate things that puzzle or confound you,
things that fascinate or flummox you.

***

Share your answers with someone,
and ask them the same questions.

***

You’ll begin a conversation on topics that
matter and uncover things you need to know.