Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive. - Nicolas Cole

For example, here’s an excerpt from my article, “How Do Some People Succeed So Quickly? They Approach Life Like This.” Every single moment, of every single day, you are “practicing” something. If you don’t floss in the morning, you’re practicing not-flossing. If you choose to eat quinoa and veggies instead of Frosted Flakes, you’re practicing eating for fuel instead of eating for enjoyment. If you yell at your significant other, you’re practicing a lack of self-control. If you watch TV instead of working on your book, you’re practicing postponing your dream of becoming a novelist. The moment you start to see the world this way, you start to realize that every single moment, of every single day, you are practicing something. And how aware you are of whatever it is you’re practicing dictates how consciously (or unconsciously) you move toward or away from where it is you actually want to be: whether that’s a destination, a physical place, or an emotional state. Here, I am combining the 1/1/1/1 structure with repetition to give a reader plenty of actionable examples without forcing them to read through paragraphs of prose. I’m only giving them what they absolutely need — and then once I’ve given them a handful of examples, I follow up with a longer, more descriptive paragraph (alternating rhythms).

When people read online, they don’t actually “read.” What they do is skim. Browse. Scroll. They let their eyes gloss over the words, and if something compelling catches their eye in the first two, five, maybe ten seconds (a word, a subhead, a phrase), then they’ll stop skimming and start reading. But you better believe as soon as momentum in the writing starts to slow, they’re gone. They’ll swipe back to their social media feed and be neck deep in Memeville in a millisecond.

The pipedream that a publishing house is just going to swoop in, save the day, and bring you tea and crumpets all afternoon while you stare out the window working on the next great American novel is dead. It doesn’t exist. Hemingway had a good run, but as soon as the internet was invented, that era came to an end. Today, the writers who succeed, and who actually make money, are more than just writers. They are brands. They are solo-run companies. They are the publisher, the creative director, the distributor, and the writer, all wrapped up into one — and they embrace the additional responsibility, because it means they have more monetary ownership and creative control over their work. Instead of shying away from this new world, and wishing things were different, I encourage you to welcome it with open arms. Either way, this is the direction the publishing world is headed. So as my 8th grade math teacher used to say, “You can either get on the bus, or you can get off of the bus. Either way, we’re leaving.