I refuse to profit from the idea that you are broken.
You are not broken.
You are exquisite. Even in the places with the shadows. Especially in the places with the shadows.
I will speak to your brilliance, your depth, your beauty, because that’s what I see and know to be true.
Likewise, I refuse to profit from pain.
Especially the kind of pain that is manufactured in a sales page.
Speaking of sales pages… I refuse to write those, too.
Of course, I will tell you when I’ve made something for you. Of course.
And yes, I would like it very much if you buy what I make. Yes.
When you buy what I make, you help hold the space for me to make more, give more, explore more. As far as I can tell, that is a good thing.
And my hope is that you will love the thing I made for you much more than you loved the dollars you paid for it. That is definitely a good thing.
I want it to be because you’re motivated by curiosity and love, not because I shook you up with urgency-speak and fear, then pushed you to the buy button while you were still seeing stars.
Language matters. Tone matters.
I want the books I write for you to be happy discoveries – the quiet love seat in the secret garden behind the hedge, or the intriguing night bazaar you found down a side street when you, fortuitously but unexpectedly, turned left instead of right.
And I want the pages I write about those books to feel the same: curious, loving, laden with unexpected discovery.
Furthermore, I solve no problems.
Unless your problem is that you don’t have enough curly, gentle, ponderous writings to explore. If that’s the predicament you find yourself in, then I’m your girl.
Lighting an old shape from a new angle? Absolutely. Fixing what’s broke? Not so much. (See also: You are not broken.)
I do not believe that those are demons in your closet, and I will not pretend to have the one secret weapon that will defeat them. (Maybe we can just switch on the light, yes? Kindness is useful for that kind of thing, and I have plenty. Help yourself to as much as you need.)
Of course, the lack of a secret demon-defeating weapon limits my opportunities to hold you hostage. That’s fine with me because…
I also refuse to inflate prices with the hot air of anxiety.
Instead, I choose numbers that are fair for you, and sustainable for me.
Radical, I know.
Those numbers will shift over time as I find the sweet spot where I get to eat, and you get to read all the wiggly ponderings you can handle. I reserve the right to experiment, yet the shifting of the numbers need never be justified by holding a magnifying glass over your discomforts.
Conventional business wisdom would have me believe that such idealism will almost certainly lead to bridge-dwelling in later life.
And while I’m not at all convinced that poverty is noble, and while I intend (enthusiastically) to have something cosier than a bridge with a view when I’m elderly, I’m willing to risk it if it means I get to work in the way that I must.
These are the conditions under which I will play in the small business sandpit.
Hard won. Long silenced. Deeply felt.
This is how I work.