How to be an overnight success

Fairy tales are not the best roadmaps for life.

The stories I read as a child taught me that step-mothers were evil and scary. Woods were dark and dangerous, places a girl should never venture alone. Wolves would eat you and?witches too, given the chance.

But mainly, they taught me that?if I’m patient and I learn to wait, then some day my prince will come, riding in on a beautiful white horse to whisk me away to a palace where I’ll live happily ever after.

It’s all nonsense, of?course.

And as a girl who was about as far away from a princess as you can get and still be genetically human, I never really bought into it.

I knew step-mothers who were kind and loving. I loved playing in the woods, and my dog was my best friend. As for witches, they always seemed to get a bad deal, in fiction and in history. Especially when compared to all those benign, bearded fairytale wizards.

The real legacy I got from my childhood reading was a love of stories, an understanding of the magic that words can weave. I wanted to be a writer.

My parents, my teachers, everybody I knew as a child told me this was impossible. People like me didn’t do things like that.

I ignored?them.

At 16, I started my own music fanzine, with a schoolmate (who?—?not coincidentally?—?is now also a published author). Within a year, I was reviewing gigs for my local radio station.

By 18 I had my first features published in?New Musical Express, and paid my way through university in London by writing about music.

After graduating, I went into journalism full-time and have earned a living as a writer ever since.

I was lucky, in all sorts of?ways.

These were the post-punk years in the UK, when many of the old gatekeepers had been frightened off and the doors were thrown open to anyone with the nerve to push at them.

The music scene in my home city of Birmingham was thriving, and through that I met amazing people who were doing interesting things and became my friends, mentors and guides.

Then I went to university in London at a time when you not only got your tuition for free, but the state gave you a grant to live on while you studied.

Brilliant writers such as Vivien Goldman and Julie Burchill had paved the way in the music press, and generously helped me with advice, contacts, friendship and support.

But here’s the thing about?luck.

It rarely tends to come unless you go out there and look for it.

You need to do the work. And then put the work out there.

I self-published, at a time when that meant hand-printing each copy of our fanzine, stapling it together then taking it to gigs and selling it. I pitched to publications I wanted to work for. I applied for jobs, even when I was hopelessly under-qualified for them.

I got involved, volunteered, asked some really stupid questions?—and then some slightly smarter ones. I learned as I went along, and found it’s not that hard to become an expert in anything if you are passionate about it, and are willing to put in the hours.

Fairytales aren’t real.

So it came as a surprise to me to realise how many creatives really did buy into the Cinderella myth; the idea of a fairy godmother or handsome prince coming to the rescue.

They don’t use the word ‘prince’, of course. They say agent, manager, talent scout.

Their godmothers don’t come waving magic wands. They come bearing record, film or publishing contracts. They put your designs on the catwalk, your art on gallery walls, your script into production.

They discover you, and make you a star, an overnight success.

Social media has encouraged this myth.

We might no longer believe in magic. But many of us believe that we could somehow suddenly go viral, find a vast global audience, and our lives could be transformed overnight.

Without needing to put in the hard work of growing a following, building a community, learning how our channel or platform of choice actually works, and making the right content for it.

(Or we feel guilty for not posting endlessly, because we’ve grown to believe we need that Zuckerberg/Musk magic to get the success we want.)

Here’s the truth about overnight success.

It can happen, but so rarely it’s not worth thinking about. As a journalist, I’ve heard hundreds of neat overnight success stories over the years.

But dig deeper, and you inevitably discover a far longer, messier story of struggle, practice and persistence, of small victories followed by big set-backs.

Or luck that came as a result of staying positive and putting good work out there, day after day. Sometimes month after month, year after year.

So don’t be Cinderella.

I once met a talented artist who was supporting himself with gruelling factory jobs as well as working all hours on his painting. He had hundreds of finished canvasses in storage, but had only ever sold a handful of works.

He wasn’t showing his pictures anywhere. His website hadn’t been updated in years. It didn’t even clearly state he was an artist, let alone tell a compelling story about his work, or offer it for sale.

He had occasionally entered art competitions, and often won. But he hadn’t shared that news, in the media or elsewhere. He didn’t go to art openings, visit galleries, mix with other artists, network with collectors. Indeed, he felt this kind of thing was beneath him.

He wasn't telling people about his art.

Yet he was convinced that he would someday be considered a great artist, that his work would hang in museums and fetch millions at auction. He was just biding his time, making the work and waiting. Like Cinderella.

Maybe this will work. Maybe he really will get discovered. As I said, he’s talented. But even if there’s a handsome prince or fairy godmother out there for him, he’s not making it easy for them to find him.

It’s hard to be discovered when you’ve made yourself invisible.

A recipe for magic, in the real?world.

Based on my interviews with some of the biggest names in music, fashion, art, film, design and many other creative fields over the years, here’s how you really find success. Overnight or otherwise.

1. Do the work.

2. Put the work out there.

3. Tell people about it.

4. Learn what you can from what happens, then tweak, edit, improve.

5. Repeat.

The formula is pretty simple. What’s hard is overcoming your own doubts and fears, and other people’s indifference.

So reach out, find others trying to do the same thing, and support each other. You don’t have to walk those woods alone.

But that’s another story altogether.

Sheryl Garratt is a writer, and a coach helping creative professionals get the success they want, making work they truly love. Get The Creative Companion, my bi-weekly email packed with articles, links and resources for creative professionals. (Or those who want to be.) It's free!