Why Authors and Musicians Go Independent

Success almost always comes at a cost not immediately recognized as a devastating loss. Yourself. Everything that makes you, “you,” is considered unmarketable by every entity with the wherewithal to make you “someone”- those with the ability to tell your story and market your brand. Whether you’re an author, musician, or other, this is a hard pill to swallow, which will undoubtedly be the marker between you and your dream.

Going Independent

I learned this a long time ago as a marketing operations manager in every single field marketing builds capital for. I knew early on that writing my own words as intended would have to be done independently if I was to spill out my soul in a book meant for people like me, because I am not the the picture of “everyone,” and neither are you if you’re reading these words. We are the unrepresented.

At this moment the keys on my keyboard are spelling out the words you’re reading as I listen to Rob Thomas’s “Pieces” on a loop, and the one thing that’s clear to me is that this song is as obscure and underrated as most of the thoughts in our brains. And if we let the world determine what we write, what we say, we’ll never release the floodgates we hold in.

As a professional writer, I run a mountaineering website, several brand blogs, and social media accounts. I am sent an overwhelming amount of promotional content and products that I am supposed to sell to the average person as “the thing they need.” Truthfully, I have a closet full of products I used once and will never use again, and would gift away if I didn't have a neurotic problem with gifting used items. I mean, I opened it, so, it’s technically not new, right?

But every minute and hour I spend selling someone else's product is time I steal from myself and my own words. There is money to be made in marketing, lots of it. But it comes with an added gift - emptiness.

I also know that, in this business, keeping things close to the chest is the only thing keeping the next person from stealing your idea before you can make it a reality, so I’m more inclined to say less before showing more. With the Busker Project, I wanted to speak to musicians who were in the relative infancy of their careers to learn more about their outlook on the future as opposed to what I had learned from speaking to musicians who’ve been in the field long enough to know that the dream dies the moment you sign that contract. You just don’t know it at the time. I learned that there was always a time when they felt they could tackle that pressing project or set of songs they had in their heart after the label’s priority projects. But after, eventually, turns into never.

I’d like to highlight that I’ve written this blog in a way that uses the bare minimum of SEO because I’ve also grown tired of having to market text using a specific set of metrics that just end up making your writing less about emotion and more robotic. I’m tired of it. Because of this, maybe only three people may read this, myself included. But I will go to bed more fulfilled knowing I published something for me instead of for them; whoever they may be. That’s why I went independent with my writing projects, and under a pseudonym to completely separate my professional life from my artistic life.

In the last installments of the Busker Project, we spoke to some artists who had missed chances and a sense of regret when referencing their success. I’ve spoken to about thirty-seven men and six women, all in the same profession. They all had similar things to say, and things still yet to be spoken but which were accurately communicated through eye contact and between drinks.

The Missing Subject

There is still one man I hope to do a session with before I complete my work, as I feel his art goes beyond what we usually know as music. So much, that I find myself often experiencing his music as something more akin to a story or living painting than just notes and vocals. I mentioned before that I rarely write a chapter or scene without some kind of melodic support. And that’s how I found him. I was struggling to put to paper a set of all-consuming words about a love between two characters, and I was left empty-handed at every line. Then, like the universe kissed my keyboard, came the most simple composition in a song so deep, it left me utterly yearning for the rest. I knew that where that came, more had to follow. And I was right.

I found a homeless set of songs composed and recompiled into different albums and EPs until their eventual and permanent inclusion in a label production; a work ten years in the making. What followed was the discovery of a second album, still including the heart that was the embodiment of the first, but lacking the depth he put into the first. I knew then that this second album was a compromise. A meeting place between what will sell and what is felt, and the former was the driving force. Even then, the words written and sung beat through every chord and dollar sign to produce what I like to call “The Rebellion.”

This is what I was talking about with the subject of the next Busker Project entry, Ryan. Ryan had other ideas, though, preferring to counter every one of my questions with one of his own. I didn’t know at the time that this session would help me find some of the rest of what was missing in my journey. Heart. And Ryan blew the wind beneath my wings in the direction of the man with the answers I was looking for. Perceive this blog as an update on the project or a lead into the hollow halls of story writing I embark on, blindfolded and guided only by the sound of his voice.