We Can’t All Be Famous

I know you didn’t start writing to become famous, but my guess is you’re hoping for some kind of recognition for your finished creative work. Writing, by nature, implies communication. Written words are meant to be read. The stories we create are a type of broadcast, and the circuit isn’t complete until the broadcast is received.

Though most of us want to create, develop, and refine our work in private, or small supportive communities, eventually we will want to share what we’ve created with others. Don’t most novelists secretly hope their book will be a bestseller? Don’t most writers long for the kinds of affirmations that come from social, industry, and financial success?

At some point a writer’s gaze lifts from the page and stares at the horizon of such possibilities. And it makes sense to be hopeful, but we can’t all be famous.

By fame I mean something like: mostly positive, visible recognition paired with financial reward. Though the actual definition of fame goes like this: “the state of being known or talked about by many people, especially on account of notable achievements.” That’s a nice term; artists devote their lives to striving for “notable achievements.” 

A desire for fame can arise in part because of what usually accompanies it: power, status, and wealth. Because while striving to make interesting impactful work, artists face a lot of self doubt during the creative process, limited resources to fund that process, and they are sometimes seen in a questionable light as contributing members of society while honing the crafts that haven’t yet led to any achievements.

With the advent of social media, fame seems possible for almost everyone. But possible isn’t the same as probable. We can’t all be famous because the nature of fame requires that one person hold the attention of many. The numbers just don’t work.

But here are some numbers that do.

It looks like you really only need a thousand true fans to make a fair living (the article promoting that numerical theory is here). And have you heard of Dunbar’s Number? It’s 150, and that’s supposedly the number of quality social connections our brains can handle. (Read about that number here.)

These numbers suggest that our attention can only be spread so far and that we may need less attention for our work than we first thought. And that’s the key word: attention. We only have so much we can offer others. And they only have so much they can offer us.

We are living in an attention economy now. Attention is limited, valuable, and scarce. This includes your attention. 

The deeper needs we have as humans that we think fame might fulfill have to do with attention, approval, and admiration. We do need some spaces, people, and communities that can provide opportunities to fulfill these true human needs. But we don’t need attention, approval, and admiration from millions in order to thrive. We can carve some smaller circles.

Books take a lot longer to write than to read, so those numbers are in your favor too. Maybe you can write a book in a year, or three, or maybe it takes you ten. And let’s say you read a book a week, or two per month, or even one. You might read between 36 and 156 books in the three years it takes you to write yours. While writing, you're reading the words of others and supporting them with your attention.

So rather than day dreaming about becoming famous for your creativity, have a look at who you give your attention to. Who are you a fan of? Whose fame are you contributing to? Are you one of someone else’s thousand true fans? Who do you want to be your fan?

Create for those people whose attention really matters to you. Make something worthy of their attention.

Write for true fans.