How to be an overnight success

The fairy tales I grew up with taught me that step-mothers were scary.

Ass were woods, wolves and witches. 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, I loved trees and dogs. And witches always seemed to have got a bad deal, in fiction and in history. Especially when compared to all those benign, bearded wizards and alchemists.

The real legacy I got from fairy tales 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 away 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 became friends and mentors.

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 Vivienne Goldman and Julie Burchill had paved the way before me in the music press, as well as helping 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.

My background had inoculated me from fairy tales, and I never thought the world owned me a living. Instead, I went out and grabbed it — albeit in a very shy, clumsy and inept way.

I knew no one would hand it to me.

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.

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 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 year.

So don’t play Cinderella.

I recently 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 invited the media to cover this. He didn’t go to art openings, mix with other artists, network with collectors. Indeed, he felt this kind of thing was beneath him.

And 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 hugely successful people in music, fashion, art, film, design and all kinds of 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 do what you can to 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.