Writers want to stand out so they can fit in

On being comfortingly similar and unmistakably unique

"If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together." - African proverb

ZEBRAS MIGHT BE the most distinctive creatures on earth. Picture one against any backdrop you like—desert, jungle, ocean, city—that zebra’s gonna pop!

But if that zebra’s huddling up with a dazzle of other zebras and you look away, even for a second, then bang! you’ve lost it; their stripes are so same-same that you can’t tell them apart. Turns out standing out is the zebra’s key to fitting in.

When you and I write, we’re zebras too. Of course we wanna stand out. It’s the holy fucking grail of writing to say something that’s never been said.

But we also wanna fit in—to be accepted and shielded by our readers and fellow writers and not get left out in the cold.

I invite you to join me on safari through the dirt tracks of my own nonfiction writing practice—spotlighting diet, community and promotion—to see how this tension plays out.

1. Diet

Before I even look at a keyboard, I’m thinking about my information diet. There’s a writer I admire called Dan Koe who says, “You become what you consume, so consume in accordance with what you want to become.” I’m salivating over the hottest writing tips, the proven thinking frameworks, the tastiest writers and the latest news. I don’t wanna get caught with my head in a hole, miss a group feast and then write something naive or old fashioned or, god forbid, irrelevant—and so, I follow other zebras to the freshest and most accessible grass. I’d share some examples but I don’t wanna offend anybody. You know the stuff I mean. The Taylor Swifts and the BIC pens of our culture (sorry Swifties).

There’s also a rebellious and cabin-feverish part of me that yearns to clear the fence and gallop away to discover new pasture and have it all to myself. I don’t wanna eat what every other mule is eating, or come out smelling like all the rest. That sounds like a kind of slaughterhouse. So, I go on solo intellectual adventures, searching for those rare flowers and ancient fruit trees that give me the brightest stripes. I’m talking about goodies like this paper on the rules for making things interesting, these four lectures about our modern relationship with art and this conversation about the psychology of creativity. Yum!

Bottom line though: every journey ends with a welcome. The whole point of getting snazzy stripes is only to boost our appeal when we come back home, right? To attract companions and fit in cosily beside our zebra homies. 

2. Community

You know that romantic notion of the tormented writer bravely facing the world alone? Well it’s horse shit. I don’t vanish into the bush for months hoping to pull viral posts out of my arse. I need other zebras to sense-check my ideas; to warn me when the strange-smelling fruit I found on the road isn’t actually edible and will probably poison people.

Another advantage of hanging with the herd is learning how to imitate. In case you haven’t noticed, everybody's stealing each other’s shit out here. As the saying goes, "Originality is for people with short attention spans." I try to imitate the essayist Paul Graham because I love how he explains things using memorable metaphors, like in his essay about self-directed work where he says, “Working on a project of your own is as different from ordinary work as skating is from walking.” Skating is such a great analogy for how I feel when I’m writing and he’s managed to articulate in one word what is actually quite a complex idea! I’ve tried to imitate Graham here with my zebra metaphor. This is me fitting in, having the sense to follow the paths trampled clear by the others.

Our stripe collective clearly provides the companionship we lack when we’re away. But by helping us swerve the poison—and by showing us how to make our writing sing with our unique voice—the community ends up teaching us how to face the savannah alone. Eventually we grow some confidence, we blaze new trails, our individuality emerges by itself in elegant patterns. Along the way, we spot some untried tasty-looking grass—a new idea or a new distinction—which we take back to the troupe who are waiting to greet us with open hooves, “Wow! Great find! People need to see this!”

3. Promotion

I’m not the best zebra to write about promoting my work and getting new subscribers because I don’t work at it as hard as I should…because I don’t really enjoy that side of the craft (I just wanna write all day!). But if I ever have a question about promotion, my zebra clan will answer it. And sometimes they even write whole essays pulling back the curtain on how they promote their work. For instance,

Karen Cherry

from PubStack Success shows that having a “Start Here” page pinned to the top of your blog can boost new subs by 15%!

I highly recommend Karen’s newsletter by the way. It’s full of helpful tips like that.

On top of all this, my fellow zebra wordsmiths naturally feature in, comment on, like and share my writing with their audience too, serving as a kind of organic marketing team who places my content right under the noses of just the right people.

And when they come sniffing—when those wide-eyed, magnanimous tourists (potential subs) appear on the horizon—I drop everything and do all I can to impress them. I take all of the nourishment, all of the communal wisdom, all of the promotional tricks I’ve learned from the herd and use it to jump up and down and get noticed, get fed, get patted on the head—and if I’m lucky I might just get featured on the telly beside David Attenborough.

It’s a delicate dance we writers pull off. We have a deep need to be admired for thinking, writing and living uncommonly.

But it’s good to stand back sometimes and ask what it’s all for. Because, isn’t a “niche” or a “following” just a fancy word for a new herd?

And what’s the point of becoming distinguished, really, if it’s not to be accepted?

What about you? Does any of this resonate? Let me know in the comments. I’d love to know:

1. What you’ve been doing in your practice to fit in and stand out?

2. Where do you think you are right now percentage-wise: more in or more out?

3. And if you’re not where you wanna be, then how could you adjust your diet, your relationship with your community or your promotional efforts to get there?

I’d be interested to chat to you about it. I wanna learn from you so do leave a comment if you’re in the mood for fitting in (or standing out, depending on how you wanna look at it).

See you next time.

Happy writing,

Harrison 🙋‍♂️

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This post is part of a series where I’m exploring polarities in writing (ie, are you standing out or are you fitting in?). I’ve written about other polarities too:

• Are you writing for yourself or are you writing for other people?

• Are you creating or are you analysing?

• Are you complaining or are you complimenting?

Thank you Lavinia at

Lavinia’s Substack

, Fis at

Thee CansaFis Foote Show

, Priya at

Priya's Substack

and Becky at

Beck At It

for reading drafts and helping me write through conversation.