Make it first. Monetise later.

The case for creating things that aren't immediately, monetarily profitable

A few years ago, I wrote for a lot of clients and a lot of different publications. For a while, that was basically my bread and butter. I was churning out articles, ghostwriting think pieces, writing endless long-form essays for brands that wanted to sound like real people. It was work, sure, but it also felt like lifting heavy for my brain. I got stronger every time.

And for the first 10 years or so, I really loved it.

Then I stopped.

My agency got too busy, I burned out and burned it all to the ground (kind of, I still have a handful of clients I’ve worked with for almost a decade).

Even though I still write web copy, messaging and do a lot of writing with private clients, I stopped writing articles for other people to put their name on. I moved into more consulting and coaching. Then, started creating more of my own IP. And for the first time in years, I wasn’t writing think pieces for other people. I was just writing for myself.

At first, this was the dream. But after a while, something felt… off.

I wanted to write features again. To pitch to bigger publications. To flex that part of my brain that used to feel second nature. But every time I thought about it, my brain did what all brains do when confronted with something unfamiliar: it made shit up.

— Maybe you don’t have it anymore.
— There are so many better writers out there now.
— People don’t even need to pay writers for features anymore.
— Why bother?

Which, intellectually, I knew was bullshit. But still. The thought sat there. Festered. Created a barrier I didn’t know how to cross.

Then, I found Substack.

It felt like a lifeline. A low-stakes, low-pressure way to flex the muscle again. To write in a format that felt familiar but still mine. To get real-time feedback and feel the rhythm of it all again. To stop overthinking and just publish.

Not everything has to be directly profitable to be worth it.

This doesn’t just apply to writing. This applies to everything.

We’re so conditioned to look at every action through the lens of return on investment. Time, money, effort — what am I getting back? Is this a good use of my resources? Will this make me money?

But not every step has to be a direct line to a dollar sign. Sometimes the return is less obvious but just as crucial:

→ The confidence to put yourself out there again.
→ The process of getting sharper, faster, better.
→ The joy of making something just because you want to.
→ The depth of understanding that comes from teaching what you know.

I do have a paid subscription here. Because if I’m going to drop some of my more intricate frameworks and tools — the stuff I usually reserve for my paying clients — it wouldn’t feel fair to just throw it all into the void for free.

But that’s not the point.

The point is that this is my gym.

I write here to train. To test. To explore.

Not every post needs to be a masterpiece. It doesn’t all need to lead somewhere. I do not expect some big payoff at the end of the tunnel.

But because the work is The Thing.

The discipline of showing up is The Thing.

The quiet rebellion of doing something for its own sake — after working for so long in the mindset that everything I wrote was expected to earn its keep — is The Thing.

If you only ever create with an outcome in mind, you’ll always be limited by what you already know. By what’s already worked. By what already has an obvious return. And you will end up chaining your best ideas somewhere far, far beneath your subconscious.

The best things — the things that shape industries, change minds, make history, don’t usually start with a guaranteed ROI. They start with curiosity. With someone making something because they felt compelled to, not because it made sense.

Of course, artists should get paid. And well. You should charge for your work. And value it highly.

I’m not saying don’t make money from your work. I’m saying that not everything you make has to be a revenue stream. Some things are worth doing simply because they pull you closer to the bigger vision. Some things exist so you can make them, not so they can make you.

Maybe this post won’t sell a single thing. Maybe it won’t lead to a client, a friend, a connection, a new opportunity. Maybe I’ll write it, hit publish and nothing will happen.

Or maybe, five months from now, I’ll be sitting in an interview with an editor who tells me, I read something you wrote once… and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. Is that likely? Fuck no. Does it matter? NO.

Because if that never happens… if this stays a quiet, unpaid, unmeasured part of my work, it still matters.

Because it makes me better.
And because I wanted to write it.

That’s always, always “worth it”.

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Your writing practice

Make a list of 5 things you’d create if money weren’t a factor. A book? A screenplay? A weird, sprawling essay about that hyper-specific niche you love?

Then, ask yourself: What’s actually stopping you? Is it really money — or is it just the fear that it “won’t be worth it”?

And if you knew that making it — regardless of what comes next — was the point… would you do it anyway? Journal on it. See what comes up.

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If this is something you want to lean into — if you’re tired of treating every idea like it needs a perfect strategy before it even exists — Creative Living is where we’re obliterating that belief.

Here’s what we’re really doing inside Creative Living:

🌀 Turning hesitation into expression → No more second-guessing. No more diluting. No more watering down your thoughts before they even make it to the page. You’ll learn how to write, create, and speak with clarity and conviction — without looking over your shoulder.

🌀 Training your mind to hold complexity → We don’t shy away from difficult conversations. We don’t avoid nuance. We teach you how to sit in the tension of opposing ideas and still know what you stand for.

🌀 Rewiring your nervous system for visibility → Your body holds onto every time you’ve been shut down, ignored, misunderstood. We work somatically to break the cycle of fear so that putting your work into the world feels good again.

🌀 Building creative discipline that actually sticks → No more waiting for inspiration to strike. No more relying on motivation alone. You’ll develop a writing practice that is so ingrained, showing up becomes second nature.

🌀 Mastering the art of being misunderstood → The work that changes things will always get pushback. You will learn how to stand tall in your truth, handle criticism without crumbling, and keep creating anyway.

🌀 Reconnecting with the JOY of making → This isn’t about posting the “right” thing. It’s not about performance or perception. It’s about remembering why you started creating in the first place — so you can take up space without apology.

Creative Living is a revolution. 70+ people are already inside (!!) — the ones who are ready to create without fear. To stop negotiating with themselves. To turn their ideas into movement.

8 masterclasses, the infamous Creative Living workbook, daily writing practices, and a community that actually gets it. Once we go live, we’ll meet weekly for roundtables, workshops, somatic & writing circles.

We go live March 19.

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