The Business of Being a Writer: What Nobody Tells You About the Work Behind the Words
They tell you to just keep writing. Keep going. Finish the draft. And maybe that’s enough at the beginning.
But the deeper you get into your writing life, the more serious you become about your work, the more you realize that writing is only one part of what it means to be a writer.
There’s the manuscript, yes. But also the query letter, query tracker, social posts, bio, event planning, email follow-ups, spreadsheet of places to submit, the energy it takes to hit send on anything you care about.
This is the part no one teaches you: the business of being a writer.
It’s not glamorous, and it’s rarely talked about outside closed doors or crowded Discord threads. But this invisible labor is real. And for many of us, it’s often unpaid, unsustainable, and isolating.
Let’s name it.
The Business of Being a Writer: What Nobody Tells You About the Work Behind the Words
The Invisible Labor of “Being a Writer”
Writing is emotional labor. But so is:
Reading a call for submissions and deciding whether your work is “enough”
Tailoring your bio to fit a journal’s tone
Researching agents who won’t tokenize you
Crafting a query that shows your story’s soul in 300-500 words
Keeping a spreadsheet of every rejection (and trying not to make it mean something)
If you’ve ever wondered why you’re so tired even when you haven’t written much, this is why. You’ve been working. You just haven’t been calling it that.
The Weight of Being Seen
Being a writer today means being visible, and for many of us, that’s complicated.
You’re told to build a platform, grow your list, share your story. But what happens when your story holds trauma, or queerness, or vulnerability you’re still holding tenderly?
What happens when your brain doesn’t operate on a clean content calendar?
What happens when writing publicly feels like exposure instead of connection?
There’s no single answer. But there’s power in recognizing that this too is part of the job, and part of what you deserve support around.
Redefining “Professional”
Let’s get one thing clear: being a professional writer doesn’t mean having it all figured out.
It means:
Making space for your process, even when it’s nonlinear
Knowing when to pause, when to ask for help, and when to press send
Creating small systems that serve your future self
Taking your work seriously, even if the industry hasn’t caught up to you yet
You’re not unprofessional because you miss deadlines. You’re not behind because you haven’t published. You’re not doing it wrong because your process looks different.
You’re just doing multiple jobs. And you deserve infrastructure, community, and care to hold that.
What Helps When the Business of Writing Feels Heavy
If your writing life feels unwieldy, exhausting, or like you’re always behind, here are a few ways to make the business side more manageable:
1. Name the hats you’re wearing
You’re not just a writer. You’re your own project manager, admin assistant, publicist, grant writer, and tech support. You’re the one tracking deadlines, posting updates, applying for opportunities, and following up with editors. When you feel overwhelmed, it’s the reality of juggling multiple invisible roles. Try writing them down. Seeing the scope of what you’re holding gives you permission to adjust your expectations, and ask for support where you need it.
2. Build a gentle back-end
You don’t need a fancy system. A simple spreadsheet, a Notion board, or a document with key dates can do the trick. Track your submissions. Note your agent or journal responses. Keep your query versions in one place. Think of it as a little garden: something you can tend over time, rather than a rigid system to maintain. The goal isn’t perfection. It’s relief.
3. Don’t confuse visibility with worth
The pressure to be everywhere, on social, in newsletters, at events, can feel like a second full-time job. But visibility is not a measure of legitimacy. You are not less of a writer because you’re sharing slowly, quietly, or selectively. Sometimes protecting your creative energy is the most strategic move. Let your visibility grow in ways that honor your capacity.
4. Define what “professional” looks like for you
Let go of the image of the perfectly put-together author with an airtight process. That version of professionalism is narrow and usually built for someone with more time, support, or privilege. Professionalism can look like flexible deadlines, working in bursts, building in rest, or communicating transparently with collaborators. Your needs are not obstacles. They’re data. Let them shape your process.
5. Let community carry part of the weight
The biggest myth about the writing life is that you have to do it alone. You don’t. Ask a fellow writer how they organize their submissions. Trade resources. Talk about burnout. Let someone witness the behind-the-scenes. Often, the simple act of being in conversation with others who get it is enough to shift the pressure. You are not the only one navigating this.
These practices won’t eliminate the labor. But they can soften it. And they remind you: you don’t have to earn your place by doing everything alone.
Tools and Rituals That Lighten the Load
Once you name the work, you can begin to seek support in ways that feel grounding. The right tools help you move through your writing life with more ease, more clarity, and less pressure.
Here are some tools, tricks, and gentle structures that might help:
1. Create a querying or submissions ritual
Light a candle. Open your “query playlist.” Set a 30-minute timer.
Keep a special mug or pen just for this process to give your nervous system a cue.
Celebrate the send. Even if it’s just a sticker or a line in your journal.
Tip: Create a separate email address for submissions and pitches. It keeps rejections from showing up alongside dentist reminders and can help reduce inbox dread.
2. Use simple systems to track your work
Google Sheets is plenty. Create a tab for queries, contests, and deadlines. Color-code if it helps you feel more in control.
If you like visuals, try Trello or Notion to create boards for “submitted,” “waiting,” and “responded.”
Only track what’s useful to you. You don’t need a spreadsheet for the sake of it.
Tip: Create a “nudge calendar” to remind yourself to follow up on submissions without obsessing over timelines.
3. Plan like a human, not a machine
Try Sunsama to gently timebox your week based on real energy levels.
Use analog tools like Passion Planner or a bullet journal if screen fatigue is real.
Set up “anchor times” rather than strict routines, like always writing after your second cup of coffee, or right after school drop-off.
Tip: Build in recovery time after output-heavy writing sessions. Your brain isn’t a faucet. It needs refilling too.
4. Support your writer brain
Notion or Scrivener can help contain sprawling ideas, especially in revision.
Index cards, sticky notes, and whiteboards still work—for spatial thinkers, they spark joy.
Build a “brain bank:” a catch-all doc for ideas, phrases, and fragments to revisit later.
Tip: Don’t underestimate the power of handwriting when you’re stuck. Writing by hand can unlock ideas your keyboard keeps quiet.
5. Protect your writing energy
Turn off email notifications when you’re in a drafting or editing season.
Use a digital folder called “maybe later” for cool opportunities you don’t have capacity for right now.
Let go of inbox zero. Set a day to respond to writing-related messages (Friday afternoons, for example).
Tip: Keep your writing world separate. You can even use a separate author login on your computer. It’s a simple way to mentally shift into a creative headspace and keep distractions out.
6. Find or build your ecosystem
Join a co-writing group (like The Residency or a small circle of trusted friends).
Use a shared calendar or message thread to say “I’m writing today.” Even if no one replies, it keeps you tethered.
Ask others how they manage the admin side. Steal what works. Leave what doesn’t.
Tip: Don’t wait until you feel “productive” to reach out. Let community be part of your rhythm, not your reward.
There’s no perfect system. No tool that will do the emotional labor for you. But when you build gently—around your needs, your energy, and your season—it becomes easier to keep showing up.
You don’t have to hold it all in your head. You just need a few things that help you hold it differently.
Diversify How You Show Up
Writing a book isn’t the only way to build a meaningful writing career. Many authors expand their ecosystem by writing essays, blog posts, newsletter letters, and articles to stay creatively engaged, practice their voice, and connect with readers between big projects.
These shorter forms do quiet but powerful work:
They remind people you exist without needing to sell something.
They give you space to test ideas, shift tone, and try on different shapes of voice.
They help you stay connected to the themes that matter to you, even when you’re between drafts or deep in revision.
They create a trail of resonance that leads readers to your larger work.
Writers like Melissa Febos, Esmé Weijun Wang, and R.O. Kwon have used personal essays and cultural criticism to build deep, trusting audiences long before (and long after) their books were published. Hanif Abdurraqib blends poetry, music writing, and cultural essays into a body of work that feels expansive and intimate at once. Alicia Elliott’s newsletter feels like sitting across from someone brilliant and unflinchingly honest. These writers show us that essays are mirrors. Doorways. Bridges.
And let’s name something else: the economic structure of writing is… not actually a structure. It’s a fractured, unpredictable, often unsustainable patchwork of royalties, rights, freelance invoices, and delayed payments. Most writers you admire have day jobs, side gigs, or alternate income streams. That doesn’t mean they’re less serious. It means they’re surviving a system that was never built to support sustained creative labor.
Diversifying your writing life isn’t just about visibility or platform. It’s about resilience. Flexibility. Making room for your voice to breathe in more than one form. Your author life is bigger than any single manuscript. And you’re allowed to build it in pieces: words that gather meaning as they go.
What About Making Money?
If you’ve ever felt like “being a writer” means needing to turn your words into income, you’re not alone.
For some, writing is a job. For others, it’s a calling, a practice, a lifeline. And for many of us, it’s something that lives in the messy middle: part art, part labor, part hope-for-future-payment.
Yes, the business of being a writer sometimes includes getting paid. But not always in a straight line. And not always in the ways we’re told it should.
Some ways writers support themselves include:
Freelance editing, teaching, or content writing
Submitting to paid publications or contests
Applying for grants, fellowships, or artist residencies
Building a newsletter or offering mentorship
Publishing traditionally or independently with a long-tail mindset
If your writing isn’t paying the bills right now, that doesn’t mean you’re not a “real” writer. It means you’re navigating a deeply flawed industry. And you’re not doing it wrong.
You get to define what success looks like for you. And you deserve to write without every page having to prove its profit.
What It Means to Invest in Your Writing
You might’ve heard that you need to “treat your writing like a business” and sometimes, that gets twisted into: spend like a business. But investment doesn’t have to mean debt. It doesn’t have to mean urgency. It doesn’t have to mean proving your legitimacy with receipts.
To invest in your writing means to take it seriously, and that looks different for everyone.
For some, it’s joining a workshop or hiring an editor. For others, it’s making space on the calendar, buying a secondhand laptop, or swapping childcare with a friend. Sometimes the most radical investment is permission to not monetize a project too soon.
There are many ways to say, “this matters to me.”
You don’t owe anyone a polished brand or expensive tools to be a real writer. You don’t have to put yourself in financial stress to be taken seriously. There are access points for every season of your life.
And your writing deserves care, even if your budget is small.
Need support?
The business of being a writer isn’t separate from the work. It is the work.
And if you need a place to navigate that—with care, context, and other writers who get it—come join us inside The Residency.
We're building sustainable writing lives, together.
No matter your path—hobbyist, hopeful, or building a writing career—there’s a place for you inside The Residency.
Choose the path that fits your season. With structure, support, and community, you’ll build momentum and keep showing up for your work.
Tiffany Grimes (she/they) is the founder of Burgeon Design and Editorial, a queer founded boutique editing and design house for brave creatives. At Burgeon, we specialize in book editing, coaching, and web design for the individualists, nonconformists, and trailblazers of the literary world. If you’re a maverick, outsider, rebel, renegade, dissenter, disruptor, or free spirit, you’ve come to the right place.
