
I reached a point last year when I was ready to throw in the towel.
I think a lot of creatives get there. That dark alley off the main roadway. The lonely dead-end.
You took an exit off the highway to success because you were tired of racing and swerving around all the other cars. You thought maybe there was a shortcut. A better route.
Or maybe you just went looking for a rest stop.
But then you turned down that dark alley, and it led to a dead end. It’s remote. There’s an old dumpster and garbage. The street light is flickering, and you hear a scream nearby. Maybe from a fellow traveler who got lost here.
There are a lot of creatives out there, marooned in one dead end or another. I know, I was one of them.
And the worst part is that there isn’t any roadside service to call. No one comes along to give you directions.
You’re on your own.
It isn’t a dead end
In 2019 I was publishing a lot of essays, and I was illustrating them with my whimsical cartoons.

Miscellaneous cartoons I drew for my blog posts.
I averaged at least two articles a week and could have done more, but the cartoons were time-consuming. Yet I knew that the cartoons were what made my essays unique. The cartoons helped my work stand out from all the other articles and essays.
I participated in the writer’s partnership program at Medium.com, and editors were curating my work regularly. I enjoyed a lot of exposure.
My income skyrocketed.
Money is a big motivator, so I doubled down on my writing and illustrations. But then the COVID pandemic came along, algorithms changed, and my online income in 2020 was half of what it was in 2019.
When my writing income started to decline, I leveraged my copywriting skills. I crafted enticing headlines and listicles to lure readers into my essays. And then I tried to hook them with even more colorful, ornate cartoons.
It didn’t work.
There were curation changes at Medium.com, and lots of writers who used to do well suddenly were not. Also, the pandemic changed people’s lives.
I thought that more people at home would mean more free time for folks to read online articles, but that didn’t seem to happen. Maybe they turned to Netflix or other distractions.
Just because we have nowhere to run, it isn’t a dead end. Every dead situation requires us to improvise & improve, remember we learn to climb the wall only when left with no place to run. ― Shahenshah Hafeez Khan
At first, all these changes were kind of depressing. But then I realized something even more depressing.
I wasn’t happy with my work.
I never set out to write self-improvement articles. I originally wanted to write about the creative arts, and life lessons, and then maybe venture into fiction and novels.
But the money. Oh, the money.
I kept writing personal development pieces and churning out clever little cartoons, even when I knew this wasn’t the road I intended to travel down.
Sometimes, money isn’t a sign of personal success. It’s just money.
So I took an exit off the success highway. Or maybe the road conditions worsened, and I found an offramp to escape and regroup.
And suddenly, there I was, stuck in a dead-end alley. And you know what?
It was the best thing that could have happened.
The more elegant your work, the fewer online followers you’ll have
Sometimes the seemingly bad things that happen in life lead to unexpected, better outcomes.
Like the woman who gets laid off from her job, only to realize she wasn’t fulfilled by the work, and later gets hired at her dream job. Or the guy who gets divorced after discovering his wife was a cheater and goes on to marry the woman of his dreams.
My declining online income made me reevaluate everything.
Did I really want to write about self-help? Was I having fun slaving away over all those cartoon illustrations, just to dress up my writing?
Around this time I was seriously getting into black-and-white photography. And I was reading more fiction than I had in the past.
I noticed two things.
The best novels had tremendous depth, elegance, and prose. And some of the best black and white photographers, like Henri Cartier-Bresson, had incredible range, composition, and a sort of magic eye for the best captures.
Compared to many of today’s novelists and colorful photographers, the masters of the past had one essential, important ingredient. Their work was simply remarkable.
Maybe the lack of so many digital distractions back then meant that writers and artists spent more time perfecting their craft.

Remarkable artwork in the Accademia Gallery, in Florence, Italy. Photo: John P. Weiss
What separates great work from all the rest is that it’s remarkable. And as artists, writers, and creatives, the single most important question we should ask ourselves about our work is this:
Is it remarkable?
Thus I began to focus more on the quality of my writing, and I started to delve into fiction more. I began pairing some of my best photographs with my essays, all with an eye toward simplicity, elegance, and quality.
I still produced cartoon images here and there, but I didn’t want my cartoons to be the main attraction or distract from the writing.
I wanted my work to become remarkable.
And as I strive for remarkable, I came to terms with a sad reality in the online world:
The more elegant your work, the fewer online followers you’ll have.
Think about it.
People flock online mostly for easy entertainment and distraction. Yes, some are doing research or looking for solutions (how to fix their car, etc). But most are watching cat videos, giggling at TikTok antics, or watching movies on YouTube.
Few are looking for the next Fyodor Dostoevsky or Ansel Adams. They just want to escape.
Thus, the Internet is about what’s popular, outlandish, bright, and colorful. That’s why pretty people in exotic places work so well on Instagram. And why clickbait headlines and political rants attract eyeballs.
The Internet is seldom about elegance.
Take the unpopular route
When I was last in Italy, I stayed for a week in a lovely villa.
I photographed the entrance before dusk because I wanted to remember how elegant the villa was. The warm lights at the entrance gate, and the cobbled driveway leading into the villa, felt like an invitation to a better world. A remarkable place of beauty, elegance, and sophistication.
Whenever I write or create photographs and artwork, I think of the entrance to that beautiful villa. It reminds me to focus on being remarkable, not popular. Elegant, not flashy.
Some of the writers I admire most tend not to have big followings online, if they’re online at all. The same goes for the best photographers.
The serious photographers covering the war in Ukraine or working for big- name clients often have modest online followings. They’re too busy honing their craft to cater to the superficial appetites of the online masses.
Yes, there are exceptions.
But more often than not, the most elegant authors and photographers I enjoy have a modest online presence.
I don’t know if that’s because online audiences lack sophistication, or because the Internet invites mindless escape rather than deep reflection. Museums and libraries seem best for the latter.
Either way, gauging the depth and remarkability of your work on “likes” and social media attention, is probably a terrible barometer.
Take the unpopular route. Use the road no one travels by. Think of doing what is uncommon but remarkable. You have absolutely nobody to overtake you on the empty road! ― Israelmore Ayivor
No doubt, there is money to be made online if you want to create loud, colorful, controversial, titillating, treacly, clickbaity, weird, or outlandish content.
But I doubt any of that will stand the test of time.
I’d rather focus on elegance, depth, and remarkable work. True “art” instead of “content.”
It might be arrogant of me to think I’ll get there. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. But either way, I want to look back on the landscape of my creative work and feel proud of it.
I think that’s the kind of success I’m interested in.
Before you go

I’m John P. Weiss. I write elegant stories and essays about life. To follow along, check out The Saturday Letters.
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This post was previously published on Medium.com.
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Photo credit: John P. Weiss




