Spoke to 24 writers in a coffee shop Thursday night. Near the end of the evening I mentioned The War of Art and didn’t get the nods and smiles I expected. I stopped, and asked who’d read it.
Crickets chirped outside. The sun drifted closer to the horizon. Otherwise, not much happened.
I ranted and railed about artists who’d try to succeed without it. Inside, I marveled that a book that changes lives, especially artists’, was totally unknown to two dozen artists. Best Beloved and I were the only people in the room who’d ever heard of Steven Pressfield and his incredible book.
Fame is all relative. They’d probably never heard of Seth Godin, either.
And before Thursday, they’d sure never heard of me.