Why Write, Why Publish, Why Do Anything?

Confession: Every inspirational self-help book I’ve ever read was kind of against my will—as in, for my work as a nonfiction book marketer. I’ve always been good at taking direction and following instructions, but after spending my entire youth in a Southern Baptist school, I have an inherent aversion to the idea of anyone dictating a sense of meaning or purpose to anyone else.

This is probably why I prefer nerdy genre fiction: The author isn’t overtly telling me what those sexy vampires and badass dragons symbolize; I’m allowed to decide that for myself and toss those ideas around with others, which is a huge part of the fun. (If you’re nodding in agreement right now, I urge you to watch ContraPoints’ epic 3-hour treatise on the Twilight Saga and email me so we can chat about it!)

However, this doesn’t mean I haven’t enjoyed any self-help books. On the contrary, working in publishing has been a bit like going to school for free—better than that, for money! Every author I meet and every project I take on is an opportunity to learn something new, and more often than not, those lessons change my life for the better. Case in point, one of my favorite books I’ve ever worked on is The Sunny Nihilist by Wendy Syfret. But how can nihilism be “sunny,” you ask?

I don’t think it’s possible to overstate the amount of psychological damage my fundamentalist Christian education caused. Naturally guileless and trusting, I spent most nights of my childhood in tears, worried that my Buddhist mom was going to Hell because she wasn’t “saved”—and then even more nights of my adolescence in anguish because I thought I was going to Hell for being bisexual. Even after leaving the church twenty years ago, echoes of that puritanical brainwashing still haunt me: an illogical residue of guilt whenever I have too much fun; paranoia that any unkind thought, however fleeting, will be punished; and an obsessive dedication to the Protestant work ethic that, up until Eva and I started Copilot Publishing, robbed me of true agency over my life.

So when the proposal for The Sunny Nihilist came across my desk, hinting at a potentially joyful abandonment of meaning and purpose, I knew we needed to publish it, and the book did not disappoint. Syfret writes:

We were told that our work was meaningful, that our jobs would make us better, save us, make us whole. But when sunny nihilism pulls focus from them, we see a new reality take form. One with lower stakes, pleasures at hand, simpler answers, and achievable goals. Meaning will never be attained, because it doesn’t exist. But respect, care, delight, space, a phone call with a loved one, an action to help another person are available right now. They don’t offer a mystical reward, one that will involve you giving over your body or mind, buying into a devil’s bargain. They only ask that you stop obsessing over what might be, and allow time to experience the euphoria of what already is.

As an ex-Christian with no vengeful God looming over my actions, and as a new business owner with no boss determining my daily schedule, I am suddenly freer than I’ve ever been. I often find myself wandering through the local cemetery, thinking about what life means to me now that I’m approaching middle age, and I keep coming back to sunny nihilism. Religion, a corporate career, a misguided desire for marriage and homeownership—they’ve all been distractions from what matters most, which is simply living. As Syfret says, 

I feel happy not because I am special but because I am not. I’m just a body moving through space. I consider the moment I’m in. I know I have no control over it, so I don’t count it, assign it value, or promise it to something larger. It will pass quickly and never return. I enjoy it the best I can and let it go.

At this point, you may be asking, “If you believe in nothing, why care about anything?” My answer is that bit in Syfret’s quote about “enjoying it the best I can and letting it go.” Even if my entire existence is one big, meaningless, cosmic accident, it’s a 1-in-8-billion life, which makes it both ordinary and incredibly singular—worth living to the best of my ability. For me, at least right now, that means spending time with loved ones, eating a delicious meal, drinking a strong cocktail (or four), traveling, learning, and helping people like you through my work. Perhaps in ten years, it will mean something else.

This isn’t to say that you should adopt my mentality. If believing you have a divine purpose gives you joy and fuels your day, I support it. But every so often, I think it’s important to stop and assess why you’re doing what you're doing, why you’re spending your precious limited time the way you are. Since you’re on our website reading this blog, I’ll get more specific and ask, “Why do you want to write and publish a book?”

If it’s to become an ultra-rich, mega-bestselling author, I have bad news: That’s really, really hard to do. But if you want to do for someone what The Sunny Nihilist did for me, if you have something to share that will make a positive impact on readers’ lives, and if you want to leave your mark on the world—even if it’s a small, 1-in-8-billion one—well, that’s a much more achievable goal. Let me and Eva know if you’d like our help. Unlike so many things in life, I’m 100% certain of the fact that we can.