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I still remember the weight of that envelope arriving in the post.
Inside were the first printed copies of my historical novel, “Who Was Then The Gentleman?” – a tale of the Peasants’ Revolt that had consumed two years of my life.
My name on the cover. My words on the pages. My dream, finally realized.
Yet as I stood there holding my creation, a sense of dread washed over me rather than triumph.
“Is this even good enough?” I whispered to myself, the doubt already creeping in before a single copy had been sold.
That question—and my inability to answer it with conviction—would haunt me for the next twenty years.
The book sold exactly 250 copies.
My small local publisher, lacking both experience and resources, had rushed the editing process just to get it on the shelves (but I can’t just blame them).
Friends and family whose opinions I valued gave me those tight-lipped smiles that said more than their polite words ever could.
The novel wasn’t ready, and deep down, I knew it.
So what does my two-decade-old publishing failure have to do with your journey as an online creator?
Well, it seems to me that the most formidable walls we face aren’t built by algorithms, market saturation, or technological barriers—they’re constructed brick by brick from our own self-doubt.
Self-doubt doesn’t announce itself with trumpets and banners like the lords of medieval England. It whispers. It insinuates. It masquerades as prudence.
“You’re not ready yet.”
“Who are you to teach others?”
“Everything worth saying has already been said.”
Sound familiar? These aren’t random thoughts—they’re the tax collectors of your creative kingdom, demanding payment before you’ve even harvested your first crop of ideas.
In my experience, self-doubt manifests in three distinct ways for content creators:
“Your past doesn’t own you. Neither does your first book, your first blog post, or your first video. The only things that truly own your future are the stories you tell yourself about what your past means.”
What made the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381 so remarkable wasn’t just that common people rose up against their oppressors—it was that they first had to overcome centuries of conditioning that their station in life was fixed and unchangeable.
The psychological revolution preceded the physical one.
Your content revolution requires the same mental uprising.
When I researched the Peasants’ Revolt for my novel, I was struck by how ordinary people—farmers, tradesmen, and laborers—suddenly realized they didn’t have to accept the limitations imposed on them by society.
The rebel leader Wat Tyler and the radical priest John Ball spread a dangerous idea captured in Ball’s famous question: “When Adam delved and Eve span, who was then the gentleman?” In other words: what makes the nobility inherently better than the commons?
Nothing. The answer is nothing.
Similarly, what makes other content creators inherently more worthy of success than you?
Nothing. The answer is still nothing.
Looking back, I realize my novel wasn’t a failure—it was practice. Necessary practice. But I let the metrics (250 copies sold) define not just the book’s value but my identity as a writer.
For twenty years, I continued writing commercial copy for clients. I helped others find their voice while silencing my own. I became the ghost in my own creative life—present but unseen, working but not acknowledged.
The irony? My clients valued my work. They paid for it, implemented it, and came back for more. Yet I couldn’t see past the disappointing sales of my novel.
Here’s the truth I wish I’d understood sooner: Success isn’t binary. It’s not “bestseller or bust.” It’s a continuum, and every piece of content you create moves you along that continuum in ways you can’t always measure immediately.
Just as the peasants of 1381 rose up against lords who extracted their labour while giving little in return, you must rebel against the internal voices that take your creative energy while giving you nothing but doubt in return.
Here’s how to start your own creative insurrection:
The lords of medieval England had names and faces. The Chancellor and Archbishop of Canterbury at the time was called Simon of Sudbury – from my home town in Suffolk, UK. He seemed very real to me when writing my book.
Your doubts should be similarly identifiable too. Take a moment right now to write down the specific phrases your inner critic uses.
For me, they were:
Once named, these thoughts lose some of their power. They’re no longer the background radiation of your creative life—they’re specific obstacles you can address.
When Wat Tyler gathered his followers, he recognized a fundamental truth: revolutions aren’t solo endeavors. Neither is overcoming self-doubt.
Action step: Identify 2-3 creator communities where you can share both struggles and successes. These might be:
When I finally connected with other content creators, I discovered I wasn’t alone in my struggles.
Every creator I met had weathered some version of disappointment or rejection.
Some had abandoned projects they’d poured their hearts into. Others had brilliant ideas they never launched out of fear.
These communities don’t just offer tactical advice—they provide perspective that’s impossible to gain in isolation.
“Self-doubt thrives in isolation. It withers in community. The moment you realize your struggles aren’t unique is the moment you begin to transcend them.”
The rebels of 1381 had clear demands. Your creative revolution needs the same clarity of purpose.
Write a personal manifesto that addresses:
My own declaration included this passage: “I will publish weekly, regardless of perfection. I will measure success by consistency, not applause. I will trust that finding my people is more important than impressing everyone.”
Real change comes from consistent small actions, not grand pronouncements. Here are the daily practices that helped me finally move beyond my two decades of creative paralysis:
The hardest part of creating isn’t the middle or the end—it’s the beginning. I’ve found that committing to just 5 minutes of writing each day removes the pressure that feeds self-doubt.
How it works:
This practice has been more effective than any motivational speech I’ve ever given myself. It’s how I finally started writing consistently after years of procrastination.
One of the most powerful strategies for overcoming self-doubt is creating in public with a clear commitment.
When you declare your intentions to the world—even if that “world” consists of just a handful of people—you establish accountability that’s hard to dismiss.
Making your creative process visible doesn’t just build momentum; it transforms creation from a private struggle into a public journey.
The very act of sharing your timeline shifts your relationship with perfectionism.
How it works:
This mindset shift is perhaps the most powerful of all: start seeing yourself as a creator who produces work, not someone who aspires to create perfectly.
The peasants in 1381 had to first reject the identity imposed on them by the ruling class before they could demand change.
Similarly, you must reject the identity of “aspiring writer” or “someday creator” that keeps you in a perpetual state of preparation rather than production.
How it works:
This practice isn’t about deluding yourself—it’s about recognizing that identities are largely self-created and self-reinforced.
When you shift from seeing creation as something you do to seeing it as who you are, consistency follows naturally.
The Peasants’ Revolt of 1381 was ultimately suppressed, but it planted seeds that would eventually grow into greater freedoms.
Your creative rebellion against self-doubt can have a happier and more immediate outcome.
Here’s what I’ve experienced since finally pushing past my own creative barriers:
There’s a unique satisfaction in simply moving forward after being stuck for so long. Each piece of writing I complete is a victory not just in itself but against the inertia that held me in place for two decades.
The gradual growth of my audience isn’t even the primary reward. The real triumph is in the creation itself.
As I continue creating consistently, I’m most excited about something the medieval rebels understood intuitively: power emerges through connection.
I believe that putting our work into the world opens doors to relationships we can’t even imagine yet.
The potential for meeting collaborators, finding mentors, and building a community of like-minded creators is what keeps me moving forward despite the doubts.
The most successful content creators often talk about how their most valuable opportunities came not from careful strategic planning, but from the natural connections formed when they simply showed up consistently and shared their ideas.
These are the connections I hope to cultivate as I continue to create.
Perhaps most importantly, I’ve developed a completely different relationship with the concept of failure.
Those 250 copies of my novel no longer represent shame—they represent a necessary step in my journey.
I now see my publishing experience not as a referendum on my worth as a creator but as valuable data.
The book wasn’t ready. The publisher wasn’t equipped to help me make it ready. These are facts, not judgments on my capabilities.
The peasants of 1381 had a rallying cry that spread across England: “Now is the time.” Not tomorrow, not when conditions are perfect, but now.
For you as a creator fighting self-doubt, the same urgency applies. Your voice matters not because it’s perfect, but because it’s yours.
Your perspective has value not because it’s unique in every aspect, but because it’s filtered through your specific experiences—including your doubts and setbacks.
Here are your first three acts of creative rebellion:
Just as the medieval rebels found strength in solidarity, you’ll find that taking these actions in community amplifies their power.
The greatest battle in building a content business isn’t fought on social media platforms or in marketing strategies.
It’s fought in the quiet moments when you’re alone with your doubts, when the memory of past disappointments looms larger than the possibility of future success.
I spent twenty years letting one publishing experience define my creative identity. Don’t make the same mistake.
Your content business is waiting to be built. Your audience is waiting to be found. The only thing truly standing in your way is the story you’re telling yourself about your capabilities and your worth.
“Rebellions aren’t won overnight. Many falter before the walls come down. Yet by simply standing up against your doubts, you’ve already achieved more than those who never dared question their limitations.”
My novel that only sold 250 copies isn’t a monument to failure. It’s proof that I’m a creator who follows through.
The question isn’t whether you’ve failed before—it’s what you choose to create next.
So what will you create today?
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