I often feel like I don’t fit the typical mold in the roles I’m in. Publishing my first book was no different.

For one thing, I, like many people, assumed books were written by professionals in big publishing companies like Penguin Random House. I had no idea there are also “indie” publishers, “hybrid” publishers, “vanity” publishers, and “self” publishers. But when a coworker published a book, I saw a model of someone who had a full-time consulting job like me, but published a book on the side without a big book deal or big publisher.

The route she took was actually paying for a program being offered by the owner of a small niche publishing company. At the end of the three-month program – poof! You had a book on Amazon.

I decided to look into this program myself.

I quickly learned that the publisher only worked in a specific corner of the market: non-fiction, self-help books that offered some kind of service to the world. I had never been that interested in self-help books before, mostly because I wrongly assumed they were all of the same ilk as the cheesy ones in the ‘80s that had titles like Unlock Your Inner Unicorn, Unlock Your Life. (Actually, that sounds like it could be awesome. If that book exists somewhere, my birthday is in October, just saying.) I didn’t feel like I had anything to offer readers except a bunch of blog posts about ridiculous true stories from my often-unorthodox life.

I had doubts the publisher would see potential in my material, but I briefly explained my blog to her and asked her thoughts anyway. She said she thought there was something usable there.

I started getting a little excited. Could I write a book? At the time, I was getting my Master’s degree, serving in the Navy reserve, and working full time already. Would I have time to write? Would I have to write a self-help book? Do all self-help books have to be named things like “Love Your Fingernails, Love Yourself?” I wasn’t sure I could join that world.

I had a great, candid chat with the publisher. I told her I wasn’t sure I had a service to offer the world other than perhaps entertainment. I suppose that’s filling a need in the world, though. With things like famine, war, and spam calls offering car insurance, aren’t we all in need of some light-hearted entertainment? She agreed that entertainment could be a service and said she was willing to take me on as an author. I signed up for one of the last slots open in her next cycle of the program. I was committed.

… then I spent the next several weeks vacillating violently in my mind about what I should actually write about and second-guessing whether or not I even belonged in that program.

The program was designed for people who wanted to build a business by using a book as a platform. That wasn’t me. I just wanted to write. There were 11 other people in the program with me, and every single one of them had a public speaking platform or life-coaching-esque business that they were trying to grow – except me. I was literally the only one in the program who just wanted to write a book. Once again, I wasn’t fitting the mold in this new world I was joining.

To add to the pressure, I still had to decide what topic I was going to write about. The other soon-to-be authors in the program were writing about serious issues like how to live with a debilitating disease, or how to use neurodiversity to make you more effective in your career. They had created “processes” and “methodologies” for working through specific challenges in life. All I had was a pile of personal stories that made my friends laugh. Usually. What was I doing there?

One thing I loved about the publisher was her brutal honesty. She helped me figure out a topic through tough love.

Me: “Well, my blog is basically funny stories about my love life, work life, travel life, and fitness adventures.”

Her: “Well, no one is on the market for a book about your love life, work life, travel life, and fitness adventures.”

Hurtful.

“Pick one of those and focus on that.”

Point taken.

I chose to write about my fitness stories.

She then matter-of-factly informed my cohort that there’s really “no money in books,” which is why she encourages people to look at their book as a way to boost another form of income, like speaking or coaching. For someone who didn’t want to do speaking or coaching, that wasn’t ideal. But I had already pushed the door open, and I was determined to see where this journey would go. I tried to look at it all like an experiment, to take the pressure off. If it didn’t go well, then at least I would be able to say I wrote a book once. And I’d also learn whether writing books should join coal mining and paleontology on my “jobs I feel confident I don’t want to do” list.

Another benefit in going through this process — even if my book never sold, and even though “there’s no money in books” if it did — was what I learned from my publisher about marketing. I learned more applicable communication tactics through that program than I learned earning a master’s degree in communication. The methods I was taught would later inform how I did my job in the Navy, and as a consultant. It’s amazing how life twists around and how lessons in one area can benefit another, seemingly unrelated, part of our life. That’s why I keep pushing open doors and giving things a try. So often I’ve gained something totally different than I expected just by putting myself in a new situation.

But my main point here is I didn’t fit the mold in that publishing program. And if I’d let that stop me, I would not have published Confessions of an Unlikely Runner, which actually became one of the top selling books from that program where I was the only one writing a book for the fun of it. I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to go on a nationwide book tour adventure that included television appearances and meeting readers at book signing events. And I wouldn’t have received reviews from strangers saying my book encouraged them to get out of their comfort zone and do something awesome. And I’ve immensely enjoyed experiencing all those things.

Moral of the story: Don’t talk yourself out of something because you don’t fit the typical mold. There are always exceptions to rules. Try the thing and just see what happens. Find a model of another non-mold-fitter if you need inspiration—we’re always lurking around somewhere.

(Pictured above is another thing I wouldn’t have if I’d let non-mold-fitting stop me: A photo of President George W. Bush holding my book, when he graciously posed with it after I shoved it towards him and yelled “Sir! You’re in it!” referencing the part of the book where I share that my first ever 5K race was with him.)