I’ve been seeing the following statement online a lot lately: “I’m in my [insert adjective here] era.” I’m not sure where it originated from, but I’m pretty sure it’s Taylor Swift’s fault. Now, before you come at me, I’ve nothing against Taylor Swift. Ever since I heard the bonus tracks on her album 1989, which showcase a behind-the-scenes look at her songwriting process, her infectious, bubbly humanity became impossible for me to deny. I also like Folklore, as it’s basically a Bruce Springsteen record. The point I’m making is that I didn’t start seeing or hearing people talk about their eras until Swift’s Eras tour last year. And given the insanely wide and broad fandom that Swift enjoys, I simply made a mental connection.
I have always loved thinking about an artist’s various eras. It’s especially interesting to observe in those who have had careers spanning decades. Stephen King, who I’m convinced was the gateway drug for every horror writer from the 80s to today, had a few notable phases to his career. He cut his teeth on writing for men’s magazines, so a lot of his early work had some admittedly cringeworthy passages about boobs. There was also Cocaine Steve who nearly destroyed his family but, in the process, produced some of the most fascinating works of occult literature ever written.
There was a period in the 90s where he seemed to say, “I’m not a horror writer; I’m a suspense writer,” a time still marked by texts where he just couldn’t help himself (the wildly unhinged Desperation comes to mind). Post-accident Steve frantically delivered the last three books in the Dark Tower saga, even managing to weave a ‘Salem’s Lot sequel into the fifth book. I believe he did so because of his brush with mortality.
Now he’s reached a point where he seems to be playing the hits but not doing much in the way of stretching. There’s nothing wrong with that, either, by the way. He’s clearly earned the right to do so.
David Bowie had eras. Madonna had eras. Clive Barker had eras, shifting from early splatterpunk to genre- (and gender-) defying fantasy.
Artists with any longevity will have eras.
Because I recently turned 40, I feel very much as though I’ve entered a new phase in my life—a new era, so to speak.
As a writer, I spent my 30s hungry for breaking into the business, made plenty of mistakes, and enjoyed some success. I did a lot of networking, spent a lot of time listening, got frustrated, curled up into a ball and screamed, struggled to figure out who I was as a brand (and perhaps as a person as well), and did a lot of projecting.
Sidebar: While the process of writing can be helpful to healing trauma, I strongly suggest you don’t enter the business of writing until you’ve worked through any personal damage you may be carrying. Between your ego, other people’s egos, bad actors who use the various writing communities to prey on others, rejection letters, inconsistent sales numbers, bad reviews, holding down a day job, and still showing up for your family—all while trying to write that next book—it’s tough out here! All your unresolved shit? All your triggers? You’d better believe they’re coming to the surface. And the thing about unresolved trauma is it doesn’t care in the least about your goals. It demands that you resolve it, and you’d better listen, or it’s going to wreck everything.
Maybe that’s not such a sidebar.
Lately, things have been different. My last few books, starting with Snow Angels, have shown a certain refinement to the writing, to the stories themselves, to the stories behind the stories (aka the underlying themes). I don’t take it personally when I don’t get invited to the latest prestigious anthology or nominated for awards. Younger or newer authors come to me for advice, and they actually take it. Some of them have even gone on to become quite successful. It’s nice to see that after a dozen years in the often-purgatorial publishing business, I have something useful to offer these new travelers.
You could say I’m in an era that sees me as the grizzled veteran with wisdom to impart. And I’ll take that. It’s comfortable here in a way that constantly trying to carve out my niche wasn’t.
This doesn’t mean I’m done writing. On the contrary, I’ve got plenty in the works, including something I’m thinking about serializing here on my Substack.
Accepting this new phase also doesn’t mean I’ve given up on trying to grow my audience. Indeed, a whole slew of new readers grabbed Saint Sadist this past week thanks to an incredible review by eve.reads on TikTok.
To put it in terms storytelling theory, I’m still striving to move forward, but I’ve emerged from the belly of the whale with the elixir. Now it’s time to share it with my people. That’s the era I’m in now.