How to Get Rich and Famous and Not Get Mobbed in the Street: Become a Writer

 

Colleen Hoover is currently the bestselling author on the planet and yet you could walk straight past her in the supermarket without batting an eye. Maybe you just did - wouldn't that be weird?

There is a strange fantasy that circulates in our culture - that success must be loud. That if you make it, really make it, you’ll need sunglasses indoors and security guards outside. That fame is a kind of permanent spotlight you can’t step out of.

It’s nonsense, of course. But it’s seductive nonsense.

Here’s the delicious truth nobody tells you - writing is one of the very few professions where you can have the rewards of success without surrendering your freedom. You can earn well. You can be respected. You can influence millions. And you can still walk to the shops in your scruffiest jumper without a single person turning their head.

Writers get the credits, the cash, and the credibility - and they get to keep their anonymity.

Look at Stephen King. One of the most successful novelists in history. His books have sold hundreds of millions of copies. His stories have become cultural landmarks. And yet most people would pass him in an airport lounge without the faintest clue who he is. The name is famous. The face - not so much. That is power.

Or take J.K. Rowling. Whatever you think of her politics, her financial success is undeniable. The Harry Potter phenomenon reshaped publishing and film. Rowling became one of the wealthiest authors alive. And yet for years she was able to write under a pseudonym, publish crime novels, and quietly observe the reaction without being mobbed in public. Fame attached itself to the work. Not to her daily life.

Contrast that with a film star. Or a pop singer. They pay a different price. Visibility is part of the currency. Their face is the brand. Their body is the billboard.

Writers are different. The product is invisible. It exists in the imagination. The work is what travels the world. The writer stays home.

Even someone as culturally seismic as George R. R. Martin, whose Game of Thrones became a global obsession, can still attend a convention, sign books, and then disappear back into a relatively normal life. He’s recognized in certain circles, of course. But he is not chased through supermarkets. His fame has boundaries.

And then there’s Agatha Christie. In her lifetime she was a publishing colossus. Her sales rivaled the Bible and Shakespeare. Yet she cultivated privacy. She wrote. She traveled. She observed. Her anonymity fed her work. The mystique enhanced the brand.

Writers occupy a curious sweet spot in the cultural hierarchy. They are credited as creators. They are paid as intellectual property holders. And they are respected as thinkers. But they are not usually consumed as spectacle.

That distinction matters.

If you become an actor, you are hired to embody someone else’s creation. If you become a singer, your voice and persona are the performance. But if you are a writer, you are the origin. The source. The architect of the worlds everyone else builds upon.

Film franchises. Streaming series. Video games. Entire industries are powered by words that were once typed in solitude.

Take Suzanne Collins. The Hunger Games reshaped young adult fiction, sparked a film empire, and influenced a generation’s understanding of dystopian storytelling. Collins is enormously successful. Yet she is not tabloid fodder. She is not stalked daily by paparazzi. She writes. She profits. She keeps her space.

The writer’s lifestyle is a paradox. You can be globally known and personally unknown at the same time.

And there is something psychologically healthy about that.

Fame, when attached to the body, is invasive. Fame, when attached to the work, is protective. Readers fall in love with characters. With stories. With ideas. They project onto the text. The writer becomes a name on a cover - powerful, but at a distance.

That distance is gold.

It allows you to observe humanity rather than be consumed by it. It gives you freedom to fail quietly, to experiment, to reinvent yourself. Many writers publish under pseudonyms precisely because they can. They can test a new genre, a new voice, a new direction without jeopardizing their identity. That flexibility is rare in celebrity culture.

There is also the matter of money. Publishing has changed, yes. But intellectual property remains one of the most powerful wealth engines on the planet. A single successful book can generate advances, royalties, translation rights, audio rights, film options, merchandise, spin-offs. A story can compound for decades.

And unlike a sporting career or a pop career, writing does not expire at thirty-five. Your mind matures. Your voice deepens. Your authority increases with age. The runway is long.

Writers are not mobbed in the street because most people do not recognize them. But they are invited into millions of homes through their words. They shape conversations. They influence thought. They alter culture quietly.

It is influence without intrusion.

Of course, none of this is automatic. You do not simply declare yourself a writer and wake up wealthy and respected. The craft demands discipline. The marketplace demands strategy. The world does not hand out credibility like sweets.

But if your ambition includes wealth, impact, and autonomy, writing offers a rare alignment. You can build a body of work that speaks for you. You can accumulate intellectual capital that grows over time. You can become known in the ways that matter - in the credits, on the spine, in the cultural record - without sacrificing your everyday freedom.

You can have a public legacy and a private life.

And that, in a culture obsessed with visibility, might just be the ultimate luxury.

Keep Writing!

Rob Parnell