Best Tips for a Successful Magazine

Good ideas don’t re­quire pro­per plan­ning or sche­dule; nor do they be­ne­fit from ex­haus­tingly long mee­tings and con­ver­sa­ti­ons with ma­nage­ment. They emerge from ex­pe­ri­ments, from play­ing around with things that you care about, things to which you have an emo­tio­nal at­tach­ment. And quite of­ten they need a crea­tive chao­tic en­vi­ron­ment to flou­rish and grow.

Ho­we­ver, the path from an idea to a tan­gi­ble pro­duct is full of fail­ures, and it’s those ine­vi­ta­ble, so­me­ti­mes de­vas­ta­ting fail­ures that make you stron­ger and keep you go­ing, and eventually—if you don’t give in easily—drive you in the right di­rec­tion, just to fi­nally pave the board­walk to so­me­thing that might turn out to be chan­ging and de­fi­ning your fu­ture.

Of course we all should be­ne­fit from the know­ledge of others—people who trust them­sel­ves to ac­tually fol­low th­rough their weird, un­rea­li­stic, and so­me­ti­mes stub­born, naive ideas. But we should be able to learn and grow from our own mista­kes, too. If you are wil­ling to ex­pe­ri­ment and ta­ckle fail­ures along the way, you have to be able to make your own mista­kes. And that me­ans ma­king an ef­fort to beat the odds—no mat­ter how doo­med that shiny new idea might in­iti­ally look.

In fact, usually that in­itial crea­tive spark sounds just so ri­di­cu­lous, un­re­asonable and im­pro­ba­ble at first, and of­ten even worse af­ter the first cri­ti­cal re­view. But so­me­ti­mes it does­n’t mat­ter. Yes, it just does­n’t mat­ter. Per­haps it’s your time to suc­ceed where others fai­led, and risk your per­so­nal time to gain strength, ex­pe­ri­ence and wis­dom that others gai­ned be­fore you. Per­haps you are doo­med to fail, but you might build so­me­thing in the end that will lead you to suc­cess in the fu­ture as you com­bine that idea with the in­spi­ra­tion you’ll find in your cel­lar ye­ars from now.

Hap­pi­ness is a ploy. Just a car­rot on a stick.., so­me­ti­mes. Maybe more than others. Maybe hap­pi­ness is just far away. Like loo­king on a map, and fin­ding how long it ta­kes to get there. Won­de­ring how much time you should take off. That’s re­ally how I’d look at it. Like if I drive fas­ter, I could get to the hap­pi­ness I’ve been loo­king for all my life soo­ner.

Maybe just re­ally lo­nely. Maybe I just want to be alone. Maybe lo­neli­ness is the only way to make that hap­pen. Like ha­ving two pairs of eyes and just see­ing the same thing. Seems like such a late hour. Not­hing seems, or feels new any­more. I’d live again, to feel that way once more.

Lo­neli­ness for mi­les. Down every turn. A dusty road to nowhere. In ever­y­thing that is gi­ven. Lo­neli­ness seems to make it’s way back into our life’s. Deeper into our he­arts. I’ll never know the mea­ning of it. The why. Ex­haus­ted and much too old to chase it’s ever pre­sent here and now.

It’s hard to stress how thril­led we are with the re­sults of our new ma­ga­zine! Since the launch, cus­to­mers, af­fi­lia­tes, and in­ves­tors con­ti­nue to go out of their way to send their com­pli­ments, and that is great news for all of us.

Ho­we­ver, the path from an idea to a tan­gi­ble pro­duct is full of fail­ures, and it’s those ine­vi­ta­ble, so­me­ti­mes de­vas­ta­ting fail­ures that make you stron­ger and keep you go­ing, and eventually—if you don’t give in easily—drive you in the right di­rec­tion, just to fi­nally pave the board­walk to so­me­thing that might turn out to be chan­ging and de­fi­ning your fu­ture.

Of course we all should be­ne­fit from the know­ledge of others—people who trust them­sel­ves to ac­tually fol­low th­rough their weird, un­rea­li­stic, and so­me­ti­mes stub­born, naive ideas. But we should be able to learn and grow from our own mista­kes, too. If you are wil­ling to ex­pe­ri­ment and ta­ckle fail­ures along the way, you have to be able to make your own mista­kes. And that me­ans ma­king an ef­fort to beat the odds—no mat­ter how doo­med that shiny new idea might in­iti­ally look.

Ori­gi­nal source: Ylli Pylla