Michelle: Mark, I'm going to say something that might sound like heresy in the creator economy. Mark: Oh, I like heresy. Go on. Michelle: That famous advice—spend 20% of your time creating and 80% promoting? It's not just wrong. It's a recipe for failure. Mark: Whoa, hold on. That’s like, the first commandment of every online guru. "Content is king, but distribution is queen and she wears the pants." You're telling me that's a lie? Where is this coming from? Michelle: It comes from a fantastic book called Perennial Seller: The Art of Making and Marketing Work that Lasts by Ryan Holiday. And Holiday is the perfect person to make this argument. He's not some ivory-tower academic; he dropped out of college to be a marketing director for a major brand and apprenticed under the master strategist Robert Greene. So when he says creation trumps promotion, he's speaking from the trenches of the marketing world itself. Mark: Okay, that definitely adds some weight. A marketer telling you to focus less on marketing is like a chef telling you to use less salt. You listen. So what’s the big idea? Michelle: The core of the book is a powerful, two-part philosophy for anyone who wants to create something that endures, whether it's a book, a business, a song, or a piece of art. It’s about creating work that sells not just next week, but next decade. Mark: A perennial. Like a plant that comes back every year without you having to replant it. Michelle: Exactly. And Holiday argues that to grow one, you have to get the two big things right. First, the unsexy, often painful, truth of the creative process itself—why the work you do in private is the most important marketing of all. Then, we'll get into how you build what he calls a 'perennial engine'—a platform and a fanbase that can carry your work for decades, long after the initial hype fades.

Mark: I'm really stuck on that first part. The idea that the work itself is the best marketing. It feels so counterintuitive today, when everything is about visibility, algorithms, and going viral. Michelle: It does, but Holiday backs it up with a brutal corporate case study: Microsoft in the late 2000s. They decided they needed to compete with Apple's iPod, so they created the Zune. Mark: Oh, the Zune. I feel like I just saw a ghost. A brown, clunky ghost. Michelle: A very expensive ghost. Microsoft poured billions of dollars into marketing the Zune. They had massive ad campaigns, launch events, everything. But the product itself was, well, a clunky, late-to-the-game MP3 player. It didn't solve a real problem or offer a vastly better experience. The marketing was world-class, but the product was mediocre. And it failed spectacularly. Mark: A black hole for marketing dollars. Michelle: Precisely. Now, at the same time, what was one of Microsoft's most profitable products, a true perennial seller? Mark: Let me guess... Microsoft Office? Word, Excel, PowerPoint? Michelle: You got it. The most boring, unsexy software suite imaginable. It gets almost no flashy marketing. Yet for decades, it has been an absolute cash cow. Why? Because it's indispensable. It does its job so well that millions of businesses and individuals can't function without it. The product's quality is its marketing. Holiday quotes the founder of Evernote, who said, "People thinking about things other than making the best product never make the best product." Mark: That is such a powerful contrast. One was all sizzle, no steak. The other is all steak, no sizzle needed. But let's be honest, making that 'steak' is incredibly hard. It's not fun. Michelle: It's agonizing. Holiday is very clear about this. He quotes George Orwell, who described writing a book as a "horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout with some painful illness." The myth of the lone genius getting a flash of inspiration is just that—a myth. Creating something great requires immense sacrifice and a deep, unshakable reason for doing it. A 'why' that goes beyond money or fame. Mark: So you have to be willing to go through that painful illness. Michelle: And you have to be willing to let others help you treat it. This is another key point: the role of the editor, the trusted outside voice. The story of Harper Lee and To Kill a Mockingbird is a perfect example. Mark: I think I know the book. A minor hit, right? Michelle: Just a little one. When Harper Lee first submitted her manuscript, her editor, Tay Hohoff, told her it wasn't a novel. She said it was more like a series of anecdotes. It was called Go Set a Watchman. Mark: Wow, that must have been crushing to hear. Michelle: For most people, yes. But Lee listened. She spent the next two years rewriting the entire thing. She changed the plot, the timeline, the focus. She basically tore it down to the studs and rebuilt it based on that feedback. The result was To Kill a Mockingbird, one of the most beloved books of all time. Mark: And we actually know the editor was right, don't we? Michelle: We do! Because in 2015, that original manuscript, Go Set a Watchman, was finally published. And the consensus was... it's not very good. The characters are hard to relate to, the message is muddled. It proves that the brutal, two-year process of rewriting and editing was what transformed a flawed story into a masterpiece. Mark: So the takeaway for a creator listening right now is that the painful revision process is the work. It's not a sign that you're failing; it's the very thing that leads to success. You have to kill your darlings, as they say. Michelle: You have to be willing to kill the whole village if that's what it takes. And once you've gone through that fire and created something truly exceptional, then, and only then, are you ready for the next stage.

Michelle: And that next stage is where Holiday's marketing genius really shines. Once you've bled for that great work, you don't just launch it and pray. You build an engine to carry it forever. This is where the idea of a 'platform' comes in. Mark: Okay, 'platform' is a word that gets thrown around a lot. To most people, it just means having a lot of followers on Instagram or TikTok. Is that what he means? Michelle: Not at all. He sees that as a very fragile, borrowed platform. The algorithm can change, the platform can die. For Holiday, a true platform is a direct, durable connection to your audience. It's your mailing list. It's your network. It's your reputation. It's the system you build that allows you to reach the people who care about your work, independent of any single corporation or trend. Mark: That sounds more stable. And more difficult. Michelle: It is. It takes years. But the payoff is immense. The ultimate case study for this is a band that many people might not think of as a business model: Iron Maiden. Mark: The heavy metal band? With the zombie mascot, Eddie? Michelle: The very same. Let me hit you with some numbers. Since they formed in the 70s, they've sold over 90 million albums. They regularly sell out stadiums of 60,000 people all over the world. Their lead singer, Bruce Dickinson, literally pilots the band's own custom Boeing 757, named 'Ed Force One,' from show to show. Mark: That is the most rock-and-roll thing I have ever heard. But they must have had huge radio hits, right? Michelle: Almost none. That's the astonishing part. For forty years, they've been almost completely ignored by mainstream radio and media. They built their empire fan by fan, tour by tour. They created a "global army," as Holiday calls it, that is so loyal they will buy, watch, and listen to anything the band produces. They built a platform so powerful they could bypass the traditional gatekeepers entirely. Mark: Wait, I remember reading they have more Spotify streams than Madonna. How is that even possible? Michelle: It's the power of the platform! It’s a direct connection. Madonna relied on MTV and radio—the gatekeepers. When those faded, her cultural power, while still immense, became more diffuse. Iron Maiden built their own channels directly to their fans. They have fan clubs, merchandise, their own beer... they've created a whole ecosystem. That's a perennial engine. Mark: Okay, but Iron Maiden is a huge band with a massive machine behind them. What does this look like for an individual writer or artist who's just starting out? It feels a bit intimidating. Michelle: It's the same principle, just on a different scale. Holiday tells the story of comedian Kevin Hart. Early in his career, his movies were flopping and his TV deal fell through. He was at a crossroads. So what did he do? Mark: I'm guessing he didn't buy a Boeing 757. Michelle: Not yet. He went on the road and performed in tiny clubs, especially in cities where he had no fanbase. At every single show, his team would put a card on every seat that said, "Kevin Hart needs to know who you are," and asked for an email address. For four years, he did this, building a massive database of fans, city by city. Mark: He was building his list. The oldest rule in the book. Michelle: The oldest and most powerful. By the time he was hosting the MTV awards, he had a platform of millions of people he could contact with the push of a button. That direct line to his audience became his superpower in Hollywood. It's the same principle as Iron Maiden, just executed with business cards instead of a custom jet.

Mark: I see it now. It’s a two-stage rocket. Stage one is the brutal, private work of building something incredible, something that can withstand the test of time. Like Microsoft Office or To Kill a Mockingbird. Michelle: The product has to be great. That's non-negotiable. Mark: And stage two is building the public engine—the platform—to give that great work fuel for decades. You build a direct connection with your audience, like Iron Maiden or Kevin Hart, so you're not at the mercy of trends or gatekeepers. Michelle: Exactly. But Holiday adds one final, crucial ingredient to the mix, and it's one that many success gurus hate to admit: luck. Mark: Ah, the L-word. So it's not all hard work and strategy? Michelle: He's very honest about it. Hard work and strategy are what put you in a position to get lucky. He tells the story of Bruce Springsteen's breakout album, 'Born to Run.' Springsteen nearly killed himself making that record, striving for perfection. But two lucky things happened. A radio station accidentally leaked the title track months early, creating a huge, organic buzz. Mark: A happy accident. Michelle: And then, Springsteen complained about his unsupportive record label in an interview with a tiny college newspaper. The label president's son happened to read that article and showed it to his dad, which led to the label finally throwing its full weight behind the album. The album was a masterpiece because of Springsteen's work. It became a phenomenon because of his work plus a healthy dose of luck. Mark: That’s a much more realistic take on success. You can't control luck, but you can control your preparation for it. Michelle: That's the whole philosophy. The legendary football coach Bill Walsh called it establishing a "base camp near the summit." You do all the grueling, thankless work to get your camp set up just below the peak. You can't control the weather, you can't control if a path will open up. But you make sure that if you get a lucky break—a clear day—you are ready to go for the summit. Mark: I love that. It's not about waiting for a lucky break. It's about working so hard that you're the most prepared person on the mountain when the break comes. So for anyone listening, the first step isn't to design a marketing plan or worry about their "brand." Michelle: The first step is to look at what you're making and ask the hard question: "Is this truly the best I can possibly do? Is this something so good, so useful, or so beautiful that people will feel compelled to share it?" Mark: That's the real work. Everything else flows from that. Michelle: And that’s the art of making something that lasts. We'd love to hear what perennial sellers have shaped your life. What book, movie, or album do you return to again and again? Let us know on our socials. We're always curious to see what has stood the test of time for you. Mark: This is Aibrary, signing off.