No Non-Fiction Best Sellers

The word on the street is that there haven’t been any best-selling non-fiction novels in recent years. I think that has a lot to do with how most people consume stories now—sitting on their couches, cozied up with their pets or partners, searching for a quick dopamine hit from fast reels and bite-sized videos.

They’re looking for freedom. Instead, they fall down a rabbit hole of lust, jealousy, and comparison.

To write non-fiction properly, you have to love the uncomfortable and the unknown. A story isn’t interesting if you can see the ending. It has to stay alive—ever-changing, uncertain, unsure where the main character will end up next.

And it needs failure.

A lot of it.

Humans love to watch growth, change, and adaptability. But actually doing it? That’s harder than reading about it. It means getting off the couch. Leaving comfort behind. Stepping into the unknown. Stretching a budget.

Taking risks—hoping that something worth writing about might happen.

That’s too much for the weak.

So they stay put, chasing dopamine on a tiny screen designed to give them exactly what they want, exactly when they want it.

Of course, I’m not immune. I’m guilty of the lazy release too—sometimes spending an hour or more doom-scrolling. But I’ve never stopped writing. Never stopped chasing. Never stopped believing that if I go out there, I’ll find what I’m looking for.

Most of the time, it doesn’t come as some grand, cinematic moment. It shows up quietly—in small, imperfect flashes. And here’s the truth: nothing is perfect. Nothing ever will be.

So if this finds the right people, I hope it motivates you to live a life worth writing about.

Go get hurt.

Make mistakes.

Go somewhere unknown.

You’ll find it there.

Because whatever you already know clearly isn’t enough for someone as authentic as you.