Don't let the first year kill you - magazine publishing

Small-magazine publishers are true entrepreneurs in the classic sense. Beyond the traditional risk-and-reward juggling act, their quest requires an emotional roller-coaster ride of gratifying climbs into dizzying heights of achievement, interrupted by meteoric plunges into fear, self-doubt and often sheer panic. It's all there for the adrenaline junkie, but not the faint of heart or weak of spirit.

Often, in the euphoria of launching a small magazine, a new publisher is blind to the number of hours he puts to the task, the amount of coffee drunk and junk food consumed, the lack of exercise, sleep and--perhaps most important--the lack of attention to family and friends. This is okay for a few weeks or even a few months--it's expected. But when it drags on relentlessly and work becomes addiction, the abuse can be crippling. Publishing a small magazine is extremely challenging, no matter how well you operate. Every stage is stressful, particularly at the beginning, and new publishers need to learn to pace themselves.

Take the initial task of raising money. When launching a magazine or any other business, it is often the worst experience an entrepreneur will face. The process can be so demoralizing, humiliating and infinitely frustrating that it dashes dreams at an alarming rate. For many publishers (even after the start-up capital is raised), fund-raising continues indefinitely while their magazines struggle to break even.

Now combine this chronic lack of capital (suffered by almost all small magazines) with the normal day-to-day pressure of publishing--meeting deadlines, making sales, controlling budgets, dealing with employee problems, answering subscriber complaints, soothing investor concerns, etc., and you have a recipe for occupational burnout.

When I first launched Buzzworm in 1988, I was a classic example of all the above. The excitement of actually producing a magazine and taking it to market was so intoxicating, I would sometimes forget to eat for an entire day or even sleep for 24 hours. My wife branded me a workaholic, and my friends were shocked when I actually returned a phone call or showed up at a party. One night, after about eight months of this madness, I was lying on the living room sofa watching a late movie, trying to wind down from a particularly stressful day. My mind was churning with worry. We desperately needed more staff to cover the workload that seemed to grow exponentially. We had just blown through $100,000 worth of investment in a painfully short time, and it was clear we would need more money. And, we had been turned down that day by the fifth large advertiser in a row, because we were too small. To top it all off, my wife and I were expecting our second child any day, and I had hardly connected with that situation.

As I lay there contemplating my problems, suddenly, for no apparent reason, my heart started leaping wildly in my chest. Paralyzed with fear, I rolled over onto the floor, convinced I was having a heart attack. After lying there long enough to catch my breath and realize I wasn't dead, I called for my wife, who rushed me to the emergency room. I wasn't suffering any pain, but my heart was definitely in overdrive and definitely not functioning in a normal rhythm pattern. I searched the attending physician's eyes for verification of the worst as she administered an EKG, and was relieved (although surprised) when I saw her shake her head no. No, I had not suffered a heart attack, but rather a basically harmless arrhythmia known as atrial fibrillation (remember George Bush?), which can show up in healthy people as a result of stress or trauma. I spent the night in the hospital while my ticker calmed down, and the next day underwent testing to make sure everything was all right. That afternoon, the cardiologist visited my room to tell me that nothing bad had shown up in the tests, and I could go home--and, by the way, was anything particularly stressful going on in my life?

I still work long hours at Buzzworm, perhaps harder than ever before, but my time is much better managed now. I try to make room for some form of exercise at least every other day--mountain biking when the sun is out, cross-country skiing when the snow flies, and the local health club on the days in between. I try to eat a real breakfast every morning, and my wife and I have dinner with our children as a family every night. I also practice my own style of meditation in the form of fly-fishing. I do it whenever I can, and drain my brain of anything to do with Buzzworm.

These were not particularly difficult changes to make in my life, but they've had an astonishing impact. I'm healthier than I've ever been, I've had no further arrhythmia and, best of all, after five years I still get up every morning full of enthusiasm for my job.

Those who choose to publish small magazines are a funny breed. Headstrong and optimistic, these people never say die. A recent book titled Anger Kills, written by Dr. Redford Williams, ranks the field of publishing with the highest number of Type A individuals (73 percent) of any group of leaders studied--and we've all read about the health ramifications of Type A behavior. It is clear that to survive and prosper in magazine publishing, we are going to need to learn how to take time out from the battle to lick our wounds and rejuvenate our souls. Then, we are far more likely to win the war.

Joseph E. Daniel is the founder and publisher of Buzzworm, a highly acclaimed, five-year-old-independent environmental magazine with a circulation of nearly 100,000.

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