“I’m Talented, So Why Am I Broke?!”

Chayala Neuhaus on turning your talent into a career.

I used to think talent was everything. The magical golden egg that would hatch into wealth, success, and an occasional standing ovation. I was one of those kids who was told from a young age that I had a gift, and for a long time I thought that anyone with successes had to have rare talent in the driver’s seat.  

It took a few years of hard knocks, eye opening experiences, and observing other creatives around me to shift my perspective and open my eyes to the reality.

Talent, is just one mystifying piece of the very complex puzzle that is creative entrepreneurship.

To give you some backstory, I started writing songs at the age of eleven, trusty tape recorder and keyboard in tow as I followed the stream of opportunities from camp to high school and beyond. I was called talented, driven, ambitious, weird, spacey, and a host of other adjectives I mostly attempted to interpret positively. 

As my songwriting hobby slowly proved itself to be something people were willing to pay for, I dipped my toe into the business world, setting up my one stop shop recording studio and songwriting business, alongside my day job of teaching music.

I learned the way every self-made creative entrepreneur does: through a series of magnificent failures. There were successes too, don’t get me wrong. But when things played out differently than I hoped, there were no other female self-made musicians slash songwriters slash recording studio producers to call up and say “hey, what am I doing wrong in this situation?” And as my songs, bH, reached more and more people, my piano bench was graced with many happy students, and my studio filled with girls expanding their talents, I was constantly marveling at the dichotomy of knowing my work had value and was making a difference, while not understanding how I could scale up and avoid pitfalls along the way. 

It took years of research, willingness to explore, read, pursue and push, and unrelenting encouragement from my favorite people to help me reach a place where I had created a working business model that made me feel fulfilled and satisfied. (Yes I know, I’m zipping right past the part where I now get to sing and share my songs worldwide with female audiences at kumzitzes and events, maybe another time in another article? )

If you’re reading this and finding it relatable there’s a decent chance you’re also one of us—the wildly creative, deeply talented, emotionally wired humans who can design, write, film, paint, sculpt, sing, build, invent, or perform anything…until you came up against a brick wall: a scalable business model. 

All of the sudden, your very unique skill that other people said could change the world starts to disappear behind a mounting pile of disappointments and “I can’ts” as you battle things like numbers, spreadsheets, deadlines, and manageable project management.

First, let me say this loud for the people in the back:

You are not lazy. You are not dumb. You are not broken.

You are just a creative person trying to navigate the business world without sacrificing your artistic soul, and that can feel like an extreme sport.

Here’s what I learned the hard way (so maybe you don’t have to):

1. Talent is Not a Business Model.

I know, I know—your work speaks for itself. So does mine. But unfortunately, it can speak rather sabotagingly to me, at 2 a.m., saying things like “let’s answer emails now.” Or, “let’s stay up all night to finish this genius work and be completely out of commission for tomorrow’s looming deadlines.” 

People don’t pay for talent alone;

They pay for solutions to their problems, not your brilliance.

Until I stopped thinking of myself as “an artist offering art” and started thinking of myself as “a specialist solving a specific pain point for a specific person,” I was just very, very good at having ideas and letting them ricochet all over the place. 

2. Passion Won’t File Your Taxes.

You can love your craft so much it hurts (and I do), but the IRS does not care about your passion. I had to learn about pricing, contracts, systems, and (gasp) follow-up emails. I had to calendar things. I had to automate stuff. And no, I didn’t self-destruct —though I did come close after discovering how time saving a CRM was and how much I’d been winging it.

It turns out structure is not the enemy of creativity. It’s the bodyguard.

If you don’t build a container for your genius, it leaks everywhere and no one wants to pay for a puddle.

3. You’re Probably Undercharging. Like, Badly.

Here’s the dirty secret of the creative industry: the best people are often the worst at asking for money. (Because we’re used to doing things “for exposure” or “for the love” or “because we’re lucky to be doing what we love.”) Sometimes you might find, you love creating your art and really really want to share it, but are absolutely allergic to everything else that comes with that: communicating about it, marketing it, asking to be paid for it, and even computing how much it’s bringing in. 

I worked recently with a young talent who when it came to talking pricing said to me, “I hate this part. I just want to make art. Pay me whatever you want.” Ouch.  

No. Just no.

You can love what you do and demand to be paid.

Love does not pay rent. Love doesn’t cover software subscriptions. Love doesn’t fix your cracked laptop screen that you’re still squinting through.

Charge what you’re worth. Then, work so your work becomes worth more and charge more than that. 

4. Stop Waiting to Be Discovered.

If you had that magical camp moment where someone pointed at you and said “She! She is our star soloist, our lead role, our color war captain!” I’m truly happy for you. 

But for most of us creatives, that’s not the case. 

This one hurts the most, because you may have truly believed that if you just did great work, someone important would eventually notice and sweep you away to Creative Neverland.

Spoiler alert: no one’s coming. You have to pitch.

You have to put your best work out there. You have to tell people you exist. The idea that good work sells itself is adorable and untrue. Good work that’s well-positioned, clearly communicated, and consistently visible sells itself. This entails knowing just who out there you need to teach. Who is your audience ? Whose life can you make better with your art or unique creative service?

5. You Don’t Need to Be Everything.

I tried to be a songwriter, brand strategist, web designer, copywriter, social media manager, therapist, accountant, and gourmet chef all at once.

I thought being multi-talented meant I had to offer everything to everyone.

But that just made me scattered, burned out, and spread too thin. The truth is, clarity converts. People need to know exactly what you do, and for whom.

Niche down. Focus. Say no.

If you want to photograph newborns, stop undertaking cheesecake shoots before Shavuos and pre-simcha bridal sibs in sweatshirts. Be boring in your offer and magical in your delivery. Stick to one “secret sauce “ product that you can bolster, believe in, and become incredibly well known and trademarked by.