How Gatekeeping Keeps Writers Out and Why It’s Time to Break the Cycle

This isn’t the usual conversation about publishing, but it needs to be had. At the end of the day, the purpose of this article is not about discrediting the professionals who work tirelessly in the industry. Editors, agents, and publishing teams put in the work, and their expertise is real, but alongside that reality exists another: a system that has, for too long, thrived on exclusivity, confusion, and gatekeeping. The purpose of the conversation I hope to have with you today is to pull back the curtain, break down the barriers, and ensure that writers at every stage understand the big picture. The more you know, the less power the gatekeepers have.

For too long, the literary world has built itself on exclusivity, making success feel like a long shot for most writers. But what if those barriers weren’t as real as they seem? Traditional publishers take on only a tiny fraction of unsolicited manuscripts—less than 1% ever make it to publication. The odds are stacked, not because there’s a lack of great writing, but because the industry thrives on scarcity.

Rewriting the Rules: How Gatekeeping Keeps Writers Out and Why It’s Time to Break the Cycle

For centuries, the literary world has wrapped itself in a cloak of exclusivity, making writing and publishing feel more like a secret society than a creative pursuit. Whether it’s bureaucratic bloat, expertism, or jargonization, the industry thrives on the illusion that only a select few are worthy of calling themselves writers. And the more complicated they make the process, the harder it is for outsiders to break in.

This is a systemic phenomenon that appears across industries, from law to medicine, tech to finance. Overcomplication and exclusivity concentrate power in the hands of a few, creating artificial barriers that prevent talented and capable individuals from accessing the opportunities they deserve. Industries rely on complexity to maintain control, making simple processes feel insurmountable, whether breaking into journalism, understanding the stock market, or navigating the hurdles of starting a small business.

This isn’t to say that these industries, and the professionals within them, aren’t doing incredibly specialized and important work. The expertise of doctors, attorneys, engineers, and publishing professionals is undeniable. Refining their skills takes years of dedication, study, and real-world experience. The goal here is not to discredit the work they do, but to acknowledge that the way their industries function often makes it harder than necessary for newcomers to enter, thrive, and contribute. The literary world, like many fields, tends to reinforce exclusivity not to maintain standards but to maintain control.

At its core, this strategy works because it discourages participation. The more inaccessible something seems, the more hesitant people become to challenge the system. We see it in corporate jargon that turns straightforward tasks into cryptic puzzles, in licensing and credentialing systems designed to favor insiders, and in gatekeeping that keeps success confined to a select few. In many ways, the literary world unknowingly embodies this culture of exclusion, using language, tradition, and outdated structures to convince aspiring writers that they’re not “real” authors unless they play by impossible, ever-changing rules.

And yet, this doesn’t have to be the case. Expertise and accessibility are not mutually exclusive; they can coexist. Publishing professionals can—and do—work hard to elevate new voices while upholding the industry's high standards. Medical professionals can protect the integrity of their field while making healthcare information clearer and more accessible. Lawyers can maintain their necessary level of expertise without unnecessarily complicating legal processes. The problem isn’t the professionals—the system discourages anyone outside the established structure from feeling like they can be part of it.

That’s why we’re here to break the cycle. Our goal is to dismantle artificial barriers, to expose the ways institutions overcomplicate and gatekeep, and to empower people to succeed despite these obstacles. Writers don’t need permission to write. Entrepreneurs don’t need to navigate endless red tape just to start. Experts aren’t always limited to those with the right titles or degrees, but those who do the work and create something real.

The publishing industry, along with countless others, will continue to cling to its old ways, hoping to maintain its monopoly on legitimacy. However, the truth is that the barriers are only as real as we allow them to be. The future belongs to those willing to step outside the system, redefine success on their own terms, and take back ownership of their craft. And when that happens, it’s not only the newcomers who benefit, but the entire industry.

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The Publishing Labyrinth: Bureaucracy at Its Finest

Traditional publishing is a complex web of red tape, unwritten rules, and unspoken expectations. Publishers receive over 5,000 unsolicited manuscripts a year, but the odds of getting picked up are between one and two percent. The process itself feels designed to exhaust writers before they even get to the starting line. Query letters must be formatted just so. Agents hold all the power. Submission guidelines are an ever-changing puzzle, and even if you land a book deal, advances and royalties are shrouded in secrecy. Meanwhile, indie authors are proving that you don’t need a publishing house to sell books.

To be clear, it’s not that publishing professionals aren’t doing valuable, demanding work. Editors, agents, and marketing teams work tirelessly to bring books to life, and their expertise is crucial to the industry. But the system they operate within has become outdated, slow-moving, and unnecessarily complicated. For decades, publishing has relied on a model that treats writers as if they should be grateful for any crumbs of opportunity rather than as the very foundation of the industry itself.

For initial queries, response times are all over the place. Some agents get back within a week, while others take months—if they respond at all. On average, three months is a safe window before following up, but in this industry, patience is more than a virtue—it’s a survival skill.

Even if a writer clears the first major hurdle of securing an agent, the struggle doesn’t end there. Many agents take on dozens of clients at a time, pitching their books to publishers who, in turn, accept only a fraction of the projects offered to them. It’s a cycle of rejection built on scarcity, where the smallest sliver of opportunity is stretched out to fuel an entire industry. And for the lucky few who do receive offers, negotiating contracts can be a black hole of legal jargon and hidden clauses, with advances and royalty structures that are rarely transparent.

Then there’s the time factor. The traditional publishing process can take two to three years from book deal to bookshelf. By the time an author finally holds their finished book, trends have shifted, marketing budgets have been slashed, and debut authors are often left to promote their work alone. Meanwhile, independent authors and small presses have streamlined the process, proving that a book doesn’t have to be buried in bureaucracy to be successful.

Even still, traditional publishing clings to its old ways. Why? Because complexity benefits those in power. Agents and publishers inadvertently serve as the gatekeepers of literary success; the harder it is to gain entry, the more valuable their roles become. If getting published were simple, their influence would weaken. The same logic keeps many industries resistant to change as complexity maintains control.

Yet, despite these challenges, more writers than ever are opting out of the labyrinth entirely. Self-publishing platforms, hybrid publishing models, and digital-first strategies have empowered writers to take control of their own careers. Some of today’s biggest names, such as Colleen Hoover, Hugh Howey, and Andy Weir, for example, began outside the traditional system and compelled the industry to take notice. Their success proves that great books don’t need to pass through an outdated, exclusionary system to reach readers.

Traditional publishing isn’t dead, but it is overdue for reinvention. The real question is whether it will evolve to meet the needs of modern writers or whether it will continue to prioritize exclusivity over accessibility. Because one thing is clear: writers aren’t waiting for permission anymore.

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Expertism: The Myth of the “Real” Writer

One of the most frustrating lies in the literary world is that only a select few can be considered “real” writers. Got an MFA? Represented by a big-name agent? Published by one of the “Big Five”? Congrats, you’re in the club. If not, good luck proving you belong. This elitism also manifests in publishing’s hiring practices. 72.5% of publishing staff, literary agents, and review journals are white, which means the same voices and perspectives continue to be pushed to the forefront. Storytelling is as old as humanity itself, but the world of publishing still acts as if you need permission to do it.

This mentality doesn’t just exist at the publishing level. It seeps into every aspect of the writing world. Writers are often told they must earn the right to call themselves authors as if creativity is a credential to be awarded rather than an innate human ability. This gatekeeping occurs in writing workshops, where specific genres, particularly literary fiction, are elevated, while commercial fiction, romance, and self-published works are often dismissed as inferior. This occurs when self-published authors are frequently excluded from industry events or prize considerations, despite some outselling traditionally published authors by hundreds of thousands of copies.

The reality is that the “real writer” myth serves only the gatekeepers. It convinces aspiring authors that they have no business sharing their stories without the right degrees, connections, or endorsements. It persuades writers to spend thousands on MFA programs, leading them to believe they need academic validation before they can be taken seriously. It reinforces the outdated notion that success in writing must be defined by traditional measures—such as getting an agent, landing a publishing deal, or earning a review in a top literary magazine—rather than by the simple act of creating work that resonates with readers.

This isn’t to say that traditional pathways aren’t valuable. There is undeniable skill in the craft of writing, and many literary professionals are dedicated to shaping, refining, and amplifying the voices of importance. The problem isn’t the existence of expertise, but the exclusion of those who don’t fit a narrow definition of what a writer should be.

Meanwhile, writers who sidestep the system and forge their own paths are proving that permission was never required in the first place. Some of today’s most commercially successful and culturally impactful books were written by authors who didn’t have an MFA, didn’t attend elite workshops, and didn’t wait for publishing’s stamp of approval. The only real requirement for being a writer? Writing.

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Jargonization: Making Processes Sound More Difficult Than They Truly Are

Have you ever read a submission guideline or literary critique and felt you needed a decoder ring? That’s jargonization at work, layering fancy terms over simple concepts to make writing feel like an elite academic pursuit instead of what it is: communication. Agents and editors toss around phrases like “narrative architecture” and “lyrical prose” as if writers need a PhD in literary theory to tell a damn good story. It’s the same tactic other industries use to gatekeep, making things sound so complicated that people assume they need an expert to guide them, but a great book doesn’t need literary buzzwords to justify its existence.

The problem with jargon isn’t just that it’s unnecessary, but that it actively alienates. It makes new writers second-guess their instincts, making them feel like they must master an entirely different language before they’re allowed to participate. It creates the illusion that it must not be good enough if you don’t describe your writing in industry-approved terms. It’s why so many aspiring authors get caught in an endless loop of crafting, revising, and hesitating, afraid to submit because they haven’t learned the “right” way to talk about their work.

And while literary professionals often use jargon with the best intentions, such as discussing literary technique, structure, or style, there’s a fine line between education and exclusion. When feedback turns into a performance of expertise rather than a tool for improvement, it stops serving writers and starts serving gatekeepers. A well-constructed story doesn’t need to be dressed up in over-intellectualized terminology to be powerful. Some of the most beloved novels of all time weren’t written to impress academics, but were written to move people.

Ironically, the publishing industry depends on readers who don’t care about jargon at all. The average reader isn’t sitting down with a new book and asking whether the pacing adheres to Aristotelian dramatic principles—they just want to be immersed in a world that feels real. However, instead of embracing clarity and accessibility, the literary world has created an ecosystem where discussing writing has become more complicated than the act of writing itself.

Writers don’t need permission to tell stories, and they certainly don’t need to speak in industry lingo to be taken seriously. The real measure of a book isn’t whether it fits neatly into a pre-approved literary framework, but rather, whether it makes people feel something.

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The Illusion of Rarity: Why the World of Publishing Benefits from Writers' Feeling Unworthy

Publishing has spent decades pushing the idea that literary success is rare, so rare that if you even dream of calling yourself a writer, you’d better be willing to pay for access. Workshops, courses, professional manuscript critiques—each one promising to inch you closer to “making it.” The message is clear: if you don’t invest in proving your worth, you don’t belong. The more unattainable they make it seem, the more desperate writers become to chase validation from the right institutions, the right agents, the right publishers. It’s an industry built on manufactured scarcity, thriving on the fear that if you don’t follow the “right” path, your work will never be taken seriously.

This isn’t to say that education, mentorship, or professional development aren’t valuable. They absolutely are; however, there is a difference between learning to improve your craft and being convinced that you aren’t legitimate unless you pay for a seat at the table. Publishing, like many industries, operates under a scarcity mindset, reinforcing the belief that opportunities are so limited and exclusive that most writers will never succeed unless they win the equivalent of a creative lottery. And for those who do break through? They’re often encouraged to believe that their success is an anomaly, reinforcing the myth that only a select few are capable of writing something truly publishable.

But here’s the thing: there is no literary shortage. The world is full of talented writers, many of whom have been historically overlooked or excluded. The illusion of rarity isn’t about protecting quality—it’s about maintaining control over who gets published, whose stories get told, and who profits from them.

Yet cracks are forming in the facade. Initiatives like the Black British Book Festival are pushing back against the publishing industry’s history of exclusion, creating platforms for voices that have long been ignored. Meanwhile, self-publishing is no longer the backup plan, as indie authors are now regularly outselling traditionally published ones. Writers who once would have been shut out by the system are building direct relationships with their readers, proving that success isn’t reserved for those who follow traditional rules.

The publishing world wants writers to believe they’re lucky just to be here. That landing a book deal is so rare and elusive that they should be grateful for whatever scraps the industry throws. Thankfully, in today's world, that illusion is crumbling. The gatekeepers don’t get to decide who’s a writer anymore. Writers do.

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Burning the Gatekeeping Rulebook

For too long, the literary world has thrived on making writers feel like outsiders in their own industry. The cold, hard truth is, writing isn’t as exclusive as it seems. You don’t need an agent’s approval, a degree, or the right publishing deal to tell a story that matters. The industry will continue to evolve, with or without the old guard’s permission. The question is, will writers continue to wait for an invitation, or will they start claiming their space?

Please remember. This article isn’t about dismissing the work of publishing professionals—far from it. Editors, agents, and publicists dedicate their entire careers to shaping and elevating stories, and their expertise is invaluable to the literary ecosystem. The goal here isn’t to undermine their work, but to dismantle the unnecessary fear, confusion, and exclusivity that often surround the publishing process. 

That’s why we’re here—to replace fear with understanding. Instead of writers feeling overwhelmed by industry jargon, opaque processes, and constantly shifting standards, we want to equip them with real knowledge. From first draft to finished manuscript, from self-publishing to traditional deals, every step of the literary journey should be accessible, transparent, and free from unnecessary gatekeeping.

Because the real measure of a writer isn’t whether they’ve been given permission to write, but whether they choose to keep writing in the face of an industry designed to tell them no. The more writers who refuse to wait, forge their own paths, and actively break down barriers for those coming next, the more the industry itself will be forced to change. The future of publishing doesn’t belong to those who control the doors. It belongs to those who decide to walk through them anyway.