It only makes sense to seek advice from those who’ve achieved success. Rather than reinvent the wheel, why not just imitate the inventors? Or at least listen to what they’ve got to say about the subject.

I’ve been the grateful recipient of a lot of advice over the more than 40 years I’ve toiled as a newspaper journalist and, more recently, a novelist.

I once worked for a sports editor who set an indelible example for work-life balance. His advice: Come in early, bust your butt to finish the job and then get the hell out of Dodge.

I’ve been equally fortunate to receive excellent advice from some talented mystery writers, among them Kevin Wolf and Mark Stevens. I’d do well to follow their examples in telling compelling tales set in Colorado.

It’s probably true of people involved in most vocations. But writers seem an especially generous lot in sharing their time and talents, not to mention their encouragement.

A friend who pens both long novels and short stories — I’m writing about you, now, Mike Caulfield — recently shared a link to a post on the Literary Hub website. The post collected some of the best advice Ray Bradbury offered about writing.

Bradbury is perhaps best known as the author of “Fahrenheit 451,” “The Martian Chronicles” and his collection of short stories in “The Illustrated Man.” One of my favorite books, though, is “Something Wicked This Way Comes,” his haunting fantasy about what happens when a traveling carnival shows up in a Midwestern town.

I admired two related bits of Bradbury advice mentioned in the post:

“Don’t write for money. Write because you love to do something. If you write for money, you won’t write anything worth reading.”

“Writing is not a serious business. It’s a joy and a celebration. You should be having fun at it. … If it’s work, stop it and do something else.”

It might seem counterintuitive for someone who’s spent most of his life more or less writing for money to agree with his advice not to. Or, for that matter, that writing isn’t a serious business.

So let me add what I consider some important caveats to Bradbury’s advice.

Don’t write JUST for money. While I’ve been blessed to make a living writing, it’s never been about the money. It’s always been about the stories I’m privileged to tell.

While writing is indeed serious business that demands hard work, it ALSO should be fun. And it is. I can think of few things more fun than using a word that’s just right, brandishing a well-turned phrase or completing a scene I can’t wait to share with readers.

As is so often the case, good advice applies more broadly than initially intended.

The business of business, for example, is to make money. It’s an existential objective. Operating a business requires hard work and plenty of it. But it also should be a labor of love, one that’s fun.

It’s been my experience writing news stories as well as fiction that those who enjoy their work are more likely to enjoy success.

At least that’s my advice.

I’ve long wondered what makes geniuses so … ingenious. 

How could DaVinci envision his remarkable inventions? What enabled Mozart to compose such magnificent music? Where did Einstein draw his inspiration to develop his theories on relativity?

For that matter, how, oh how, did Bill Watterson cram so much creativity, humor and insight into a comic strip about a hyperactive kid and his toy tiger?

Perhaps the more important question for the rest of us poor schmoes is this: Is there anything we can learn from geniuses to apply to our lives? If we can’t be geniuses, can we at least achieve to some degree their levels of prowess? 

If nothing else, I’d like to write a well-turned phrase once in a while.

Craig Wright explores this topic in his book titled “The Hidden Habits of Genius: Beyond Talent, IQ, and Grit—Unlocking the Secrets of Greatness.” A music professor at Yale University, Wright also taught a popular course there on the nature of genius.

So what makes geniuses geniuses? As Wright repeats in his book, there is no answer.

For starters, there’s disagreement over what constitutes a genius. Talent and intelligence are involved, but there’s more to it than that. Wright quotes the German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer: “A person of talent hits a target that no one else can hit; a person of genius hits a target that no one else can see.”

Wright offers his own definition of genius as someone of extraordinary mental powers whose original works or insights significantly change society over time.

As unique as they are, geniuses share some commonalities — what Wright considers their hidden habits. Their work ethic, curiosity and passion. But also their faults as not-so-great human beings.

I was especially interested in what Wright had to write about authors — among them Mary Shelley, Toni Morrison and J.K. Rowling.

Wright cites their imagination. Think of the creature Shelley brings to life in “Frankenstein” or wizarding world Rowling builds for her Harry Potter series.

Then there’s grit. When she was a single mother raising two sons in a small rented home in Queens, Morrison got up early and stayed up late to write. 

And then there’s resolve borne of adversity. Rowling believed if she had enjoyed even a modicum of success in another endeavor, she never would have developed the determination to succeed as a writer. Her rock bottom became the solid foundation upon which she built a career as one of the best-selling authors of all time.

I’m no genius. I don’t even play one on TV. But I’d like to believe I’m smart enough to learn from the efforts of others, to take to heart the importance of imagination, grit and determination.

I’m even hopeful that some day perhaps my efforts will prove … ingenious.