Writing is hard. Getting your writing published is harder. Giving up writing is harder still; believe me, I’ve tried.
Many times I have stopped writing. Mostly it was not a conscious effort, but a result of a busy life, or more often, laziness. There have been times, however, when I have had this conversation with myself:
“Why not just stop trying to be a writer and read the hundreds of books on my shelf I long to submerge myself into? There’s so much pleasure waiting there.”
“But I want my books to set on people’s shelves.”
I stare out the window through a blur, then I put my glasses on—oh, that’s better. At least what I’m looking at is sharp and clear, but a true and clear answer to Why I Write remains hazy. I think of all the things I could do with the time I now spend in solitude at my keyboard—like reading or playing a game or going for a walk—and still a real reason eludes me. I know I don’t write to make a lot of money (only a small percentage of writers earn a living wage), or to be famous (like many writers, I am an introvert and shun too much attention), or to impress people (I’m too old to care about that). Still, the Why? pounds in my skull, echoing through a canyon of possibilities, then fades to a whisper buried in my sub-conscious.
There, the question waits, to be revisited later; right now, I am prodded to write about the characters that are pulling me into their world, and their hope I can get them out of the trouble I put them into.
Hope to see you on the next page,
This Week’s Writing Quote:
“Every word born of an inner necessity — writing must never be anything else.” Etty Hillesum, quoted in Ten Fun Things to Do Before You Die by Karol Jackowski