Every now and then, I sit back and reflect on what it means to be a writer in this crazy world we live in. There are so many of us now, especially with the advent of self-publishing technology. And with the arrival of AI, many of us expect to eventually be snowed under entirely.
Every day as an author is an exercise in shouting into the cold, uncaring void, and hoping, every once-and-a-while, to hear a friendly “Hello?” back from the other side.
We writers wrap ourselves up in blankets in our chilly, lonely writer caves and painstakingly extract stories from our writer brains, one line at a time, weaving them like multicolored yarn into tales that we hope will captivate and enlighten our readers. However few they may be.
And we hope against hope that one day things will take off. That we’ll have a launch that is more Ooooh than Eeeew. That our books will catch fire and find a place in the world that will last long after our own bones are ground to dust. Not just fade away with a whimper upon our eventual demise.
I can count on the fingers of one foot the friends I have who have really made it big, and I know a few who manage to make a decent living at this writing thing.
But I know thousands and thousands more who toil away at it like I do, selling a few copies here and there, always working on our craft, and hoping, hoping, hoping.
So why do we do it? Why put ourselves through this frustrating process day after day, if so few people will ever read what we write?
I can only answer for myself.
I do it because I’m happiest when I’m writing on a regular basis. Not necessarily at the moment when I’m actually writing, mind you. That can be like pulling teeth. But this is my skillset, what I was put on this Earth to do, and when I’m doing it regularly I am content.
I also do it for the fans – and although I have fewer than I’d like, they are really devoted to me and my work. When someone writes me to tell me how my story touched them, or recommends me to a friend, or leaves an amazing review for one of my books, suddenly everything is right in the world.
And I do it for the hope that one day something will finally break through, and allow me to leave a semi-permanent mark on the world when I’m gone. An “I was here” sign for the ages.
So I keep writing.
I remind myself that the publishing world is built to crush our souls as writers, and that each day I resist is a victory.
And most importantly, I rekindle the flame of hope when it goes out.
Let me share a little of its light with you.