Thank you for putting this unarmed truth out there. I’ve been struggling lately because I’ve been wondering if my writing matters, is there an impact? I don’t care if the only impact is pure entertainment, it doesn’t have to be profound. It’s the whole marketing thing that is so discouraging. I can take the difficulty of writing, re-writing, editing, criticism, heck I tell everyone who reads/edits my work to “edit without mercy!” Because I want the best story and have had to “kill my darlings” a number of times. But then when it’s done, final, finito! I get that wonderful moment of joy followed by the long hours of the dread of book marketing 🤮.
I’m an extrovert, so I love readings, Q&A, I’ve done 20+ podcasts and I can even, now after a lot of practice, stand the sound of my own voice and see myself on video without cringing. But then I make the content and it stays on my phone because the thought of social media and self promotion makes me 🤢.
And the worst part is it’s taking the joy out of writing because I know at the end of the difficult but satisfying journey of FINISHING a work, I have to promote it. I know I’m a good storyteller and I have interesting and complicated characters, but maybe it’s my ego that I want others to enjoy it too. I don’t need to hear how wonderful I am but I do want to know my readers enjoy playing in the world I created. Maybe my success in business has somehow compromised my expectations in writing. In business I know my formula for success. There is a 1+1=2, for me. But in writing? It is so subjective. So random. So chaotic. It’s like we have to pray to Fortuna 🙏🏼. But writers cannot be manufactured, and you cannot really even buy your way in, as my best friend said, “writers must be discovered.” So as I sit in obscurity asking the same question “why is no one listening to me?” Perhaps this is the Universe’s way of asking me, “How badly do you want this writing thing?” And just like everything else I’ve done in life, I guess I have to throw myself 100% at it with relentless pursuit and focus on the process rather than the outcome. It’s very frustrating. 🤦🏻♂️ Can anyone else relate?
I started reading this, thinking it was going to be an article on the trap that is Vanity Publishing. It's not, and I'm okay with that. Is it vanity that makes us write, though? I wish I had an answer for that. With me, it's more like a compulsion. I enjoy it, and have all my life. I remember in Grade 8 the teacher offered us a choice of writing an essay about some history thing -- can't remember what -- or wiring a fiction story about the same thing. I took the fiction. It was about fifteen pages long. I never stopped after that. That's probably where the writing bug bit me. Before that, I had aspirations of being an animator and working for Disney Studios. Things never work out the way you think they will.
So now I write. And I write a lot. I write for myself, first and foremost. I'm not so much an extrovert, but I force myself to do things that take me out of my comfort zone. I read my stuff on line now, and that's as uncomfortable as you can get for not being an extrovert. But I put my work out there for the world to see, don't I? There's no way to explain it. I'm not introverted when it comes to that. If someone were to ask me why I put it out there, I wouldn't be able to answer. I've been writing for as long as I can remember now. Fifty years at least. How many hours is that, I sometimes wonder? I never used to send my stuff out in the beginning. I wasn't good enough, I told myself. And I wasn't. But I never quit. And now, being here, I know I'm good enough. I don't compare myself to others because we're all different. I have a hard time following the required guidelines. 3,000 words for a story is way too short for me. I just can't do it, because I don't want to do it.
My one foray into Vanity Publishing was when I was 19'ish. I wrote a "poetic novel." I was just showing it to the tiler here, fixing the bathroom. It's 214 pages long. He looked and said: "Poetry?" I shook my head and said: "One poem." It was that look he gave me that made think it was all worth it. A look I hadn't seen since I was that kid in the neighbourhood pub trying to sell my 100 free copies for $5 a pop. It's that "look" that makes me go on. It's that dopamine high everyone talks about. I wrote a book, have one copy of it for myself, and now I write with the idea that people "want" to read my stuff. It's all I need to keep me going. It's enough to tell me that, as my numbers grow, people still want to read me. I may not be everyone's cup of tea; I might not be on the top of everyone's TBR list, but the ones' that do follow me and subscribe to me, "want" to subscribe and follow me, and THAT'S what makes it all worthwhile to me.
Thank you for putting this unarmed truth out there. I’ve been struggling lately because I’ve been wondering if my writing matters, is there an impact? I don’t care if the only impact is pure entertainment, it doesn’t have to be profound. It’s the whole marketing thing that is so discouraging. I can take the difficulty of writing, re-writing, editing, criticism, heck I tell everyone who reads/edits my work to “edit without mercy!” Because I want the best story and have had to “kill my darlings” a number of times. But then when it’s done, final, finito! I get that wonderful moment of joy followed by the long hours of the dread of book marketing 🤮.
I’m an extrovert, so I love readings, Q&A, I’ve done 20+ podcasts and I can even, now after a lot of practice, stand the sound of my own voice and see myself on video without cringing. But then I make the content and it stays on my phone because the thought of social media and self promotion makes me 🤢.
And the worst part is it’s taking the joy out of writing because I know at the end of the difficult but satisfying journey of FINISHING a work, I have to promote it. I know I’m a good storyteller and I have interesting and complicated characters, but maybe it’s my ego that I want others to enjoy it too. I don’t need to hear how wonderful I am but I do want to know my readers enjoy playing in the world I created. Maybe my success in business has somehow compromised my expectations in writing. In business I know my formula for success. There is a 1+1=2, for me. But in writing? It is so subjective. So random. So chaotic. It’s like we have to pray to Fortuna 🙏🏼. But writers cannot be manufactured, and you cannot really even buy your way in, as my best friend said, “writers must be discovered.” So as I sit in obscurity asking the same question “why is no one listening to me?” Perhaps this is the Universe’s way of asking me, “How badly do you want this writing thing?” And just like everything else I’ve done in life, I guess I have to throw myself 100% at it with relentless pursuit and focus on the process rather than the outcome. It’s very frustrating. 🤦🏻♂️ Can anyone else relate?
Absolutely, Chris! Is it because we so believe in the text itself that we feel it shouldn’t need to be product of the hard sell?
Yes. It’s breaking through all the noise, honestly I’d rather get punched in the face than do book marketing. It will hurt less. 😂
I started reading this, thinking it was going to be an article on the trap that is Vanity Publishing. It's not, and I'm okay with that. Is it vanity that makes us write, though? I wish I had an answer for that. With me, it's more like a compulsion. I enjoy it, and have all my life. I remember in Grade 8 the teacher offered us a choice of writing an essay about some history thing -- can't remember what -- or wiring a fiction story about the same thing. I took the fiction. It was about fifteen pages long. I never stopped after that. That's probably where the writing bug bit me. Before that, I had aspirations of being an animator and working for Disney Studios. Things never work out the way you think they will.
So now I write. And I write a lot. I write for myself, first and foremost. I'm not so much an extrovert, but I force myself to do things that take me out of my comfort zone. I read my stuff on line now, and that's as uncomfortable as you can get for not being an extrovert. But I put my work out there for the world to see, don't I? There's no way to explain it. I'm not introverted when it comes to that. If someone were to ask me why I put it out there, I wouldn't be able to answer. I've been writing for as long as I can remember now. Fifty years at least. How many hours is that, I sometimes wonder? I never used to send my stuff out in the beginning. I wasn't good enough, I told myself. And I wasn't. But I never quit. And now, being here, I know I'm good enough. I don't compare myself to others because we're all different. I have a hard time following the required guidelines. 3,000 words for a story is way too short for me. I just can't do it, because I don't want to do it.
My one foray into Vanity Publishing was when I was 19'ish. I wrote a "poetic novel." I was just showing it to the tiler here, fixing the bathroom. It's 214 pages long. He looked and said: "Poetry?" I shook my head and said: "One poem." It was that look he gave me that made think it was all worth it. A look I hadn't seen since I was that kid in the neighbourhood pub trying to sell my 100 free copies for $5 a pop. It's that "look" that makes me go on. It's that dopamine high everyone talks about. I wrote a book, have one copy of it for myself, and now I write with the idea that people "want" to read my stuff. It's all I need to keep me going. It's enough to tell me that, as my numbers grow, people still want to read me. I may not be everyone's cup of tea; I might not be on the top of everyone's TBR list, but the ones' that do follow me and subscribe to me, "want" to subscribe and follow me, and THAT'S what makes it all worthwhile to me.
I’m glad my musings prompted your own on the topic! I look forward to checking out your work.