Sometimes it’s hard to get up in the morning or sit at your keyboard at night and write a novel you feel like no one is ever going to see. It’s difficult to work on characters and build worlds you feel no one is ever going to experience. It’s painful to give your all to a piece that will receive no gratitude for years, and the thought of only getting famous after your death is even more so.
You sit in that dark room which used to give you so much pleasure but has become a dungeon at this point, characters swarm your mind, begging you to bring them to life, to put them on the page, to tell their story. But, in the midst of all this you ask yourself, “what about my story?”
Well, the way writing has been traditionally done, the writer’s story doesn’t begin until their either famous or dead, whichever comes first. The writer works and works, produces story after story, creates character after character with pieces of himself he doesn’t get to express in his daily life until someone recognizes the story and puts it in front of the masses.
The writer is invisible, a ghost in society, an agent that observes life and puts a fantastical spin on it while retaining its truth. For some, this is the life they want. The subtle joy of anonymity and solitude and the money to do whatever they wish, two things required for peace in this chaotic world.
For others, it is a life of loneliness and depression. A life filled with anxiety and mental anguish and suffering, a life they wouldn’t wish on their worst enemies, a life they hate living. Their writing used to be their only sustenance but even that has taken precedent over their existence. They feel like whenever they leave the keyboard they are nothing, they are dead inside, that any sign of life needs to go to their characters or their stories. . . however, they leave nothing for themselves and when they die they let others tell their story for them.
We all need space to perform the art to release the creativity within our hearts the reason we do this is the same as the start but, don't forget to live your life while writing in the dark. . .
Alright, that’s my spiel. Til next week. . .