Over the past several months when I meet people I introduce myself as a writer. I have to admit that I feel a bit presumptuous when I do that. It is not a lie. In fact this blog proves the truth in that statement. But self-publishing on a website that I own and pay for doesn’t quite feel like I deserve to be called an author. What makes matters worse is that I recently met a prolific writer. He has published several books and more articles in national magazines that I can count. I looked at his bibliography and compared it to mine. Not a good idea.
Writing is an odd occupation. Unless you are a best-selling author, there isn’t money to be made. Nor are there benefits like health insurance or a retirement plan. I don’t suppose many children say they want to be an author when they grow up. Despite the mythology that everyone wants to write the great American novel, I suspect that is a stretch at best. So why write?
When I was a senior in high school, my English teacher assigned a project. We were asked to write a short story. My academic pursuits back then were minimal at best. I loved to play football, chase girls and drink beer but studying was not a priority. Yet I attacked this assignment as if it were a meal for a starving person. I am not sure why but I decided to spend the time thinking through what I would write and when I put pencil to paper, I felt like I was doing something important. It was fun. I was invigorated. I didn’t even care if my teacher liked the result. That wasn’t why I wrote. I wrote because it made me come alive.
As it turns out, my teacher loved the short story. So much so that for the rest of the year that is all I did. I sat in the back the room and wrote. I wrote short stories, a couple of plays and several essays. I avoided the hard work of diagramming sentences that my classmates were tasked with completing. That was fine by me but I might have learned a few grammatical rules that would have served me later on. But I was introduced to writing. I loved it.
Now I have the time to return to that love. I have plans to be published. I will submit a few articles to a couple of journals and websites. I still feel as if I have several books imbedded within me. But like my first experience with spending time doing nothing more than simply putting pen to paper (or now pecking out words on my computer), I am not concerned about the result that might come from writing. I just do it because I feel alive and invigorated when I do. I have something to say but that is not as important to me as simply saying it.
So here I sit and write on a Saturday night. I enjoyed meeting someone who has had great success writing. But I wonder if success has more to do with simply doing it and leaving the results to unfold as they may. In the meantime, I will continue to give expression to that which lies deep within me.
Until next time,
DP
Yep…as they say “90% of the battle is showing up!” Maybe just my husband says that. ☺
Yes it is!
I hear you. I have been working on my project for nearly two decades. It has survived divorce, parental caregiving, remarriage, deaths and grieving, new homes, surgery and rehabilitation, children’s graduations, their marriages and relocations, and preparation for and adaptation to retirement. But I have persevered.
I don’t identify as “a writer,” but I write. I think of myself, still, as a teacher, a catalyst, and this time, I happen to be writing.
I collected 5000 pages of original research, didn’t quail when I had to rewrite, omit precious content, or rethink my approach. I always wrote well for my majors in English and history, always wrote well for scientific/academic articles, but I needed new skills for this, and I worked to develop them. I had to learn to organize massive information into a single narrative that is not only faithful to truth but a compelling story. I had to change from a teacher’s purpose of always having her pupils “with” her to a storyteller who offers some information and hides the rest, to maintain the reader’s curiosity.
When so much has gone into a work, when the scholarship is strong and the writing good, I just wish publishers wanted to see it. But no. I need an agent, and there are hoops to jump through for that.
Okay, I said. I’ll learn and do it. First is “platform”–demonstrated expertise and strong social media presence. Okay, I’ll learn to create a website, learn to write a blog, develop an audience of followers… And I’ll learn how to entice an agent with a wowser letter, learn to follow each possible request in formatting a proposal… Done. And IF I get an agent, then publishers are the next to entice, and we’ll have to assure them that we can sell 10,000 copies at a minimum… and have a plan for that.
I’m not sorry to have new skills. I’m grateful to have found others with a passion for the author whose biography I am writing. But I stopped jumping through hoops awhile and turned my attention back to the actual project, reconnected with the original purpose and drive. I’ll finish the “final draft” of the book very soon (she said in hope), and I fully expect to revise and spend time formatting, indexing, managing illustrations and securing proper permissions.
I’ll submit the book again to agents. If there are no takers, I won’t give up too soon, but I won’t stand knocking forever. I’ll head to Ingram Spark for on-demand, self-publishing with an ISBN and my own marketing (which you have to do anyway, whoever publishes your book). I’ll figure out how to get it to the people who will be interested in reading it.
So much more goes into this than one imagines at the start. “Unfold as they may” is exactly right! We who persevere do so with a will and a purpose, not knowing how or where it will lead. I was just curious and found a story so worth sharing that it’s deserved all of this…
Good luck with yours, Darrel. Feeling alive and invigorated is a wonderful thing.
Thanks Patti. I appreciate your reflections.