Am I Enough?
Tuesday, January 29, 2019
I’m a writer.
I write every day, even if it’s just a couple of sentences, squeezed in between other, more pressing tasks (that is, the kind of tasks that pay the bills and allow me to buy groceries and food for my dog, Rosco).
To date, I have written 21 books (and managed to have 8 of them traditionally published).
I write this blog every week, without fail, even if it means posting on Christmas or my birthday (there ARE no vacations for “real” writers, in my humble opinion).
In other words, I work my butt off to produce vast quantities of the best writing I can come up with.
And absolutely nobody reads it.
Now, I’m not whining (well, maybe a little). I’m just taking stock, stepping back, doing my best to rationally analyze my life and my work. And, maybe, I’m wondering why the hell I do it.
Is the point of writing to have that writing read?
Or is the point simply to get your ideas down, into a form that CAN be read by others, whether anybody cares to read it or not?
There are writer-philosophers on both sides of the debate:
There are those who say that writing is a business and only “matters” if you’re making money from it (I assure you, I am NOT making money—at all).
And there are those who take a purist stance and say that writing is something done for its own sake, regardless of whether anyone reads it or not.
I admit, I probably fall more into the purist category than that of the businesspeople. But still, sometimes I can’t help but get a little sick of just writing for myself.
Don’t get me wrong: Unlike a lot of women I know, I have very good self-esteem and I consider myself an excellent audience. But I’m an audience of one, and sometimes that can get a little lonely.
But even if I wish for more—if I wish my books were on the bestseller lists and flying off the shelves (hell, if they even MADE it onto most stores’ bookshelves, I’d be happy!)—I still know the truth about myself:
Even if I’m the only audience I’ll ever get, if I really am the only person who will ever read and appreciate the words I spew on the page every day, I’m going to keep doing it. I’ll keep writing, no matter what.
Because I’m a writer.
And yes, I’m enough.