Why we do that thing that we do

It crossed my mind over recent weeks that while writers tend to tell us how they write, many don’t confess to why. Most I suspect write because there is a story deep in their guts that needs telling. Something personal, something primordial, or simply because they love to tell stories – just ask any four year old what’s so good about telling stories…

This blog entry is a culmination of many things – perhaps David’s thorough blog entries on the writing craft, perhaps the recent thoughts of a fellow Macmillan New Writer who was tempted to stop writing books; or perhaps my own experience on the writer’s worst enemy: distraction. Because – and this is my opinion only – there has to be a right reason to write.

Reasons

First – and let’s get this over with quick – the wrong reason. I personally think no one should write purely for profit unless they’re writing non-fiction – a platform to sell their ideas. For the fiction writer, writing for profit is the basest raison d’être there is – other than writing for revenge. Writers usually earn fuck-all, so writing as a means to escape poverty or as a means to buy a fancy house is beyond foolish – and will almost always fail.

I love to write.

I love sitting down in a quiet room, the sun shining through the window, dust motes dancing around the laptop as I switch it on and begin thinking about the next 1,000 words. I love immersing myself in worlds, some far off, some close by or many years ago in the past or in the future. I love the imagination – I love daydreaming my stories onto the screen.

It’s the biggest driving force for me. Not the idea of being published, which is nice but not crucial to why I write. I have a day-job and I get by. I’d love to write full-time, but you have to be really lucky to get that far. I don’t write for adulation – which again is nice when it happens. And I don’t write for money, because it’s an empty purse. Publishing, adulation and the quest for profit are a distraction – distractions that have caused decent writers to give up, and terrible writers to keep going because they’re blindly chasing a lost cause.

In print

Publishing is the end result of writing, but chasing it can cripple the desire to write. I’ve said it before, but I gave up writing for publication several years ago due to compounded rejections, as well as a cowboy agent. I came close to being published a few times, but there is no consistency in rejections – it’s all subjective. One agent might love what you’ve written, another hate it. Publishing is finally down to luck – and several years ago I felt I had run out.
So I had a choice: write and seek publication (which would’ve sank me inevitably into depression) or just write for myself. I chose the latter because I love to write. So I stopped submitting to publishers and agents – I stopped buying the Writer’s and Artist’s handbook. And it felt fucking good – a blessed relief actually.

The naysayers (and I know who you are!) will be critical about this – saying that it’s easy to say when you’re published. But my feelings have not changed in the last four years. It felt great to see The Secret War in print, but if the Devil came up from a smoking fissure in the ground and gave me a choice: “only write one book and have it published, or write forever and never see anything in print”, I would always opt for the latter without hesitation.
Wouldn’t you?

If it happens

But I am published. And like I said sometimes it feels great. But other times, there is nothing to feel at all. When you’re published you’re not just a writer, you’re a promoter or you’re a confessor or you’re an apologist or you’re a liar. All things a writer becomes when you write in public. No matter what you write, there will always be someone who likes it perhaps too much, and someone who hates it because of another agenda. Then there’s the adulation, criticism, and other paraphernalia that is great for promoting your book and earning that precious money, but does fuck all for your writing – nor perhaps your state of mind.

I personally have spent too much time worrying about what everyone else thinks about my writing, and worrying whether or not anyone will buy it (especially in the months leading up to publication). Eventually I’ve drawn – reluctantly - this arrogant veil over me if only to keep me focused on what I should be doing: my writing. Adulation is great, but it is fleeting.
Spend it - go poor. Eat it - go hungry. Seek it - and go mad.

So why write at all?

Because you need to. Because there is a story(s) inside that must be written and that you’re the only one who should write it. It can be cathartic, it can be your version of the truth, or to entertain friends and family.
Or it can be purely for yourself… To write something you wanted to experience… That you wanted to read.

The web is littered with bitter writers. Perhaps those who lost what they thought was their dream. Those authors who lost the plot and tried to chase that status which became untenable, or those writers who are constantly asking “what should I write to get published?” And those misguided few who turn around and give advice such as “check out what is doing well at the moment and write something like that.” Because the web is full of charlatans – writers and critics who spend too much time on the internet - who think they know best and that their knowledge is supreme.

I suppose I’m the same, except I’m not telling anyone what they should do, I’m just giving my view from this side of the screen.

If there is one writer I can think of immediately who is enjoying the writing process, it’s Shameless. A blogger who continues with boundless enthusiasm to write and blog, and his output is matched only by his sincerity. That Shameless isn’t published yet is something that sometimes feels like an injustice, but I wonder whether Shameless is driven purely for adulation and the ambition to be published. I suspect not.

Being published is great.

But being a writer is greater.