I've been thinking a fair bit lately about writing. Given that I blog, review, and work on projects that have yet to see the light of day, this isn't exactly a surprise. What I mean to say is that I've been thinking lately about writing and my own future. I'm now in my twenties, and what I do now will help set the stage for where I am and what I am doing in my thirties, forties, and beyond, though I truly hate to think about anything beyond thirty-five at this point. I have been writing in some form or other since I was in 5th grade, and I have always dreamed of someday seeing my work published. Ah, publication, the dream of nearly all writers--we imagine great reviews from Booklist and Kirkus, movie deals with prominent appearances by the author on the red carpet and the interview circuit, millions of book sales and book tours packed with fans who adore our work.
For most writers this dream is just that; it is, in fact, an impossible dream for most published writers as far as that goes. Most people who write at all will never see publication through the traditional channels, and most people who are published will never reach the level of fame and book sales that accompany the likes of J.K. Rowling, James Patterson, and George R.R. Martin. Knowing this makes it all the harder to be willing to put in the months, years, even decades of hard, solitary and generally unappreciated work that writing entails.
I realize that at this point I should stop and say a word about self-publishing, both in print and as an ebook. This is one sure way that a person's work will be published in some form or other. However, while I do not condemn or judge those who choose this route, I realized some years ago it would never be the way for me. I'm generally a shy person, and the joy at the thought of seeing my work in print is tempered by the thought of the self-promotion that would be involved in merely getting a book to sell more than a few dozen copies at best. I also feel that many of the so-called vanity presses are vampiric organizations that prey on the longing of the writer for publication and exploit it for their own financial gain, caring nothing for the writer or the craft.
Regardless, I've been thinking a lot lately about the fact that, labor as I might, it is immensely likely that my writing in the form of short stories or longer works will never see print. And I must admit that the knowledge that I could write for decades to no more acclaim than the polite commendations of close friends is sometimes disheartening. This is, however, a risk we must all accept at the outset if we truly want to practice the craft of writing. Realistically, most of us who write will never be picked up and promoted by one of the major publishing houses. And this is ok. If we are to write and to write well, we have to be doing it for ourselves first of all. Writing shouldn't be solely about afternoon daydreams of New York Times bestseller status, though these dreams can help nourish and encourage us in the tough times. Writing should be about the desire to engage in that most human of pastimes, telling a story and telling it well, composing a story that is enjoyable, a story that we ourselves would want to read, one that may even say something about the human condition.
This is why we write, to express ourselves and our humanity in a meaningful way, in a way that only we can. Our writing contains echoes of all those we've read and loved, those who have come before, but while we may touch on common themes each take is unique. So go and write, tell your story in the best way you can. Practice, read what others write, and practice again. If you do it well, publication may follow, but even if it does not you can still be satisfied with work well done. And if you are content with the quality of your work, then that is a reward in and of itself.
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