Writing, I am compelled to do. I love the resultant culmination of the collaboration of words once I am able to exhale and read what it says. I edit as I write, so if I make a mistake I cannot move on until it is corrected to my satisfaction … for now. This must be some form of disease, certainly insanity. Someone said only a fool writes for free. I say once you decide to share it, it becomes incredibly expensive and whether its fame and fortune you seek, or self-satisfaction of sorts, you are as obligated to your craft and the incredible tales it conveys as a mother is to caring for her helpless newborn. Writing is neither emotionally nor monetarily free! They’re both stressful undertakings! So, maybe we’re fools, but we need to write, if that’s our gift. What makes one a fool, then, is thinking the masterpiece will sell on its own little-known merit. You can only get so much from friends and if you’re a recluse who stops short when it’s necessary to sell one’s self, fool probably describes you. I’ll take this one.
Yes, self-publishing is wonderful, and exhilarating. You get to show off your story-telling ability to take a moment of truth, and with much imagination weave in possibilities, lies, desires, wishes, hopes and more savory lies. Perhaps, thereby you get to enjoy the spoils of fame enough to avoid or regret impending infamy. You need more than the talent, you need a few more friends, and if you know your story is good, you have to keep on writing even after you find the strength to accept you can’t afford to do much else. It is also very sad in ways.
Cyril Connolly, a Journalist wrote – “Better to write for yourself and have no public than to write for the public and have no self.” Cheers to you, Sir!
I’m not speaking from a platform of financial success, I’m talking about the reality and how difficult it is to attain. Yet, to write for self is what a writer does. That of itself is success. Sharing it is seeking approval and this is where the roots of success or failure begins. You never know how far they will go. My public consists of a few faithful acquaintances and even fewer strangers who took a chance on me and were glad. I feel obligated to them and I’ll always want to share my latest stew with them whether it is successful to the world or not.
And despite all that, my talent is bigger than money; more lasting than fame from success or failure! So, too, is yours.
Edna,
