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Recently I worked with an author on a first-chapters critique of the opening 50 pages of her manuscript. After our consultation she indicated she’d like to talk about doing a full developmental edit on the manuscript down the road, after she’d incorporated revisions based on our discussion.
But first she wanted to know if I thought it was worth it for her to keep working on the story.
Questions like this always bring me up short. My first reaction is always a lance of empathy, because I understand the subtext of the question: that the author feels uncertain of their work’s worth—or their own as a writer. That’s a painful place to be, and any creative knows that too-familiar feeling of self-doubt.
I always respond in a similar way: that I can’t tell an author whether their story is worth continuing, whether their writing is worth pursuing. No one can. For two reasons that might seem contradictory: first, because your work’s value and worth is inherent, intrinsic to its existence.
And second, because “worth it” is entirely subjective.
Who Defines Your Writing’s Worth?
If we’re intending to share our work professionally—meaning to publish it in the marketplace and charge people money to read it, usually with the intention of creating income or our living from it—then that market determines our work’s monetary value. If you’re traditionally or small-press publishing, that means what a publisher will pay for it, and whether readers will buy it. If you’re indie-pubbing, it’s whether and how much readers will pay to read your books.
You can decide on your work’s value all you like, but if the market will not pay that amount for it—or there is no market—then you are not going to make what you think it’s financially worth. Subjective and varying external factors will assign a value to your writing that may or may not have anything to do with its quality or any other attribute.
I read this line in a recent article about the vanishing midlist author that summed up the sobering economic realities of our business: “The Penguin Random House antitrust trial revealed that only 35% of its books are profitable, with just 4% accounting for the majority of profits, highlighting the industry’s reliance on a few high-performing titles.”
If major publishing houses can’t turn a profit from two-thirds of their products—a crazy business model in most fields—with all their fleets of experts trained to evaluate its literary merit and the market for it, then how can authors expect their own odds of making a profit from their work to be any better?
If a tiny slice of even those profitable properties is keeping these businesses afloat, then what percentage of authors do you think are actually making a livable wage from their writing? The most recent Authors’ Guild survey of author incomes suggests that’s similarly minuscule.
These are the hard, shitty facts about our industry, friends: Most of those of us who pursue this creative career are unlikely to make a living from it, and most may not even show a profit.
(There are freeing and even positive upsides to this harsh reality that I talk about at length in my book The Intuitive Author, and touch on in this post, but the bottom line remains a painful truth writers must accept if they are to create a satisfying, sustainable, and even joyful writing career…which I promise you is nonetheless possible, and entirely within your control.)
So in that sense—strictly financially speaking—the worth of your writing is largely out of your hands.
But there’s an economic side to this author’s question that is within her purview. Whether it’s personally worth it to her to spend money on this story—or anything in her writing career (and you are building a writing career whether you make a dime of profit from it or not, according to Webster’s definition of the term)—depends on the value she assigns her creative work and the pursuit of it.
These are real considerations, considering that for most of us money very much is an object, and we must operate within our means if we’re to pay our bills and enjoy any measure of financial stability.
Financially worth it for an author is a valid question—what should you spend on your writing and writing career?—and in a time of unprecedented businesses and services building up around the author as customer rather than as product creator (including my own), it’s one every writer should—must—carefully consider.
Read more: “Caveat Scriptor: When Creators Becomes the Customers”
Read more: “How Do You Value Your Creative Work?”
But I don’t think that’s what this author was asking—or what most authors who field some version of this question are wondering. I think she was talking about pursuing this story in general: Is it worth the time and effort and energy she’s put into it? Is it worth continuing to do so to get it where she wants it to be? Does she have the chops to get the story to a professionally competitive level, and is it worth doing that work and making the investment of further time, energy, and money?
How Do You Determine Your Work’s Worth to You?
This is where things get even more subjective and squishy. Working on a story you’ve been revising and reworking for years, or one that feels like a passion project or that you’re certain is your “breakout book,” or chasing a deadline with your publisher may seem like the most urgent and important thing in your world, worth the many sacrifices it may require of your time, resources, attention, and personal life…until, say, you get a call that a loved one has been injured, and then nothing on Earth matters except that. Worth is also subjective in that it’s relative, and we assign it.
But this hits on an even truer truism about what our work is worth—what any pursuit we spend our finite lifespan doing is worth: Value is not defined by the outcome or endpoint of a pursuit, but by the pursuit itself.
You can’t think about something’s worth based on what it will yield ultimately, potentially, if all the stars align. Its value is created day after day as you pursue it.
You can’t think about something’s worth based on what it will yield ultimately, potentially, if all the stars align. Its value is created day after day as you pursue it: what it yields in the present, the only time you can possibly live in, the only reality over which you can exert any measure of control or self-determination.
When we ask ourselves if something is worth it we are considering its outcome, over which we have very little control, in a future over which we have none. Will we get some payoff or reward one day down the road out of whatever pursuing this thing costs us in money or time or energy or other resources that will make us feel as if our investment was wisely spent?
But much of our lives is not transactional in this way. You cannot know what the future holds, no matter how carefully you plan for and aim toward the one of your choosing. So placing any pursuit’s worth on factors you cannot control in an indeterminate and often random future you can’t possibly predict means essentially that you are putting the value of it on hold in the only time you do have agency over—right now—and gambling that the risks of dedicating your full, wholehearted self to it will be worthwhile only if things wind up in that narrow sliver of potentialities you deem will give it value.
You’re mortgaging all the manifold pleasures richly available to you in your day-to-day life for an uncertain and unknowable destination.
Is it worth it to run a marathon if you don’t win? The other 99 percent of people who routinely train and run in one every year knowing that first place will almost certainly go to someone else—in fact that they are unlikely to make the top three, the top ten, even the top fifty in major marathons—would likely argue that it is.
What about the Little League or high school ball player who never plays professionally? Were the many formative and no doubt deeply enjoyable years on the field a waste? The lessons learned from those experiences, the connections made, the ways in which it shaped them and their lives—are those experiences meaningless if they aren’t a draft pick for the NFL?
Is it worth it to give your heart to someone when they might break it, or it might not work out, or knowing that even if it does, one day one of you is inevitably going to lose the other to death? Is it worth it to love a pet when you know that one day you are likely to have to see them go? Is having children worth it when they may suffer or struggle or disappoint or, god forbid, predecease you—would those outcomes make you wish you’d never had the lifetime of deeply defining moments as a parent that made up such a significant portion of your existence?
“Worth it” isn’t about the destination—it’s about the daily grind: every experience and feeling and challenge and lesson you have as you pursue whatever it is that makes your present meaningful and enjoyable.
Something’s worth is determined day after day as you engage in it. Did it enhance your life today? Did you challenge yourself, learn something, grow in some way, stretch your abilities? Did you spend happy moments or minutes or hours dedicated to something that offered you creative fulfillment or enjoyment or fun? Are you proud of what you’ve written, or even simply that you have written? Did doing so give you insight into the world, other people, yourself? If so, and if you value those things, then you can answer your own question.
You must answer that question for yourself, in fact.
Whether something is worth your time and effort and energy and even financial investment depends on how you define “worth it.” If there is some clear payoff or end goal without which having done that thing will have no meaning or value to you, then maybe it isn’t.
But if that’s the case with your creative career—if the only outcome that will give it value to you is that you sell your manuscript to a Big Five publisher, for instance, as I recently saw one author post on social media, or make big bucks from your writing, or become a household name as an author—then know that you are gambling your entire career and happiness and daily existence on the thinnest of possibilities over which you effectively have zero control.
None.
You can do everything “right” in your craft and career (oh, but darlings, there is no such thing because this, too, is subjective), have every advantage, create and leap on every opportunity…and still your book may fail to sell, fail to “break out,” fail to profit, fail to earn you a living or the notoriety you may crave.
And in that case…will you one day discover that you “wasted” your life?
Read more: “Don’t Suffer for Your Art”
The Answer to the Question of Worth
Here is some of what I told the author who most recently asked me about her work’s worth:
That I know few writers or creatives–at any level of their career–who don’t regularly vie with bouts of that feeling. That what she is wrestling with is normal, part of the process of writing and storytelling.
That “good enough” is a moving target, and so subjective. Good enough for what, and who is the arbiter of that?
That every writer on earth, with every word they write, every single story, is constantly learning and expanding their mastery of how to get to the heart of their vision and intentions to create a cohesive story and then put that on the page effectively. They are constantly honing their knowledge and skill in storytelling and story craft.
That, if she dedicated herself to it, I had no doubt that she could make her story deeply effective and engaging—and that it may take a lot of time and work to do that. Story is hard—a complex symphony where the author must play every single instrument in the orchestra, plus compose the music, plus conduct it all—and each one takes what it takes.
So the question of our work’s worth is really how much of our finite, limited resources we want to dedicate to our writing, knowing that we cannot predict the outcome of doing so.
We can only decide the value to our lives right now of doing it.
Authors, have you wrestled with the question of whether your writing is “worth it”? In what way—and how did you—or do you—determine its value in your life? Do you find yourself defining the value of your art by your goals for it—external milestones or achievements that may be outside your (or anyone’s) control? How do you—or can you—recast that perspective to let yourself more deeply and fully reap the many rewards of our creative careers starting right this moment?
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36 Comments. Leave new
It is posts like these that remind me why I love your newsletter (and you!). So often in this world we are comparing ourselves to others and judging our value and the value of our work not by what they mean to us but how much money someone will pay for them.
The other day I had one of those magical moments in writing where I felt like I’d actually said what I wanted to say just as I wanted to say it. I was in the “zone” so to speak. When I spoke to my husband about my writing session later, I said that’s why I write. For those private moments where I feel like me and the words are one. That is really the only worth there is to me.
Ohhh, those are the best writing days, aren’t they? So satisfying and enjoyable and creative–and yes, I think you’re right: They remind us why we do this. Thanks for sharing, friend–and for your lovely comment.
Thanks as always , Tiffany. I’m sure most of us struggle
With the “value” of our writing, but for me, I cannot not to it. I must write either way. 💜
That’s the bottom line, isn’t it? Remembering that core drive for writing often helps me stay motivated even when the process or the market can feel discouraging. THanks for sharing, Patty.
Oh Tiffany. So much wisdom here. I was the writer you talked about above – my writing wouldn’t be ‘good enough’ until I was NY published. But I discovered after I achieved that, that ‘good enough’ was a slippery sucker – like ‘success,’ the definition shifts as you move ahead. Then ‘good enough’ became when I was a ‘best-seller’, which I have yet to achieve.
I think this is why SO many writers quit. I went through the stages of grief, to finally realize after considering what quitting would look like…that I can determine what ‘good enough’ is. Epiphany! It is in MY control!
I’m having SO much more fun after learning that.
But I fear that this is something you have to learn the hard way – by going through it all. I wish it weren’t, for all the struggling writers out there.
I was that writer too once upon a time! But I think you’re so right that the goalposts shift. I remember when I was attempting my first full-length manuscript thinking, “If I can only write an actual entire novel-length story, that’s all the reward I want.” And then it was revising it and getting published, and then being a bestseller, etc. When I finally sat and thought about what I actually wanted in the sense of what I love most to do, writing-wise, it wasn’t fiction writing at all, but writing about writing–nonfiction writing for authors. I know I’m on the right track with this because the end goals are much less important to me than the day-to-day doing of the thing.
And yes, “good enough” puts the definition of our success and self-worth in other people’s hands. I think that’s a gateway to focusing on product, not process, and to dooming yourself to a life of always scrambling to hit someone else’s marks. Ain’t none of us got time for that nonsense. 🙂
I literally have a note on my desk reminding me to “find the fun.” It’s the heart of everything I do. But I came to that after a lot of detours–I agree that we probably all have to walk that path for ourselves. Thanks for sharing your thoughts, Laura. As accomplished as you are I think it’s helpful for other authors to see these feelings aren’t exclusive to pre-published authors.
This essay should go viral. It’s one of the best!
Thanks, Anmarie! I’m happy it hit the right chord for you.
This article is full of amazing insight and wisdom. It doesn’t just apply to writing. I’m an indie author, but I also teach music, and none of my pupils is going to win the Leeds Piano Competition, nor are they ever likely to perform in the Royal Albert Hall. But they get so much pleasure and enjoyment from their music, and it is, as you so rightly say, the day-to-day experience which is “worth it” to my students. I’ve only just begun publishing my work, as I began a year ago. I have questioned many times if it’s “worth it”, and every time this happens I decide that if I don’t think it’s worth it, why should anyone else? So I continue…
I love that parallel, Rory. I think these ideas apply to so many things we may do for enjoyment–I play pickleball and paint, but have no intention of becoming a pro or master in either area. It just relaxes and entertains me. It’s fun. I think so many folks who love music or play an instrument feel the same way–it’s a wonderful challenge, a delightful pursuit. That’s not to say we shouldn’t try to make a career from our art, if that’s what we want to do–just that I think it’s a recipe for unhappiness if succeeding at that is the only metric that makes the pursuit worthwhile.
And boy, does it hit a chord that if we don’t believe in our own work, who else can? Even if it’s not where we want it yet, I think we have to know its inherent worth and value. To my mind, every story is worth working on if it’s worth doing to you, matters to you. And as I like to say, in better than 30 years working as an editor, I’ve yet to see a manuscript that didn’t have worthwhile elements we could build on. That’s the process.
Thanks for your kind comment.
Thank you for a wonderful post and for citing the definition of career. That was an eye opener.
For the actual writing itself, I never ask if it’s worth it. I know it’s a part of me, a part of my existence. I can’t stop, won’t stop that part.
On the publishing aspect, which is not writing but business, I am on the fence deciding if trying for trad pub is worth it. I went self-pub wide ebook and print for my first two novels. That was hard but so fulfilling learning what it takes and having full creative control. It was so worth it. Now with my third novel I wonder if trying to get an agent and trad pub path will be worth the energy and time. I hear such horror stories of waiting years for only rejection. I will probably give it a try, mainly to see what I can learn.
Thanks, Ada–I love that definition too, and I cite it a lot. I think we erroneously define it as what supports us, earns us our living, but it’s not.
Love that you don’t doubt your writing’s inherent worth. That was a journey I had to travel. And yes, publishing is a business, and writing is a creative art. They can overlap but aren’t the same.
I’ve been Big Five published, small press, and indie pubbed, and while each had its pros and cons, at this point–especially focusing on my nonfiction writing for authors–I doubt I’ll ever do anything but indie pub again. It can be harder, as you say, but for me the perks far outweigh that aspect; it perfectly fits my personal goals and preferences for my craft writing. You’re wise to be open to options and see what you can learn, but it sounds like you also know what works for you–and that’s a big part of the battle. Thanks for sharing, Ada.
Thank you, Tiffany, I needed this.
That makes me happy to hear, Pat. Thanks for saying so.
This hits at the heart of the human experience and the why behind content creation. Thank you!
That’s a wonderful comment to read, D.E.–thanks!
The value of my writing, for me, is in the joy of creation, and then the sharing of what I’ve created. Just like crocheting a scarf or baking a cake– wholly unnecessary activities that take raw materials and make a thing to be enjoyed– taking words and making a story is magical fun.
But the real joy comes when I gift the scarf to a friend, or wear it and get asked about it, or demand of my crafty neighbor why my stitches are coming out wonky and get an impromptu tutorial. The cake is tasty eaten solo in my kitchen, but even better brought to a birthday party. And writing in my garret is good, but I immediately want to swap my words with my critique partners or send them to my friends to make them laugh, or ask an editor why I’m not achieving the effect that I want yet and how to get there. And eventually, I’d like my stories to make their way to lots of readers, to add something to their lives, and (dream of dreams!) to connect with them over.
Creation, continual learning and connection- that’s what I’m after. None of that is primarily about market value, although money certainly comes into play, in both directions. That’s just life. But my experience of those three factors is how I measure whether my writing is “worth it”.
Heather, this resonates with me so much! The creation and the sharing–that’s the crux of it for me too. Most weeks after writing this blog I can’t WAIT for it to run on Thursday–it makes me no money and doesn’t really do anything material for my business. But it’s one of the most enjoyable things I do: mulling over things I’ve been thinking about, putting my thoughts down in the clearest way I can, putting it out into the world, and hearing the thoughts of others who read it is just a pleasure for me almost every time. I love your parallels to pursuits like cooking or knitting: I get such delight from baking cookies, but the real fun is sharing them. (I always joke with my husband, “Cookies make people happy!”) I agree that doing these things in a vacuum isn’t as satisfying for me–it’s as if sharing them completes the circuit. Letting our creative efforts connect us with others–and yes, continuing to hone our work, with feedback; that’s a big part of the pleasure of it for me too (why I love editing so much!).
Thanks for sharing your wise perspective. It sounds like you have a firm handle on what makes your own art worthwhile.
This was an extraordinary post. Thank you so much.
“Worth it” is a slippery toad of a thing, that’s for certain. Are my hikes worth it? I’d say yes, no matter the outcome, whether I’m blessed with astounding beauty or whether I do something stupid and twist an ankle.
It’s about the human experience, it’s about quality of life, which has less to do with money than most people believe.
Is toiling away in a job you despise for forty years worth the money accumulated? Quite a few people would say, yes. I was one of those who said, no.
What’s one of my books worth if it generates a few dollars? What’s it worth if I sell it for less and it changes a reader’s life in some way?
I cannot, and will not, assign a single value to my writing. In the most simple terms, I write for me and edit for the reader, but even that isn’t entirely true. If someone reads the story and values it, then I also drafted it for them. There’s also value to me in editing in that I’ve seen a project through, that I’ve done the best I could. There’s satisfaction in that, but there’s also gratitude. I’ve gifted to myself pride in my accomplishment, a sense of fulfillment.
That’s priceless, and yet it’s free. It’s also at the heart of any artistic endeavor, at least for me. Is creation worth it, even if it doesn’t swell your bank account? Sitting on a mountaintop, I’d say, yes.
It IS a slippery toad (no offense to toads, among my favorite beasties, and much maligned as slimy…they are delightfully dry and warty, which I know because I can never resist picking one up and letting its squishy cold belly rest in my palm. Toads–and frogs, their slipperier cousins–DELIGHT me).
It’s striking to me how many comments here–yours included–posit that the worth of our creative efforts lies not just in the doing, but the sharing of them. I agree so wholeheartedly with that. I love the creative work I do–but connecting with others over it adds even more resonance. I’m also struck by how many of us include learning and honing our skills and abilities as part of the inherent rewards. I’m trying to better my (very beginner) pickleball game now–not because I intend to turn pro or even do anything more than what I’m doing: playing with friends. Just for the pleasure of getting better at something I enjoy.
Priceless and free, as you say (I mean, except for lessons and court rentals! 🙂 ). The older I get, the more I share your view that the most worthwhile things are. Thanks, as always, for sharing your thoughts, Christine.
Great post, Tiffany! It aligns so well with Maslow’s hierarchy of needs – where the top of the pyramid is self actualization – the desire (and ability) to become the most one can be – and you can only reach that stage by successfully navigating the more basic needs forming the foundation of that pyramid.
For many of us, that meant addressing the lower level needs through safer career choices in our working lives than rolling the dice on making a living by writing. Only now in retirement do I have the time, focus, and ability to direct my resources towards writing – and based on the age groups I perceive in many webinars and summits, I’m not alone in that category. Now the challenge is to balance that learning process with the ‘doing’ of writing – there’s so much out there online these days regarding writing that it can take an effort not to chase the siren call of ‘just one more writing webinar!’ at the expense of actually doing the writing! Again, thanks for this post and for so many others (plus your courses )….
I love this observation, Phyllis. You sound like a practical soul, like me. Even when I was an actor (in my baby career days), I knew I wasn’t the “starving artist” type; I wanted security and a certain basic lifestyle, and I knew acting was unlikely to offer that to me, at least not for a long while. So I had jobs that allowed me to pursue my creative passion–the top of my pyramid at the time–while offering me those lower-level needs.
You’re also right about learning versus doing. Honestly the very best way to learn IS by doing–over and over and over (and redoing…over and over and over… 🙂 ). And by analyzing for yourself–over and over and over–what makes other authors’ stories work, or not. All that is the core of mastering this craft…it’s just not sexy, and you can’t monetize it. And it lacks that sexy shine of promise that if you only follow these instructions, know this secret, use this formula, you will succeed. There can be a lot of value in good teaching, and I think it’s a healthy part of improving our craft. But the heart of it is just doing the work for yourself and learning from your failures so you learn how to succeed.
Thanks for sharing this!
Maybe the best way to answer the question is to stop writing for an extended period of time. See how you feel.
I always scribbled in private but about ten years ago I went at it with more focussed determination.
I took courses, joined a writers group and wrote two novels. I received an enormous amount of encouragement from instructors and fellow writers, so many saying that I should be and would be published. I would be disingenuous if I didn’t admit that their words made me high.
My novels got a couple of nibbles that ultimately ended with passes. I was told to keep going. I was told the stories of bathrooms wallpapered with rejection letters.
Strangely, I was relieved by the rejections and did not query any but the two agents I approached. People wonder why, assuming my ego too fragile.
This may be so, but I have a good friend who is a much published author of fiction. His life on the road, as required whenever a book comes out, is spent in grim motels after days and evenings giving readings to a sea of mostly empty folding chairs.
Making a wrong step on social media can be devastating to his career. Not posting almost constantly can also hurt his career.
Trying not to be paranoid when his editors don’t call him back is a challenge. Hardly the dream.
It’s been over a year since I’ve written anything but one short story I keep on the desktop. I’ve tried to fill the hole with sketching. (I was a children’s book author/illustrator in my life’s work).
Here’s the conclusion I’ve reached: for me, writing is a must. Publishing is not. There’s just a hole in my spirit without writing. Of course, having known the high of reaching a stranger’s heart with my words and pictures was an extraordinary feeling. Your heart soars when someone you’ve never met laughs, or is touched or moved, or nods their head, reading your words and writes you to tell you.
So while being read by strangers is much more than ‘awfully nice’, it just may not come. It’s really up to you to decide if it’s worth it.
Stepping back is an insightful suggestion, Maryann, a way to determine what role writing itself–the process of it–plays in your life, what it means to you.
I’m sorry about the submission disappointments–they are never easy, whether it’s two or two hundred. (And I should know–I got 112 before I got a yes from my agent.) Especially when you have high hopes (as we always do) and are bolstered by others’ feedback. It’s interesting to me that you felt relief, and your reasons for it hit a chord with me too. When I quit acting, it was because I finally asked myself how I would feel if I got everything I thought I wanted from it, big stardom. And I realized many of the same things you mentioned: that my day-to-day life would become very public-facing, anonymity gone, always scrambling for the next hit no matter how big my last one might have been, always worrying about my appearance. And I suddenly realized I wanted none of that. I started acting because I loved acting. And after a number of years, that stopped being as fulfilling to me (I had discovered editing by then). And that was the day I quit, literally–it was like a switch flipped.
I love that you’ve tapped down to what you really love–and are doing it. Thanks for sharing this.
Greatly appreciate this piece.
I absolutely have asked that question, but I don’t anymore. I was one of those folks who ran long-distance races, knowing I would never win. I played competitive sports knowing I wasn’t going to go professional, and I have loved many animals, and I have had to say a very painful goodbye to them.
So is it worth it? Absolutely.
At this point in my life, one of the things that gives me the most joy is sitting here at my keyboard, fingers dancing across the keys, writing what is in my heart, what I reflect on and think about as I look back over my life. Writing is my second career, well, actually third, but who’s counting! My novel may never see the light of day. I’m ok with that because it has always been about the journey for me, and writing has always been my lifelong companion. Yes, the hours I spend writing, reading, and learning how to improve are definitely worth it to me. I can’t put a price on that.
Sounds like you’ve already contemplated this question for yourself, Emily, and found your answer. One of many reasons I love digging down to the foundation of why we do this–or anything–is because of that joy it gives you that you describe, both our core motivation and our reward, and fully within our own power. Ironically, once you liberate yourself from hinging your happiness and satisfaction on an outcome you can’t control, you find such freedom and security in pursuing this craft. It’s on your own terms, and that really allows me to expand, explore, and hone my work in such a pleasurable way.
And like you, I find a number of pursuits similarly rewarding that don’t have a specific end goal. They–and my creative work–help remind me that life is happening in every moment, and to be present and grateful and live it fully in the now. Thanks for sharing this.
Screaming from a pub in NZ – YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. Perfection.
Ha…! Thanks, Rachael. This image made my day. 🙂
Thank you. I needed this affirmation and encouragement.
I’m glad it hit the right chord for you at the right time, Ariel!
A beta reader just finished reading my book. She’s kept me updated on her thoughts as she’s progressed through the chapters, and when she got to the end, she had to leave the room so her daughter didn’t see her cry (happy tears). Even if no other readers have the same reaction, I don’t really care. The fact that in that last moment of the story, and in other poignant moments in the book, she had a visceral reaction, means the world to me. Of course, I’d love to be the next JK Rowling, but I’ll settle for making others simply feel.
Oh, Linda, what a lovely story. I understand why that reaction would mean so much to you–the most meaningful moments I often cite in my own creative work both involve individual reactions like that. To me that’s the purpose of our art–to connect deeply with another soul. Thanks for sharing this–sounds like you clearly know what makes your own writing worth it.
As usual your posts are deeply insightful and extremely helpful. I’ve been reading the responses as well and, in my case, there is one other consideration that makes me continue on a book or story. Rather than being written for entertainment or historical tutoring or vanity or fame or financial reward, my stories, although fiction, are potential “solutions” to everday issues we all face. I enjoy suggesting ideas for people to consider, new perspectives, and as such, I have a VERY limited group of readers. The challenge for me is to find MY readers who might get something out of my stories, even if it’s just a few dozen readers. So, as you said, it’s the challenge of the journey, of discovering those unique perspectives that keeps me writing. Maybe someday someone will discover a story I wrote, think about it and enjoy it. That’s all that matters to me.
Jeff, you are very good for my psyche. 🙂 Thanks for your comment–it always is rewarding to know when a post hits a chord with someone. And yes, the comments section is frequently my favorite part of these posts–so rich with insight and perspectives.
I really love your “solutions” point–and though no one else explicitly called that out as a “worth it” factor, I wonder if a lot of us feel that on some level? I always say that story illuminates the world for us, and I think your solution-finding is one key aspect of that: I know that like you, I often read to understand something I’m wrestling with and find new ways of dealing with and processing it. (Lately, for instance, I’m reading a lot of historical works, fiction and nonfiction, to help me gain perspective on what’s happening in our world today–and yes, to find ways to be part of a solution, part of hopefully making things better.)
Whatever the motivation, that you have thought about and know yours is undoubtedly a big part of why you feel content and satisfied in your writing. Taht’s the heart of this pursuit and career, our North Star–and the only aspect we have any real control over. Thanks, as always, for sharing your perspective here.
Thank you Tiffany for the frank discussion. It is important that writers not fool themselves. I am constantly reminded of the discouraging odds every day. From reading the comments, you have struck an encouraging chord with many and that’s great. Not saying at all they are wrong, but like you write, each has to answer the question for themselves.
And I think, over time, keep assessing, recalibrating if need be.
I’m now trying to find an agent for my first thriller. Ultimately, I hope to put my book in the hands of lots of readers. To write a novel and see it languish in a drawer or give away dozens in pdfs would be kinda like the tree falling in the woods… I have no platform from which to launch or take the place of a traditional publisher, so I think traditional publishing is my best shot. If I fail, my time and effort will not have been wasted. Not so much like the hobbyist marathoner or local ball club player, more lie lawyers who take on difficult but righteous cases on contingency knowing they will sometimes lose. The time, expense, and effort is not wasted. They fought a good fight, tried their best. Same with politicians, entrepreneurs, and others including creatives.
Succeed or fall short, knowing that I gave it my very best shot makes the endeavor worthy, and enables me to keep writing the next novel.
I hope you are able to hit all your goals for your story, Robby. It’s important for a writer to think about what they want for their career in order to chart a course for that. But if things don’t play out exactly as you hope, I’m glad to hear you won’t let that undermine the inherent worth of your writing and of the process of doing it–and I hope it won’t take the wind from your sails as far as sharing it. One of the lovely things about how publishing has changed over my career is that authors have more avenues than ever before to reach readers–it’s wonderful, and empowering.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts!