I really loved this blog post by Mike Reuther because if you’re a writer, you have probably asked yourself why. Why do I write? Why do I put myself through the agitation of getting words to screen, of forcing myself into solitude, of crying with joy over one paragraph?
Writing is one of the greatest joys I’ve ever known, as well as one of the most painful undertakings I’ve encountered. At times it can be hard to squirrel yourself away with your laptop, worrying about what people will think when they read your book or worrying that no one will read your book. Before self-publishing and e-books became both a gift from the gods and a joke from Satan, who knows how many well-written and beautiful manuscripts gathered dust in a desk drawer due to either the author’s fear or publisher rejections?
Have fun with writing! What a novel concept (no pun intended because I’m just not that witty). Shouldn’t it be fun? I can only speak for myself but I spend enough time dredging through a day job that I thoroughly dislike so when I do sit down and power up my laptop to bare my soul and creative genius (ha ha) to the online world, it should be a fun and happy experience. We certainly don’t need any more ear-cutting Van Goghs and suicidal Plaths in this world.
What do you think, fellow writers? Are you with me on Blasting the Book?
- Author’s Roundtable: Roberta Goodman (jbournesblog.wordpress.com)
- “The Teething Problems of Becoming a Writer” by Laura Graham (authorshelpingauthors.wordpress.com)
A number of years ago I was at a writers conference. We were between seminars, waiting for lunch, if I recall, when I found myself talking to a few other writers. We got to exchanging stories of woe, how we couldn’t get published and the cards were so much stacked against us. We couldn’t find literary agents. Nobody cared about unpublished fiction writers. And we really didn’t feel like we were getting much out of this writers conference either. It was that kind of cry-a-thon.
A little man, whose name I couldn’t remember if you put a gun to my head, just stood there and smiled. He was dying to add his two cents to the conversation. Finally, he said, “When I write I’m just having such a good time. I’m in my own little world creating stories. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to be published
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