Sometimes it feels like writing is more of a curse than a blessing.
Not that writing really is a curse, of course, but sometimes it feels like it.
You know what I mean. You get up in the morning and know you need to write something, but it all seems like too much trouble and the little thought sneaks in – maybe you won’t bother today.
Then you remember that writing’s your job. Doesn’t matter whether you want to do it or not, if it’s your job it’s got to be done. Like any other job.
Here’s the thing. There’s a very seductive aura that hovers around ‘writing’. Around ‘being a writer’. Any kind of writer, whether it’s fiction in the form of short stories, novels or novellas, whether it’s nonfiction in the form of news stories, features, travel articles – whatever. The idea that you get paid for your words (and by implication the notion that your thoughts are loftier than the next person who doesn’t get paid for them) somehow lends ‘the writer’ an importance that I’m not sure they deserve.
But it’s the arts, isn’t it? Like musicians, painters, sculptors, designers of all kinds and people who ‘create’. There’s magic in creation, and even more magic in getting money in return for what you create. Money equates with success. You don’t get money for it? You haven’t reached success yet.
Trouble is, when you do get some money for it it’s not long before you start wanting more money for the same thing, and then success recedes again until you’ve achieved that little bit extra.
That’s the point where the curse aspect starts creeping in. What used to be fun becomes work. And actually, it can be pretty boring work. And repetitive. And mind-bendingly hard at times too.
Writing is no walk in the park. So why do it?
I don’t have the answer.
All I can say is, in the words of one of my favourite fictional characters, we do it because, ‘it’s what we do.’
And because, having written, it’s just the best feeling in the world.
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