The eternal dilemma of every writer is the nagging self-doubt in the back of your mind: “What if what I have to say has no value to anyone? What if I go down this road and it’s all for nothing?”
But for a lot of us, it isn’t a choice now, is it? I’ve tried to live without writing and it has never gone well for me. I’m always happiest in the years when I’ve finished novels.
But it’s hard to finish novels when you are constantly at odds with yourself. Trying to belch out words in the middle of depression is difficult (even though that’s usually when I’m able to write my deepest thoughts). I have a friend who told me that going on anti-depressants is even worse, because it robbed her of the capability to feel anything.
I think without my writing, I wouldn’t have even tried to wrestle with my depression at all. Which is a good thing, but instead of a glorious sweeping epic battle in my head, it’s more like a grungy fist-fight in a back alley. And it has friends: anxiety, low self-esteem, anger, perfectionism, fear. The prize: a finished novel.
I know trying to finish Sapphire’s Flight is burning me out, but I don’t want to lose out on the momentum. There’s things lurking about in the corner waiting to grab me if I give up.
I’ve yielded to them before. Gave in to anger, made perfection an excuse–treating your manuscript like this nice, shiny jewel that you want others to covet but no, they can’t see it yet until it’s just right. And it feels good, for a while. But a novel is meant to be read, an idea that brings along a lot of baggage because I think it’s almost impossible to finish a novel without having to face some of your demons. Also, once people have read it, they’re probably going to have a reaction you’re not expecting, effectively sinking a dagger into your heart when you were hoping for open arms.
You’re building an empire while trying to fight a battle you could lose, and the worst part of it all is that right around the corner, rejection is waiting. Bad reviews. Indifferent readers. Silence. Another long road to a new manuscript, with the ghosts of the old ones haunting you, now. Why did you fail the last time? Why even try?
But if you’re a writer, you know that you have no choice, that no other answer except get up and write again will please you.
Some people advise writers to quickly build up a “thick skin” in order to survive in this industry.
I can’t do that. If I stop feeling at all, I think I’ll stop being able to put what I do in my novels which is going to be another loaded gun for me.
The answer, of course, is to turn into a masochist, who finds some form of perverse pleasure in the pain of being a writer. “Look, I talked to fake people today!” “I have crippling depression and anxiety but at least I make my own entertainment!” “I made paper mache out of my rejection notes! Hurray for free paper!” “Money is overrated!” “With repetitive strain injury, who needs the gym?” And so on, and so forth.
Kids, don’t be a writer. It sucks balls.
Read the The Agartes Epilogues. It won’t take too much of your time.
Nooooo, sucking balls is an awesome thing! Everything else I heartily agree with. Every writer has to find their own reasons to keep going, because there are so many reasons to give up.
Some people keep on writing because they get rich and famous (good reason), but the rest of us keep at it because, as you say, it’s something we have to do whatever the lack of recognition. I never feel depressed when I’m writing a book, because I like to think it’s good and it will be recognized as being good. Depression (not clinical but bordering on a state of misery and sense of uselessness) sets in when the book is finished and I can’t get any agent to even consider it. That, I find is so soul destroying, when you’ve polished and cajoled a little gem into being and the pros just look at it ans think, not kick ass enough, not enough romance, where are the Puerto Rican lesbian dwarfs?
Naw, the ones who lucked out do it a few times (rehashing the same story sometimes) and are done. 😛
Yeah, querying is soul-sucking. It’s why I stopped and went indie. You have to find your own joy on the craft even if it means no recognition except your own, with the hope that you continue to finish manuscripts and that every one is better than the last.
That’s how I’m trying to reason it out to myself too.
I know exactly where you’re coming from when you mentioned having to battle with “anxiety, low self-esteem, anger, perfectionism, fear.”
I think the difference with me is that in my day-to-day existence I bottle up my emotions so I don’t have to feel or care about anything; it’s only when I am writing that I feel able to let some of it out.