And who ever died from not writing?
I cut-and-pasted my previous post, about success and the myth of the writer who never stops writing, on my Open Salon (OS) page, and I got some interesting responses. One of my connections at OS–the always-thought-provoking Skypixie0–then emailed me to say he had posted something new he wanted me to see, about writing & obsession, and that garnered quite a few comments about how writing is an unstoppable force, an inescapable pull, for those who are “real writers.”
The whole concept of a “real writer” is a little tricky for me, at base I think causes more insecurity than is worth it, so this is what I wrote back to my friend Skypixie0, and I’ll post a copy of it here, too:
Thanks for pointing me to your post in your message about being a “blog-whore”–which totally got a laugh out of me! I love your humor.
I do have to respectfully disagree slightly with one of the assumptions underlying your post, though, or maybe it’s more with the idea of the whole concept of “being a writer.” I don’t think a writer is writing all the time, just like I don’t think a doctor is doctoring all the time. No one does everything all the time. And sometimes I think we are concerned with figuring out what a “real” writer is in the hopes we can then label ourselves one (and I include myself in this concern too–as my previous post that you responded to shows, this was a concept I struggled with, and still do, a lot!). But I’m wondering why we can’t see writing like any other endeavor. There are people who write. When they are writing, they are writers. When they aren’t, they aren’t. If they write for money and they do this as a career and continually, then the are writers by trade. But that’s not so different from any other profession (or passion, or hobby, etc), is it?
I know before I got my book deal and I was going through the hard time I mention in the post you originally commented on, I really tormented myself with the fact that I must not be a real writer because I wasn’t writing all the time, or b/c I couldn’t fit into the mold that said “you write b/c you must,” you can’t survive without writing.
(And on that topic, who ever died from not writing?)
Then I just said, screw it, who cares what I am. I’ll write when I feel the pull to and won’t when I won’t, and I’ll live with being a writer some days (or weeks, or hours), and not others. And I feel much better, and more normal, about the whole concept now.
Or maybe this is all just my way of justifying when I’m lazy and don’t want to write! As I said to one of my friends after my book deal came through, maybe my next book should be “Writing & Laziness: An Apologia.”