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“So, you want to be a writer? What are you going to write about? Oh, not that. You can’t write about that. How will you make money? You know you can’t be successful as a writer. You’ll never make it.”
That’s what society says. That we won’t make it in the writing industry, it’s saturated, and you’ll never get anywhere.
So. Freaking. What.
There are many doctors in the world, but it has never hurt to have just one more doctor added to the mix. But, of course, you wouldn’t tell someone not to chase their dreams to be a doctor, so why would you say it to an inspiring author/writer or artist?
And here it is.
We are going to write what we want. Whether that be romance, horror, political journalism, or children’s books, it’s our decision on what we want to write. Fortunately, nobody gets to tell us what our passions are.
And then we do.
We are in love with our passion. We have a driven purpose. We write what we want because deep down somewhere, it means something to us. When we let the words seep from our fingers, we are so damn proud; we are pulled to write more and more.
Then here comes society to rip us down.
“Well, you’re going to have to write and write and write some more to be seen.”
But again, so what?
So, we write. That’s no hardship. We pour our souls into the words on the page. But, at times, we become obsessed with writing. It’s all we can think about, all we can do. Because that’s what we are told we must do. We must become obsessed and keep writing even when we don’t want to. That’s the only way we will make it in this industry, so we’re told.
So, we keep writing. We keep writing until one day we sit down, and no words are to be found.
Nothing. All thoughts have dried up.
That’s what they call it.
Headfirst, our bodies scraped and bruised, battered; we surrender to this wicked thing.
We have spent much of our time writing what we are supposed to rather than what we want.
All because society deemed it necessary to say so.
Quite frankly, my dears, that is bullshit.
Telling a story –no matter what you write—takes time; it simmers and stews like a good pot of soup. It molds and binds. It does not need to be rushed because societal norms say you’ll never make it if you are constantly writing or publishing.
Our mental health is the first to take the hit. We begin putting our wants and needs aside to produce for someone else. Someone else, mind you, who would understand that we come first. That like anything in this life, art takes time. Creatives take time.
We have so many things already screwing without heads (doubt and fear being the most prominent factors) that we don’t need more added onto that when it doesn’t need to be.
Do you know what can happen to a writer with that kind of weight on their shoulders?
That’s precisely what can happen.
We begin to hate everything we write, not in that so-called usual way a writer hates their work. We ever aspect of it. The writing, the publishing, the marketing, all of it.
It becomes a chore, a task, a pain—something we must do instead of something we want to do.
The time will come when we wake up and wonder what’s the point of doing it any longer.
Then it’s over.
A writer’s career slides off into the distance, never to be grasped for again.
All because they tried to keep up with a society that has no real idea what it’s like.
Writing is something that should drive your passions and something that should never be a burden.
Write for you. When you want. How you want.
Make yourself proud.
Society and its preconceived notions are whacked. Plain and simple. Utterly whacked. You are the only one that can control your writing, no one else. So do it however you want to do it.