Category: observations/thoughts (Page 5 of 14)

Working Writer

I chose this title on purpose because “working writer” could mean a writer who makes her financial living AS a writer (which is probably the most common way we use the term), or it could mean a writer who has to work a different job to pay the bills (I’ll admit, this interpretation is my own invention). There’s the “working writer” and there’s the writer who works (another job).

A recent article in Esquire raised the question of whether it’s ever been harder to make a living as a writer, specifically a writer who writes novels and/or fiction, and the answer, not surprisingly, is that yeah, it’s pretty hard these days. Most fiction writers don’t survive on their book advances or royalties and thus must take to writing for TV or holding down teaching jobs.

As always, these types of articles completely ignore independent publishing and fiction writers who forgo the traditional publishing world. Not that every indie writer makes a living from her writing either, but there are many who do, and they never seem to get much ink spilled about them in these trad-focused think-pieces.

Despite this gaping hole, the article does raise some larger economic and even philosophical questions that I’ve been wrestling with myself for several years. It’s no secret that I quit my day job to become a freelance editor and author, and that the financial precariousness of that situation was something I didn’t find tenable for the short term (and maybe even the long term). It turns out, I happen to like getting a paycheck with regularity, and I like knowing that I can get health insurance without too much trouble either (though currently I’m on my husband’s insurance). I like knowing that I don’t have to write to survive. It takes a lot of pressure off the writing, keeping it fun and light. More play than work.

What struck me was a quote early on in the piece, from an author named Andrew Lipstein, who said, “‘If I’m not just supporting myself by writing, to those who don’t know the reality of it, it seems like it’s a failure in some way.'”

Yup.

See, if someone doesn’t support themselves with their art, then the wider world considers that a “failure.” We must monetize everything, apparently, and when we do, if we’re not making bank on it, then we’re somehow deficient in our talents and our art just isn’t very good. Money equals quality, obvs. If you’re only making coffee money on your art, then you’re a loser. That’s the message from our culture. We get it delivered from our earliest days when adults ask us as children what we “want to be when we grow up.” They mean our job, yo. What are we gonna do to pay the bills, and if we’re lucky, add some value to the world?

And listen, deep in my heart, if I could make a living from my writing, I’m not sure I would turn that down. I wrestle with the desire constantly. For one thing, I wouldn’t have to split myself in two (and three and four) to get all the things done I need and want to get done. Most days I’m split between teacher-self, writer-self, mom-self, wife-self, and human-with-a-body-and-a-house-self. If I could cut out one of those things, teacher-self would be the first on the chopping block. Not because I don’t enjoy teaching (I do at the moment), but because all those other things are non-negotiable. Yes, even writer. Without my art, I would not be whole. And my mom/wife/human self is just Who I Am. So teacher-self is the one optional thing, and thus, in a world in which I’m not worried about money, that would be the one to go.

But writer-self, as the Esquire article points out, is not as viable a way to pay the bills as other professions are. And while the article ignores indie publishing, I’ll say that even for indie authors, the vast majority of us don’t pay our bills with our writing either. So in that way, the article is right in the broad sense that writing fiction for a “living” is a hard row to hoe.

Still, the article’s obvious bias in favor of traditional publishing, and literary fiction in particular, obscures what could have been a much more nuanced and multilayered picture of what a “job” in writing fiction could and does mean in our current situation. It ignores pulp writers, and it ignores people who write and publish online at places like Substack or Royal Road. I don’t know all the ins and outs of such a picture and would’ve been curious to find out more. I’d like to know who exactly is making money from their fiction and how, and not just the MFA people who write for Hollywood, because that job is about as unlikely to me and the average fiction writer as is becoming the next George R.R. Martin.

What I hoped to learn from the piece was how ALL the myriad types of writers are trying to make ends meet and how the internet might be an asset or a hinderance (or at least a newer paradigm that shakes up the old world of publishing). We did get a bit about AI, and I have to say, AI flooding the market with books does concern me, even if those books right now aren’t very good (or violate copyright). And I appreciated the point about the Authors Guild not being able to collectively bargain. The fact that authors can’t unionize is shitty, and it just goes to show how our laws often make things harder for writers and artists to make a living with their work. The question of health insurance is another roadblock.

Still, I keep thinking about this idea of success being tied to income, and how my writing is only successful if I can monetize it and make a “living.” This is the mark of achievement. Any intrinsic value I might place on my art is meaningless in this framework, and if I can’t “cut it” as a working writer, then I’ve failed. That sense of failure lingers with me even as I’ve happily returned to teaching. Despite my happy return to the classroom, I still harbor dreams of making all my money from my books, and yet I continue to wonder if those dreams are coming from my heart or from what I’ve been socialized and conditioned to desire. Would I really be happier if I was a “working writer” as opposed to a writer who works?

The question is hard to disentangle from how we think about work and art and money. The fact that it’s so hard to “make it” as an artist says something about what our society values, and I’m afraid that message isn’t very comforting to those of us who want to make art.

Fantasy Lit Is Basically Prestige TV

Perhaps I’m slow on the uptake, but when I read Jared Shurin’s observation about the influence prestige TV dramas have had on fantasy novels over the last decade, I knew immediately that he’d put into words that overwhelming but unnameable feeling I’ve been having since forever about fantasy fiction and why I feel so out of step with what’s going on in the current literary landscape.

It’s not that I don’t enjoy prestige TV shows. I watched Game of Thrones. I used to write weekly recaps/reviews of Mad Men for a film website. I will go to the grave saying The Americans is the best fucking show ever made. I like all these programs and others too. I’m in favor of well-made serialized dramas on my TV screen.

But what I’m not so in favor of, I guess (thought I’m stilling working this out within my own brain), is the transformation of books into text-based TV shows, and particularly fantasy fiction, which AS FANTASY, has the capacity to go beyond what can be perceived with our eyes and into the realms of dreaming and language and, well, the fantastic, i.e.: that which cannot be understood with our senses but goes beyond those limits, and that if we surrender the literary landscape to the grammar of cinematic storytelling (of which, I must note, I’m a huge fan), we’re on our way to losing something special in our written stories, something that we might not even remember existed if we keep aping the structure and conventions of TV and movies.

What I’m really getting at, I think, is that while I’ve certainly loved books like Black Sun and She Who Became the Sun and The City We Became and This Is How You Lose the Time War, I can also TOTALLY see them as TV shows, and that’s not just because at this point in our history we can pretty much see any book as a TV show eventually. It’s because these books (yes, even Time War) follow the structure and storytelling conventions of prestige television almost perfectly. Multiple viewpoints (aka the A story, B story, and C story of a TV show), sequences and chapters that could very easily translate into a single episode of a show, and the kind of complex characterization that makes for juicy roles top-notch actors want to play.

None of this is a criticism by the way. Again, I LIKE this stuff.

But it’s only one way to tell a story. And for fantasy — a genre in which the only thing limiting the author are the made-up rules of her own made-up secondary world — it feels like we’ve traded something expansive for something rather more… limited.

Look, I get it. Conventions change. Reader expectations change. Prestige TV is dope as shit, so why wouldn’t we want our books to do the same thing?

But then I read something like Tolkien’s Unfinished Tales (or, like, “Smith of Wooten Major”), or John Bellairs’s The Face in the Frost, or a Clark Ashton Smith short story, and I’m like, “This could be a TV show, but in doing so, a lot would have to change.” The translation from written word to cinematic image would be just that: a translation. And something would be lost in the process.

Talented filmmakers could certainly make something of these stories, and they might even be genius things, but they would be fundamentally different things from the written literature.

Think about the previous Narnia movie adaptations, and consider what might come of Greta Gerwig’s forthcoming attempts, and then go back and reread the Chronicles of Narnia. It’s not that they are “unfilmable” or some such nonsense. They are perfectly adaptable to cinema.

But the cinematic versions would need to alter the literary ones. Choices would need to be made that go beyond just, “What should we cut for time?”

This was the particular talent of Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, and Phillippa Boyens when they adapted The Lord of the Rings to the screen. They made a lot of changes, and whether you think those changes were necessary or not, they resulted in three movies that are pretty fucking great, both as adaptations of the source material and as movies in their own right.

And then think about how sloggy and stilted something like Chris Columbus’s Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets is. Rowling was still writing in the age before all our base are belong to prestige TV.

Not that anyone writing in the 20th or 21st century can escape the influence of cinema entirely, but the prestige TV template hadn’t quite solidified yet in the 1990s and early 2000s. It was starting to (I’m looking at you George R.R. Martin, former TV writer… I mean, is it any wonder Game of Thrones became one of the most successful prestige shows of the last twenty years? It’s like the guy knew how to write things that would play well on TV!), but the influence of television on our literary landscape wasn’t quite as ubiquitous as it is now.

Movies? Yes.

But HBO-style TV, with its multiple viewpoints and intersecting story lines and character-focused narratives, not so much.

That’s why it was so important to get it right when taking a book and making it into a movie. So much could go wrong in that translation.

But now, book to (small) screen feels almost effortless. Sure, we may have to cut here and condense there, but in the main, it’s all right there on the page. A show bible ready-made.

I know I sound grumpy about it, and maybe I am, but I also know that I love these books-that-could-be-TV-shows-because-TV-shows-are-how-we-tell-stories-now. I really, really like a lot of these fantasy series! And yes, I would totally watch the TV adaptation if/when it comes out.

But I also kind of like the omniscient narrator? And stories with just one viewpoint character? And fantastical elements that defy visualization? And maybe stories with characters that are maybe a little “flat” (hello, Conan!) but are still awesome anyway because fantasy is a genre that delivers on maybe more than just deep characterization.

Like, maybe, drama and snappy dialogue aren’t the things I always need from my fantasy. Maybe I need weirdness. And wonder. And a strangeness that cannot be translated to the TV screen. And something older, like a fairy tale. And not the new kind where everyone is a fully-realized, three-dimensional person with motivations and psychological depth, but the old kind, where everyone is an archetype and acts weird AF sometimes, and we just accept it because we don’t need psychological realism in our Grimm.

I don’t know. I’m just thinking through some stuff, I guess.

But man, when I read Shurin’s point about prestige TV, it was like the scales fell from my eyes. It’s why I’m a bit out of step both as a writer and a reader. I like prestige TV, and I like the way modern fantasy novels are written, but I also like the old stuff too, the less prestige-y stuff. The weird stuff and the ancient. I kinda wish we could have more of it. Maybe we do, and I’m not reading it (highly possible). If it is, I want to know. I want to read something that can only be read, that lives in words best of all and isn’t a word-version of something practically cinematic.

Fantasy is expansive. I don’t want it narrowed down to a set of storytelling conventions that emerged from only one form of media.

However, as Shurin points out, it IS “slightly reductive” to reduce all currently-popular fantasy literature to this one thing, and it’s not as if This Is How You Lose the Time War (or insert other popular novel) is merely a film treatment. That IS too reductive, and something like Time War is also an epistolary novel, which has a long and venerable tradition that predates TV by a long shot. So maybe my griping is taking things too far. Maybe I need to chill.

Nevertheless, our society is a cinematic one. The moving image dominates our thoughts and dreams and our entertainment, and as Shurin predicts, the next great influence on fantasy literature will be (video) gaming, so yeah, we can’t escape the image makers. I’m intrigued by the ways gaming can influence our literary storytelling, so again, it’s not that I’m opposed to this sort of cross-pollinating. I’m just wondering: Is it possible to have a successful (i.e.: widely read) fantasy novel these days that doesn’t get its storytelling paradigm from prestige TV (or video games or INSERT NEW VISUAL MEDIUM HERE)? We still read classic fantasy, yes, but those books have the backing of time and reputation. We read them because we’ve been told we should read them, or because age bestows a kind of authority.

Like with so many things, a throwback — a new piece of art that hearkens to an earlier form — can be seen either as a delightfully retro oddity or as simply “out of step.” But these throwbacks are catering to a niche crowd, to those who intentionally seek out the strange and “arty.” The popular stuff, the stuff that garners widespread attention, fits itself (most often) within the current paradigm. It might do things a little differently, but not too different. There’s a sweet-spot that such things often hit — the spot between familiar and new — that is precisely what makes them both popular and critically acclaimed. This is the way of things. There’s no sense yelling at the clouds about it. It always has been and always will be.

What I wonder is if we can ever again escape the velocity of cinematic storytelling when it comes to literature. Or does the moving image (in whatever form, even gaming) simply have too much allure. Has our collective imagination been too thoroughly colonized by cinema to ever go back (or forward) to something else? Do we even want to try something else? Maybe it’s just me, the weird freak who wants more flat characters and overt “telling” in my fantasy novels, and is kind of sick of snappy dialogue, and pines for the omniscient narrator. Not all the time, but sometimes. The dictates of the market are one thing; what fantasy literature has the potential to be is something else.

Keep Your Day Job

I went back to teaching last month. Not an easy decision, but a necessary one.

Perhaps.

I made the decision out of fear, and I’m not ashamed by it. Money is necessary to live in our world, I have children, and the uncertainty of freelance work was giving me crippling anxiety. When I switched to being a freelancer last year, I thought I could handle the ups and downs, the lean months and the flush months.

Reader, I could not.

I was anxious almost from the word go, but then I got a few clients and things seemed good. Then I got no clients, and things seemed bad. Then a client again, but not much money. Then no clients. I watched as my savings drained from my account like a torrent of thunderstorm rain.

I was very, very bad at this uncertainty stuff, at this hustling business. I am not a hustler, it turns out. I’m a writer, but I’m not necessarily an entrepreneur. Being a freelance editor was not a good fit for me. Frankly, being a freelance anything seems to be a bad fit. I like the security of a paycheck, a regular, twice-a-month, I-know-what-I’m-getting paycheck, and if that makes me a soft, squishy coward, then so be it. I like knowing I can pay my bills and buy groceries and save up for my children’s future.

There’s a big push in our culture to equate making money with worth. The goal is to make a living from my writing, right? That’s how you know you’ve achieved success, right? That’s the dream everyone is always talking about. Do what you love for a living and you’ll never work a day in your life, or some such bullshit.

But doing what you love for a living, in my experience, at least if that thing is creative work, is a double-edged sword. It means putting a burden on your art: it must feed you; it must support your kids. That’s a heavy burden, and I found myself questioning my earlier desires. Maybe if I was suddenly making five or six figures with my writing, I’d be singing a different tune. I may yet sing a different tune, I don’t know.

But I do know that even the thought of relying on my writing for my family’s survival is an unpleasant thought. I once considered it a glorious thought, but then I saw what the uncertainty of being my own boss wrought, and I noped right out of that situation. It’s too much pressure. It takes the fun of writing and makes it into a J-O-B, and I don’t want my writing to be a J-O-B. I want to be disciplined and write everyday and treat it seriously, but I don’t want it to be a job. A job is what you do for money so you can survive.

I survive in order to write; I don’t want to write in order to survive.

Having a day job that isn’t my writing (or editing) means I can stop worrying about paying the mortgage and let my art be my art. I can write with total freedom, no pressure. I can simply enjoy myself, because writing is supposed to be fun, and it IS fun when I’m doing it for pure joy and not for money.

I want people to read my stuff, of course. For any artist, there is that element of wanting to connect and communicate, which is why we make stuff in the first place and don’t just leave it all in our heads, so I don’t mind selling my books. In this world, people rarely value things if they get them for free. But if I sell them or don’t sell them, it won’t matter. The fun part is the writing.

And in my work as a teacher, I get to do two things I love doing: reading and writing. (And a third thing, which is working with young people, who are very funny and energetic and much more fun to work with than adults.) I get to read books in order to teach them to students, and also in order to learn and improve my teaching. And I write in front of my students and alongside them in order to model the process and techniques of good writing. Do I wish I didn’t have to devote so much time to my day job? Yes. A thousand times yes. But it’s a necessary evil. It gives me the security I need in order to be wild and free in my art. It relieves the burden.

The key to any day job for the artist, I think, is to find one that doesn’t drain you and leaves enough time and energy for you to make your art. For the last several years, prior to my attempts at freelance editing, I thought teaching was too draining. I never had time for my art. I thought if I switched to being my own boss, I could give myself more time for writing. And it was true, I DID have more time for writing. I just didn’t have much money. And not having money made it hard to use that time for writing. Crippling anxiety ensued, and do you know what crippling anxiety does to your energy? Drains you. Dries you up.

I’m not sure if I’ve solved the puzzle of how to be a teacher and not let it drain me, but I’m trying. I’ve set ground rules for myself to keep teaching in its proper balance both time-wise and emotionally. I’ve become even more disciplined in my art, making sure I get up early every morning and write. I’ve stopped setting too-ambitious goals for my art, focusing instead on daily habits. I think what caused my burnout earlier as a teacher is that I saw teaching as opposition to my writing. If only I wasn’t teaching, why then I could write five novels a year!

Maybe I could. In fact, based on some of my output this past summer, I could do it. In the month of July I wrote about 50,000 words. I could probably maintain that pace (or greater) if all I had to do all day was write. But even if I did write five novels a year, how do I feed my children in the five years it would take to write twenty-five novels? Where does the money come from while I’m trying to reach my twenty books to 50K?

It comes from a day job, that’s where. And I’m not ashamed to say it. I used to be ashamed. After all, isn’t the goal to be one’s own boss? Isn’t the goal to make a “living” with your art?

But what if that isn’t the goal? What if the goal is something else, something that doesn’t require putting a burden on my art? Maybe the goal is to make the art. Full stop. Make the art. Let the day job pay the bills. Let the imagination and the heart and the joy make the art.

There’s no shame in having a day job. Too often, we tell artists that they haven’t achieved success unless they are making a living from their art, but that’s Capitalism talking, not the truth. The truth is, making art IS the success. It’s the creative act that counts, not the bank account.

And one further note: Since returning to teaching and getting a regular paycheck, I now have some disposable income I can put towards supporting the artists I couldn’t support before when I was barely scraping by and watching every penny fly out the window like a frightened bird. Now I can buy digital and vinyl albums of my favorite bands on Bandcamp. Now I can support more writers on Substack. Now I can buy more books from indie authors. There’s something to be said for having a little cash in one’s pocket just for fun. Now I can give back and make life a little easier for my fellow artists. That’s worth a lot. It’s worth going back to the old 9-to-5 (or in my case, 8-to-3).

My Reading Challenge Goes to the Library

I tried sticking to my homegrown reading challenge, but, well, I just couldn’t. The library is TOO GOOD to pass up. All those books! Infinite possibilities!

I did start reading a book that I’ve had on my shelf for ages (Raymond Feist’s Magician: Apprentice), so that was one good result of my reading challenge. And I gathered a stack of books from our home shelves and have them sitting by my bedside, so I’m ready to read more of the books I actually own.

But the library! I can’t quit it, not even for a season.

I suppose it’s because “reading recklessly” is just too much fun. I hear about a book, I want to read it. And the library lets me get it. I can’t stick to a prescribed order when it comes to reading. I just need to go where the whim takes me. If my ultimate goal is to read as much as I can and enjoy as much as I can, then I need access to my library. I need the inter-library loan system, and I even need my Hoopla app. I’m not strong enough to resist the power of the library, especially if what I really want when I read is to enjoy myself.

And that’s what I really want. I want to read all the books and have fun doing it.

Of course, by focusing more attention on the books I already own, I’m doing something good too. I’m glad to be reading Magician: Apprentice, and I’ll be glad to pick up Tolkien’s Unfinished Tales next, and the Lais of Marie de France, and Dragons of Winter’s Night, and Bradbury: 100 Stories, and so on.

But, yeah, I also need my library books. I don’t like artificially constraining myself. And the library is right there! It’s got all the books!

I’m often creating challenges and restrictions for myself in an attempt to try something new or push myself into an unfamiliar direction. I don’t think this tendency is a bad one, but I also am naturally rebellious, and the minute I start imposing restrictions on myself, I start bristling at them.

Anyway, I’m reading library books and ebooks again. But I’m also reading more books from my homegrown shelves. I’ve reopened my awareness to those books I already own, and I’m making it a point to reacquaint myself with them. I couldn’t stick to my challenge, but I did gain something from it. And that’s cool.

Short Fantasy Novels?

According to Esquire, short books are IN right now. I am part of this reading trend, apparently, because I too read This Is How You Lose the Time War partly based on Bigolas Dickolas’s recommendation on Twitter.

(I mean, not because of their recommendation, but because our book club thought it was funny that someone who goes by the moniker Bigolas Dickolas was getting a viral response to a tweet about this book, and also, it was a book we all had on our reading lists anyway.)

But I have always liked short books, so it’s not really a trend for me. I like really long books too. I basically really like books, all sizes.

But short books are having their moment, apparently, and that’s good for me (I guess) because I tend to write shorter books (at least for now… who knows what will happen in the future). Not that anything I’ve written has become an internet phenomenon like This Is How You Lose the Time War

But I’m not interested in shorter books for my own career’s sake. I’m more interested in them for my sake as a reader and observer of trends in fantasy fiction.

My question is this: Has fantasy joined the short books crowd, or will the trend continue to be longish books? (I’m defining longish as 400 pages or more.)

I’m not against longish books by the way. (See above: I like books of all sizes.)

But there was once upon a time when fantasy novels were shorter than they are now, particularly the fantasy of the mid-20th century, and everyone was cool with it. We all know that Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings set the template for what a fantasy series is “supposed” to be, but even LOTR isn’t that long when you think about it. It’s one book that clocks in at roughly 1,000 pages (which is long, yes), but it was published as three separate books of roughly 350 pages in length (so, today’s normal book length or shorter).

But starting around the 1990s?, epic fantasy needed to be EPIC both in scope and size. Five, seven, ten books in a series, and each book is pushing 800 pages, and some are even longer than that, and it’s not really fantasy unless it’s dense with detail and world-building. Tolkien’s LOTR wouldn’t even be considered long by these standards.

I guess we’ve moved away from massively long books in recent years, but most fantasy is still around the 400-600 page range. Six hundred pages isn’t LONG, but it ain’t short either. Put it into a series of several 600-page books, and we’re talking about a commitment.

When I pick up an old pulpy paperback from the 1960s or 70s, I’m always surprised by how short these novels are compared to today. Jack of Shadows was SLIM. I just bought the Empire of the East series by Fred Saberhagen and each of the three volumes combined is shorter than many a single fantasy novel you’d see on the bestseller chart today. The Last Unicorn is sub-200 pages, so are Le Guin’s Earthsea novels. Patricia McKillop, Andre Norton, Poul Anderson, Michael Moorcock, et. al. were writing slim volumes back in the day and everyone was cool with it.

I know trends in publishing are different from trends in storytelling and reading, but the two trends intersect. If the market has decided a fantasy novel has to “be” a certain kind of thing, then that is what we often see getting published.

Slightly large caveat here: With indie publishing, writers can basically do whatever they want. We can publish shorter books and not bat an eye. So, in this sense, we’re not beholden to what traditional publishers are looking for when publishing fantasy novels. We can bring back the olden days of sub-200 page novels and live like kings and queens. Definitely. This is true. I’m living that dream right now, with my longest paperback reaching only 284 pages. Huzzah!

However, the expectation of readers can still be set by what the publishing norm is in any given genre, and if indie writers and trad publishers continue to put out fantasy novels that are 400 pages or more a pop, then readers have expectations for what a “fantasy novel” is. The publishing trend can impact the reading trend.

(Obviously, as we’re seeing with the overall trend of readers reading shorter works in general, the market can and will adjust to what readers want, so it’s not all puppet-masters pulling the strings from above. I’m just curious about whether fantasy READERS are interested in shorter works overall. Maybe they are? Maybe there already is a trend for shorter fantasy novels and I’m just missing it? Very possible.)

I know I’ve really enjoyed the shorter fantasy I’ve read from the 60s and 70s. The commitment isn’t as huge, so if the book is a little uneven or weird, it’s okay. It’s only 160 pages. The swiftness of the storytelling is refreshing too. Even though these books are short, they don’t skimp on plot or world-building or anything else. They move breezily from strange vista to strange vista, and I don’t feel like I’m missing anything from the experience even though it’s a much shorter experience than what I’m often used to with books from today.

As a writer, I know I will continue to write shorter books (and hopefully longer ones too!), but as a reader, I’d love to see shorter fantasy novels make a comeback. With that shortness comes a slightly different approach to storytelling that I think can be refreshing. In 200 pages or less, both the writer and the reader can take chances that we might not otherwise take if the story were longer. I’d love a return to the old pulpy paperback days. Give me 150 pages and some weirdness, and I’m in!

Get Back in the Saddle

I haven’t blogged for a few days, failing (you might say) in my attempt to blog every day. I set the challenge, and I fell short, and thus I failed.

Or…

Maybe I can never fail. Maybe the old cliche is right, and the only way to fail is to give up. Missing a few days blogging last week is nothing compared to giving up right now. And I don’t want to give up. I want to keep blogging. I want to try and post something every day.

I know I’ll fall short at some point. But that’s not the point of all this. The real point is to keep going.

I’ve been here before with my writing. I’ve gone through stretches where my fears and my perfectionism made it hard for me to write ten words, let alone a thousand. I went through periods where I could only write when I had the “perfect time” to write (what a joke I was playing on myself then), and I went through periods where I thought the reason I couldn’t write was because my life had conspired against me to rob me of my inspiration or my time or my energy (this was also a joke, but not one I played on myself… it turns out the joke came from others, from gurus with “advice,” which was that in order to write, one had to write a certain amount of words each day, and every day, and if one didn’t meet these quotas, one wasn’t a “real” writer… boy, did that put too much pressure on what was supposed to be something fun!).

But each time, whether I did it to myself or believed what others said was true, I never gave up. Not completely. I still kept writing, even after long stretches of not-writing. It would have been a lot easier to stop writing, when I felt so much like a failure, only it wouldn’t have been easier. Not really. Because, for whatever crazy reason, I really, really, really need to write. I need to put my thoughts and ideas and stories into written words, and if I don’t do that, I get cranky. I get all bent and sharp-edged. If I go too long without writing, I get angry. Out of sorts. I never realized that my compulsion to write was tangled up in my emotions and sense of self, until I started noticing how I felt on days when I wrote and how I felt on days when I didn’t. Kinda like the difference between days when you exercise and eat well versus the days when you don’t.

It’s the same with blogging (which, obviously, is a kind of writing). If I don’t write down my ideas and work through my thoughts as I write, I feel off. I feel strange. Not myself. All bottled up, and at the same time kind of fuzzy, like my very self is going out of focus on an old TV set.

So, I can’t give it up. Even if the internet melted down tomorrow (which… maybe not a bad thing…?), I would still write down my thoughts and put them out there for others to see. I might make more zines, I guess. (Which, come to think of it, is probably something I should do anyway.)

But regardless of the delivery system, I would still want to write stuff and show it to people. Not because I think what I have to say is so great or important, but simply because I feel good when I write, and I feel good trying to connect with other people through my writing. Why do any of us make stuff and share it with others? Because it’s fun and makes us feel good.

Missing a few days in my “daily blogging” challenge doesn’t change anything. I haven’t failed. I’m still “blogging every day” because I’m here right now, typing these words and posting them, and I’ll keep “blogging every day” no matter how many future days I miss. Failure only happens if I give up. And I’m not going to.

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