This is honest talk.
I feel pressure to promote my written work.
Absent intense and focused promotion, unless I catch a lucky break, my work
will likely exist mostly as files saved on a computer.
But, you want to know the truth? My heart is
not in the marketing of my work.
I know I am not the only writer who feels this
way. Yet, many still go to valiant lengths to ensure that, at the very least,
somebody "out there" notices their work. This is arguably easier to
do now with the advent of the internet. Further, with the ease of self
publication, creating a "finished" work for someone to notice is less
challenging.
Still, good marketing is a somewhat different
skill than that of creating a well-written novel. Good marketing can also be as intense and time consuming as
was developing the product now seeking sales and recognition. It may intrude on
the ability to embark on new writing projects. If one does not have unlimited
time, one inevitably will have to choose how to allocate efforts.
Here is what I have finally allowed myself to
admit. I write to give expression to the quiet voice I hear within. Hustling my
work does not make my heart sing. If the work sells, great, but, if it does
not, it is not the end of the world. Of course, I say this having the luxury of
knowing that my next meal does not depend on receiving a royalty check. If it
did, I would just have to suck it up and do as good a marketing job as I
could.
Absent that necessity, though, is it okay to
choose to keep my quiet inner voice sheltered from the buffeting winds of the
commercial world? Would I gain sufficient satisfaction from only challenging
myself to create the best work I can? And then doing it?
Unavoidably, I must ask how, without exposing
my work to the world, I can possibly know it is truly good. The allure of
getting published and doing so successfully is, after all, not just about the
money. It is also about getting validation from readers, from the literary community,
and from my own circle of family and friends. Not only do these individuals
provide standards of excellence for me to meet, but all of them might see
publication and receiving awards as affirmation of the value of my work. But,
do I need their validation for me to feel worthy?
I also recognize that options exist for me to
assign the marketing of my work to others. I don't have agents or publishers
lined up waiting to take me on, but I could allocate some of their traditional
roles to others. Editors and cover artists, for example, are available for
hire. Of course, beyond how I might feel about undertaking such a multi-pronged
effort, it costs money to hire these individuals. And, while I am not starving,
I am also not wealthy.
Aside from the money issue, then, is my
arriving at this point in my literary life simply an acknowledgement, indeed
admission, of my failure to win the coveted brass ring of publishing success?
Or is it that I am not hungry enough for what literary success might provide
me? Because, surely, it is not hard work I
shirk. You don't complete five novels and publish numerous short
stories as well as a poetry collection if you are incapable of hard
work.
Still, how do I distinguish between walking
away because I did not succeed versus a deliberate choice to walk away because
my strengths are ill served?
The answer must lie in whether I feel peace of
mind about my decision. In the end, it is a matter of how I choose to spend my
life. If I'm going to work hard, I want it to be doing something which honors
my authentic self.
Yet, why do I bother
writing stories if no one might ever read them? I do it because writing introduces me
to wonderful characters whose joys and sorrows I feel deeply and who become
life-long friends. Writing helps me answer the questions I ask of those
characters at the start of each story. In resolving those questions, I too grow
as a person. In the process, I also enjoy the craft of figuring out the best way to
depict how characters grapple with conflict and seek resolution. I rarely know
how things are going to turn out when I first start writing. So each new page I
write is like turning the page of a good book I just discovered.
Ultimately, I write the book I want to
read.
It is possible, even likely, that I may revisit more than once the issue of
where to focus my literary efforts. I may even ask myself whether all of the
above is just a fancily explained excuse for throwing in the towel.
Perhaps. But, now, with a profound sense of relief, I turn without guilt to focus
primarily on what I love to do most, which is writing. I do that prepared to
experience the consequences of my choice. I will write, though, without the
monkey on my back to make a "success" of my writing. I will write to
make my heart sing.
***
Post Script:
A very wise friend read this post and challenged me to make sure I was being honest with myself about my motivation for taking a leave from promotion. His challenge was: if he gave me an interest-free loan to be repaid out of future royalties and, absent royalties, my re-payment obligation would cease, would I still embark on a promotion-free leave? His loan would be targeted specifically to enable me to hire the professionals who might shepherd my work to commercial status. Would I still, given his offer, elect to take a leave and focus primarily on the creative side of my writing, what I had called "making my heart sing"?
I thought long and hard about his generous offer. As my friend intended, it made my decision a pure play about whether it was the creative impulse or the financial factor which was driving my choice.
I decided I still wanted to take a leave to focus on my writing. That doesn't mean that, someday, I won't reconsider. In the meantime, though, I will be responding to a strong hunger to write for the sake of writing, free from commercial considerations. I want to embrace again the energy which allows me to develop to its fullest potential my unique perspective as revealed through my writing.
How this will play out, I don't know precisely. But, it is reassuring to have confirmed for myself that this is a thoroughly deliberate decision on my part. It is also reassuring that, if I change my mind about engaging in the commercialization of my work, it is a decision not hemmed in by financial limitations. Like a new story about to be written, I have the opening circumstances and players, the conflict, and the elements involved in the resolution of that conflict. The denouement, right now unknown to me, will reveal itself in time. In effect, I am reading my own life's book.
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