I’ve been a writer for so long that I don’t have any idea what it is to not be one. For me, a writer’s life means spending a lot of time in front of a computer screen trying to imbibe life into words that another person will read and understand. Or use.
Living a writer’s life means often being frustrated that the words I struggle to produce every day stall at the proverbial publisher’s door. In my version of a writer’s life, I’ve experienced thousands of rejections. If I were to figure out odds the Las Vegas way, I’d probably have hit pay dirt 1 in every 314.5 submissions. That’s a lot of rejections. I’ve been persistent throughout my publishing career, and my odds are probably a bit better than most. Yet, still, when I think my work is a perfect fit and I hear that “no,” it’s still frustrating.
However, my life as a writer is something I’d never give up. I am extraordinarily lucky to have a super-charged imagination that builds stories based on the simplest detail: the wrinkle in a husband’s brow, the shadow on the dining room wall, the heartbreak in a mother’s eyes. I live every day with stories, and while they can sometimes become blown out of proportion, the narratives in my brain are a pleasure to live with, especially on rainy afternoons by the fire under a mohair comforter when you have nothing to do but daydream.
I get to play with people who are complicated, complex, or emotionally motivated. I can change any of their stories by dropping a paragraph or adding another character. I write their lives and those living beings create their own narrative…sometimes running away with the story. And I also get to design places, to give names to trees, and to decide whether those are marigolds down the sidewalk or tiger lilies. I can make place a character by providing atmosphere, which is often my favorite part of writing fiction.
When all the writing is done, the business side of the writing life begins. I take the piece of work I’ve created and send it out into the world, hoping for a phone call from someone who loves my work and understands what I’m trying to say. When that call comes, I learn about how the work is seen and also about what it’ll take to edit my words.
Though the book leaves my hands, we are still umbilically connected. The work continues through the physical building of the book: the cover, the typeface, the weight of the pages, the bio on the back cover. Creative forces are called forth to give my babies life, and yes, that sounds trite, but it’s true. A writer’s work is an extension of the writer. And some mothers have a harder time of letting go than others.
But let go, we must. We must release our works with as much marketing as we can muster. It’s then that the writing life becomes the promotion and marketing life. We talk about our work (and for some, that’s the best part of writing, while, for others, it’s not fun at all) to those who are kind enough to come to our readings and to offer us reviews. We spend valuable writing time making sure everyone knows about the new work. We connect with new people who support you in ways you’d not imagined.
Writers are not a well-paid lot, so reviews from influencers and the support of a fan base mean a lot. I can safely say that most writers treasure their good reviews. Good interviews are even better, because the host helps us expand our audience. And competition is stiff. More than 11,000 books are published every day.
Even as I write this and think about how much more I can say about the ways I live my writing life, I know without a doubt that I would never stop writing. I can’t. It’s who I am. No matter what happens in my life, my writing is there to carry me through the heartache or the joy. It truly is my life.
We writers use the term ‘creation’ when we think of a new idea or begin plotting a new story. The writing life is simply just that: the creation.
