Blogtober 5 – Writing vs Writer
A few years back, someone told me point blank, to my face, “I don’t think you like writing. I think you like being known as a writer, but I don’t think you actually like the writing part.” That’s not completely verbatim. It’s been a couple of years since that interaction, and several of those years were the pandemic; however, it’s pretty close to the spirit of what was said. As someone who has wanted to be a writer since 3rd grade, hearing those words cut pretty deep. I’ve also been accused of being more in love with learning about writing than I am interested in writing new stories. Oh, and someone at a con asked me why I talk so much about writing even though I haven’t really put out anything new in so long.
In the years since I had a breakdown in the middle of a show, my productivity has lagged, or… it has seemed to have lagged… if you look at how much I’ve published… or… should I say, how little I’ve been publishing as compared to the first few years of my career? But if you look at what I’ve written… since then, I’ve gotten two MFAs in writing, wrote and published The 9/10 Memwar, written two unpublished novels, I’m working on three other novels, written a year’s worth of flash fiction stories, over 1000 poems — including three published books of poetry (one is out of print), and a multitude of essays, considerations, and musings about what writing is to me.
In other words… I kinda fucking love writing.
I’ve come to realize I hate being a “writer.” I especially hate being a “professional” writer. I absolutely loathe the struggle and hustle of trying to be a working professional creative in this late-stage, free-market capitalistic hellscape we call a society. I hate having to juggle Facebook, X (the platform formerly known as Twitter), Instagram, BlueSky, YouTube, Twitch, Goodreads, Discord, my website, and the existential dread that comes along with my internal debate on whether or not to get on Mastodon or TikTok.
I just want to write, go to poetry open mics, nerd out with my people at comic cons, and occasionally host the storytelling event.
Looking back after writing this all out, I can see all the places I was burning out even way back then.
Writing is awesome, especially now that I’m back to doing so much of my rough drafting by hand. I find that process almost meditative. It’s chill and relaxing to watch the page slowly fill up one scribbled line or curve at a time. I’m smiling here, writing these words at my table and front in the front yard. The breeze is caressing my skin. I have my Sierra Nevada Alumni hoodie on. I’m thinking about how much fun I’m going to have working on Spellpunk and Halloween Jack and the Red Emperors once I finish this blog post and refill my coffee. This is Heaven for me.
Making up awesome stories and playing poetry that’s like the best thing ever.
Trying to figure out how to get any kind of notice in this social media over-saturation… meh.
And that doesn’t even take into account how hard it is to keep these two things separate. It’s really easy to mix up the pure writing, the art of writing, and the joy of making the writing, with the need to figure out how to get that writing out into the world and into the hands of readers. Some writers are really good at that. Or, they have enough money to pay someone who is really good at it. That’s not my skill set, and I am perpetually broke. Thankfully, I have my stories and poems to help keep me sane—ish.
Wow. This self-dialogue has been enlightening.
Yeah… I fucking love writing.
But the whole thing of hustling to be a professional writer… double meh.
Well, I’m going to make myself feel better by getting coffee and working on some awesome stories.
You could help make me feel better by buying a book… or three… or more…
