My attitude to writing has changed.
Over the last three years, my life has been – if not upended – at least badly shaken. Deaths in the family; a contested will leading to accusations and lawyers’ letters; grandchildren removed from a parent by the police. It hasn’t been fun and is only now – slowly – beginning to settle down.
In all those years, finding the time to write has never been a problem; I’m now ‘retired’ and have the days to myself. The problem, with all the trouble that has cropped up, has been finding the will to write. That’s been hard. But, over the last few months, that will has slowly been returning. I can now write for about two hours a day. Sometimes a little more, but usually not because then it becomes a chore and the pleasure quickly fades.
I mention all this because I’ve just read yet another article about how the publishing industry works, and how the chances of most writers earning anything approaching a living wage are pretty much next to impossible. And it makes me ask myself why I bother.
I bother, I’ve come to realise, because if I don’t then I lose valuable peace of mind. Not a lot, but enough to make me feel I haven’t wasted the day. And to make me appreciate the day. I doubt I’ll ever get rich. I may not even be published again. But that’s no reason not to write.
Writing is a comfort. And given the bitter, disrupted state of the world today, both at home and globally, that really is, right now, good enough.
PS Apologies for missing my March slot. It was my birthday and I was away. Not much of an excuse, but it's all I've got.
3 comments:
A very good excuse, Nick, and also a fine reason to carry on writing. Good wishes and sympathy.
Much sympathy for the difficult time you've been having. Yes - I think writing mostly has to be its own reward!
Thank you, Sue and thank you, Penny.
It's appreciated.
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