A rash of rather mercenary comments attached to a recent article posted on TeleRead got me thinking about why most book writers even embark on a journey of penning literature, let alone attempt to sell their ‘wares’ to an extremely diverse and opinionated public. Some may indeed be in it simply for “the solid cash,” as Nathaniel Hawthorne once said… though one must point out that any form of payment was third (and last) on his list of writing reasons.
Most writers I know–including my husband and myself–start creating a book because of an idea, one that just won’t go away. The inkling to write said inspirational thought down follows directly after, though often this impulse is at first repressed. There are so many writers already; there are already more books than any one person could ever read; there are so many names in the publishing queue. Seeing the truth of these present-day industry facts, a writer’s good sense is immediately invoked, and—more often than not—this is accompanied by a ‘pause’ in the process.
And yet, the fledgling storyline, characters and scenes grow of their own accord. They blossom to the point that the mind containing them can resist the invisible pull no longer. Out come the pen and paper, the notebooks, sticky notes, the typewriter (yes, some writers still use these), the tablet or nearly-obsolete laptop on which to jot down (or type) the preliminary notes and outlines. Then begin the long bouts of scribbling, erasing, re-typing, staring and snorts of frustration… while loved ones alternately beg the writer to return to bed, or repeatedly inquire after their mental state.
Money fuels many things. It pays the bills, provokes sweat and stress and results… but writing simply for payment is in no way worth the effort. Writing requires an extreme form of self-sacrificing passion, which insists that the writer’s soul be mixed in among the words. The only thing remotely worth writing for is to get that idea out in that initially-inspired, pristine form. Having made itself prevalent in one’s thoughts the book must be made whole; it must be shared.
Writers must write; there is no real ‘why’ other than the act itself. If I’d waited to write my six novels until I’d received an advance from a publisher, or some other promise of money, then I would not have any completed books today. Like myself, many writers put forth many of their poems and short stories to the public for free. A visit to fictionpress.com or writerscafe.org reveals hundreds of thousands of free full-length novels up for scrutiny… pages penned that their writers will likely never be paid for.
Admittedly, aside from completing a book there are additional perks to writing. Writers and non-writers alike seem to like buying and reading books. A portion of each sale goes back to the writer… a kind of literary gratuity, if you will. These amounts–by and large–are marginal, unless one is lucky enough to write a best-seller. Even if the book finds an eager market and reaches that upper plateau of Popularity, the money could still never compensate the writer for the time, trouble, anxiety, loss and tears that go into writing real literature.
Once a writer has finished a book the main driving force behind wanting to repeat the whole tedious journey all over again comes not from the rather flighty promises of future financial gain, but in reading reviews. Consumers have a great of power bestowed upon them these days; the sparkling scepter of Opinion–once wielded by just a few, elitist critics—is theirs to liberally wave and point about the Web. Good reviews are like balm to the word-weary writer; enough of them allow the negative reviews to fade (a little) and allow that initial inspiration to come flooding back, its crystal-clear waters seeking a new avenue, a new idea.
The entire process, with its frenzy and fluid creativity, the bit o’ cash, that elusive completion and the possibility of glowing reviews, is the reason why talented writers burden themselves with the consuming task at all. No one part of writing, in of itself, holds enough sway to warrant such immersion; it is an all-or-nothing state of being.
I find if you resist the urge to write for long enough, eventually it goes away and you can get on with doing something useful.
I might buy the idea that most writers write for the pure joy of it, and don’t want money… if it weren’t for all the independent books for sale in the Kindle Store, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, Kobo, Apple, Sony, etc, etc… including a number of your books, Meredith. If reviews, not money, are what’s important, why aren’t you simply giving them all away? You’re playing the anti-capitalist artist while wearing a three-piece suit, standing in front of a display of your books, at $5 each, in the storefront. So who’s mercenary?
A need to convey concepts out of body and into objects is a species characteristic. It proved advantageous to social evolution and even across the longer reach of species evolution. The current interplay of this out-of-body tactic of cultural transmission is interesting as a more traditional manuscript to print migration is now mediated by an intermediate state of manuscript to screen option that dissipates the transformation of ideas into objects.
Most writers write for the pure joy of it and WISH and HOPE that they can make money doing something they love and find meaningful. It’s not an either/or for many writers.
I’m writing myself and I simply can’t take any author seriously whose main drive (not THE main drive but A main draive) is not to earn money. Enough money to relax. To develop the next idea without fear about the next rent. If you want to write for the pure joy of it, that’s okay. Really! Give it away for free but please don’t stand in the way of those who want to earn a living.