Ever since I set about writing my first novel, I’ve been doing two things at the same time. First, I’ve been, you know… writing. Engaging in the creative process over a period of many months. Learning how to translate the pictures in my head into the written word. Improving my skills and practicing the time-honored craft of good storytelling.
The other thing I’ve been up to is devoting time to figuring out how to publish my book when it’s finally finished. At one point someone suggested to me that perhaps it was best not to worry about my book being published until I was done writing it. I don’t think that’s a good option. I already know I want to publish, so delaying the education required to navigate the publishing industry and birth real-life book into the world is only going to lead to frustration once I have a finished manuscript in my hands and don’t know what to do with it.
Additionally, with the advent of AI, digital media platforms, and self-publishing tools flooding the space, the publishing industry is in the process of a meltdown. The old channels and hierarchies that have brought us our books for the past couple centuries are rapidly eroding. Panic is palpable among the literati. This means that I’m writing a book at the exact time the rules are changing – for everyone. Staying on top of what’s happening in this space is going to allow me to publish with less frustration and fewer false leads.
Today, more people than ever can write a book and have it published. And yeah, a lot of what gets pushed out to the market is crap, but a lot of it isn’t. There are some great, gifted writers who had previously been ignored or marginalized by traditional publishing finally getting to build an audience for their work.
Still, the discourse I see in most of the online spaces where writers hang out revolves around either the ‘threat of AI’ or the discriminatory disfunction in traditional publishing. Both of these threats boil down to fear of diminishing opportunities to make money and/or become celebrated as an author. I think most people who write novels want to see some level of money and fame for their efforts (though some people are more interested in the money than the fame, and others, vice versa).
But the fixation on money and/or notoriety I see from fiction writers is nothing more than a need to justify the time and energy required to write novels. Let’s face it, this is not something most people do for fun. It’s hard work. It’s frustrating. Obviously, some people start out with more money, more talent, more education, whatever – that allows them to easily justify dedicating all that time and energy to something that has very little chance of being stocked in a bookstore. But even then, there is no instant gratification, no guarantee than anyone will read it despite you putting years of effort into any given project. And the reality is that most fiction writers have day jobs. They make sacrifices in time and resources to write, and if you can’t justify those sacrifices to yourself or others, how can you feel ok about continuing to do it?
Every writer has to answer this question for themselves. I’ve been struggling with it for a while, now. Trying to decide what I want out of this work, and what can allow me to feel good about spending countless hours and my own money on writing books the vast majority of humankind will never read. I’ve tried to be as realistic with myself as possible (mainly because I’m that person who hates being let down, and I’d rather just know my odds out the gate).
Facts: The chances of me either making decent money *or* being recognized by the greater public for my writing is infinitesimally small. The competition is enormous, and there are people churning out AI-generated garbage at an unthinkable rate in order to make money in the quantity-over-quality model. I’m writing slowly. At age 50, I’m not even sure how many novels I can write before I kick the bucket. Furthermore, I’m not a great writer, and certainly no genius. As I continue to write, I will certainly improve. But heck, there are lots of brilliant writers whose work never sees the light of day. There’s no reason for me to feel one iota of entitlement to any kind of audience. Finally, I don’t write genre fiction, which is how a lot of self-published authors who are snubbed by traditional publishing make a name for themselves. There are whole swaths of the market that read voraciously within these genres, making it easier to “break in” to them as part of a tried-and-true community of readers you already know want what you have to sell.
I’ve gone over these hard truths in my mind, and yet, I remain steadfast in my desire to write and publish this novel. And not just this one that I’m working on. I have others in my creative pipeline, too. I want to write as many novels as I can while I’m still alive. What right or reason do I have to keep going?
On a recent trip, I read a book titled Beauty and Sadness by Yasunari Kawabata (translated by Howard S. Hibbett). I doubt many people have heard of this book, even though it won a Nobel Prize for literature. It’s not a long book, nor is it some epic tale that chronicles historical events or the lives of “great” people. Instead, it’s just a story about beauty, and sadness. About loss, relationships, jealousy and revenge in the most common terms. It is also astonishingly, painfully, exquisitely lovely and very, very human.
When I read this book, I felt many things. Perhaps most importantly of all, I felt the urge to write even as I was reading. Not because I want to make money, or be able to tell people I’m a published author. Certainly not to win a Nobel Prize. Beauty and Sadness made me want to write because it demonstrated something I’ve always known about myself. Storytelling is how I connect to humanity — because fiction writing isn’t my job. It’s my art.
When I looked at it from that perspective, everything became perfectly clear. I don’t need to justify my art. I don’t need to qualify it with others’ approval, or get permission to put it into the world. I don’t need to go through any particular channel to publish it. And I sure as hell don’t need to try to please the market with it.
I feel like there is a weight lifted from my shoulders. I can and will write and publish this novel on my own terms. I’ll make it available wherever I can, and I’ll absolutely ask people to consider reading it. But what I seek from my finished novel is my own artistic satisfaction, and no one or nothing on earth or in the great beyond can give that to me. It’s mine to bestow upon any work that meets my own artistic vision.
It’s all very clear, and simple. And my heart feels at peace.
Q, you’re da bomb