Why do we write?

tl;dr: we are owed nothing.

i saw recently some discourse on the internet from a disgruntled fanfiction writer who was upset that they were working so hard on posting fics and not getting many comments/likes/views. there are a lot of things that factor into results like that, and they’re many of them similar to the things that impact writers publishing for pay, whether self-published or traditionally published. (the main difference being that fanfiction is free.)

some of these factors include writing “rarepairs” or writing in smaller fandoms. being a new writer to the scene. that’s to say nothing about your craft or narrative choices. (as a butch writer of butch lesbians, i get it. sometimes, your interests (and your…self) feel just a bit too niche.)

there was a lot of back and forth around this post about whether OP needed to learn to write for their own internal fulfillment or if they were right for being demotivated by a lack of attention and external validation.

my initial instinct was to roll my eyes, which was pretty painful because i am currently concussed and really shouldn’t even be staring at my screen typing this.

but then i asked myself why i write, and how was it for me coming up in fanfiction or when i was posting my work on free sites back in the day hoping for feedback and interaction. i asked myself how i feel today, now, hoping people will not just click like on a free story but pay money to read a full novel. how i feel hoping that people will come read my blog, or subscribe to my newsletter, all of these little interactions with the stuff i put out into the world.

and now my answer is to still roll my eyes, but also to add some complication to it.

at the end of the day, the answer is still that we are owed nothing, whether people enjoy our work or don’t. and yes, there is external gratification that some—many of us—write for, or the feeling that we want to impact people out in the world and the only way to know if we’ve done that is by them saying so. But just because we want it doesn’t mean we’re owed it.

for one, we must accept that we cannot know everything about everything, even our own work. it develops a life of its own and maybe, just maybe, it will touch people and get shared. maybe someone will silently read it, hum to themselves in contentment, maybe even carry it on their soul forever without leaving a comment or review. but they also might not. and it doesn’t matter if people have to pay to read it or they read it for free.

for another, we have the vagueries of fate. who will click this link at 2:03 am in a horny fugue state desperately dissatisfied with the canon state of THIS relationship and/or desperately in need of MORE of this canon relationship? will someone else post something at the same time with the same concept and get bumped higher in the search listing? have a bigger marketing budget? a better cover? have more, cooler friends?

finally, attention and enjoyment are earned. if you want ME to enjoy your story, a particular matrix of conditions must be met (give me butches, give me at least one hot flex, a sword, and one or two betrayals, all wrapped up in solid prose and you’ll at least have my attention—execute it well, and you’ll have my enjoyment). everyone has their own unique requirements and you’re hoping your work falls in some venn diagram intersecting a few more little weirdos like you. (or a lot of little weirdos.) (hello, to little weirdos in MY venn diagram, i’m glad you’re here.)

in his book Show Your Work (which, i would, in fact, recommend Disgruntled Fic read), Austin Kleon mentions the so-what test. you can use it for fiction, too, but it’s a healthy reminder—“is it interesting?” Only you can answer that, and you might even find out that you’re the only one in your corner of the internet who thinks that. but that’s how it goes.

will anyone else find this post interesting? 🤷‍♂️

writing pays my bills.

it is my mostly full-time job. i also teach, but that has been a “sometimes” proposition. most of my income comes from my novels. as such, it’s massively important that, you know, people buy my books. in that way, i’m asking even more from people than a fic writer is; yes, i feel like the stories i’m sharing with the world are gifts, in that they’re a shared moment between us. but i’m also asking for a deliberate exchange of value. i give people books, people give me swords food.

that exchange isn’t owed me. i am not entitled to anyone’s money, to anyone’s reviews, to anyone’s attention. and if they read my book, i’m not entitled to their positive outlook. no one has to like my work! (but i like it if they do.)

obviously, i publish because i do want to share my ideas with the world. because i think my ideas are worth sharing. i do want an amount of public attention on my words (on me? there is the question of ego and the honest separation of word from self, which i don’t know if any author has ever, to my satisfaction, declared truly separate.). like most other people in the world, writers or not, want to feel seen. i want to feel like i have made a positive impact on other people and i want to know that i’ve made someone have fun like i had fun reading my favorite books. i want to feel like i have done something of note. so it’s not the pure love of creation.

it can be disappointing when those hopes fall flat.

i want to feel like it is worth continuing to do this hard thing, which i think is what Disgruntled Fic was feeling, too. and it is immeasurable, the difference a good review or a kind message from a reader can make you feel when you’ve struggled mightily to fix a character interaction only to have a reader say how much they loved that dynamic. i really do go to the page with a bit more bounce in my step. it gives me courage to continue this act of vulnerability—because, of course, we’re not only seeking praise but risking censure, too. especially in these days when people don’t know how to behave toward other people.

there is a certain communal culture that we show appreciation when someone entertains us—we applaud at the end of a play, we clap and sing along with the band, we cheer the athlete when they make a play, we laugh at the comedian. but these reactions are a gift.

but just because i wrote, just because i put it out there, doesn’t mean i’m entitled to that note, to that connection, however kind. it’s no one else’s job to motivate me to do anything—let alone this thing i’ve decided that i want to do. instead, i try to cultivate intrinsic motivation, which may come from a variety of sources.

i worked for a long time in silence. no one else to read my work and give me kudos but workshop partners and—well, if you’ve been in a workshop, you’ll know that’s not always what you find there lol.

i have no control over any of that. in this way, i am a stoic, and i think more creatives could stand to live and appreciate a stoic philosophy.

i have control over:

• the work that i do. i control the effort i put into the stories, i control the techniques i have learned and i control the learning of new craft. i control the revisions, the ideas. sometimes, i can control the time that i put in, though other times, publishing deadlines overrule that. i try to do the best work i can at that moment. it may not be my absolute best, but i work to be proud at what goes out. that way, i am satisfied no matter what anyone else thinks (or doesn’t think at all) about it.
• my attitude toward the work. like anything, writing can be a difficult task. but i can control whether or not i see difficulty as a negative or a positive or a neutral state. in general, i tend to remind myself that i got into this because it was FUN. and if it stops being fun, i re-evaluate and adjust so that i can remember that it is fun again. (very often, that does mean not thinking about other people, even if the ultimate goal is sharing it.)
• what i do to show people the work exists. this is something that we all have to grapple with, but—competition for attention is fierce. no one is entitled to eyes on their precious blorbos. but we can tell people who might like our work about it. and we can ask them to spread the word. and if those people do like it—which is not required!—if they like it a lot, they will share it because we love to share the things we like with friends! we’re social beasts! there are also all sorts of marketing things you can learn, and this goes for all of the trad published folks, too; we may think we’re owed marketing attention and $$ from publishers, but whether that’s true or not, it’s not always given.
• letting the work go. once it is out, it is simply a reflection of that moment in time. i am free to create a new thing—or to not.

i do have some pretty woo-woo thoughts about this stuff, though.

i believe that working passionately will help you develop skill.

i believe in playing, wholeheartedly and above all else, and play does not require an audience but it can involve companions.

i believe in finding companions! when i was sharing writing on those sites way back when—and onward all the way to today—i found my people by leaving my own comments on peoples work, striking up conversations. (whenever people ask, i say my best “marketing” technique is being a genuine fan of things—i can unabashedly say many of my readers found me because i had ridiculously nerdy conversations in public. and it’s how i found several certain locked tomb fics that IYKYK and if you don’t, oh well.)

i do believe that if you put passion and skill out into the world, it’ll find the people it’s meant to. “if you build it, they will come.” (i also think that we’ve been conditioned that “the people it’s meant to” is a lot of people, enough to make you viral, etc. but that is Incorrect.)

i believe that, if you really want more people to appreciate your work, you have to make something worth sharing. and that won’t be by copying the latest viral trend but by digging into your deep well of personal freakdom.

and if that doesn’t work, oh well. so what? make something else.