Hello friends and welcome to another determined edition of Just Another Struggling Writer. I’m just another struggling writer.
Well, I did it. I submitted my resume. I applied for an editorial assistant position with a Big Name imprint at a Big Name publisher. I have absolutely no shot. But hitting send was huge for me. Not only did it represent a step I’d been too afraid for so long to take, it also helped clear my mind of some of the fog that had been clouding it of late. I’m not suggesting that by merely applying for a job I fixed my anxiety, but I did wake up this morning and I was able to tell myself to stop feeling embarrassed of myself. And that’s not nothing.
With my new found (relative) clarity of mind, I asked myself what I was going to do. The answer, of course, was write. But not just write. Not just work on my outline and do some (admittedly necessary) world building and call it a day. No.
I mentioned last week that my ultimate writing goal is not necessarily to be famous or rich or have a lot of fans even (though I wouldn’t say no two those). What I really want to be known for as a writer is writing a lot. I mean… a lot a lot. Millions of words. Dozens of books across several different series. I want to be always drafting or revising or editing or outlining my next idea. I want to be just as prolific as those writers you immediately think of when you see the word prolific.
Of course, to do that I have to increase my current word count by *checks math* a hell of a lot. Because I’m not likely to sell my first book, nor will it appear freshly drafted on my desktop through sheer willpower alone. And, as all writers know, writing is a lot easier said than done. There’s always some other obligation, some distraction, some random, unexplained, and totally uncalled for discombobulation in your brain chemistry that leaves you waylaid for days or weeks at a time.
There’s always self doubt. There’s always some secret part of you urging you to give up and go watch Netflix because that’s easier. But you can’t. Because the only way to become a writer is to write. The only way improve your craft is to keep writing. The only way to ever satisfy that itch inside you to tell stories is write until every last one of them are told.
And then you make up some new ones, and you write those too.
I’ve tended to look on my writing journey with disappointment. I haven’t come as far as I would have hoped by now, and that’s discouraging. But I’ve come to realize that is due in part to my habit of thinking much too far ahead. I’ve started a journey, but I’ve taken none of the steps. As with most things, I need to stop overthinking things, stop worrying about the future, stop trying to be perfect, and just… write.
Speaking of which, I better get to it. Until next time my friends, may your writing be plenty and your struggles be few.