Last week was a big one. Monday, I was on TV. Tuesday, I was in despair. Wednesday, I cried. Thursday, I scrolled job sites. Friday, I put on my pants and got back to work.
Life is a roller coaster. Mine, much less so than many others. I’m fortunate to spend my days fulfilling a lifelong dream. And yet, as is likely true of your work, being a writer has no small share of challenges. Namely, trying to balance the craft of writing (creating the stuff that goes on the shelf) with the business of it (doing the stuff that allows me to keep doing the craft).
It’s that second part, the business realities of being a writer, that got the best of me this week.
Whether I wish to believe it or not, there’s just no telling how the market will respond to a new book. It can have a fabulous title and a magical cover. It can make readers laugh and cry and want to turn every last page. And it can still float through the world as quietly as a whisper. All for reasons as plentiful and mystical as a sky full of stars.
My latest novel, Tired Ladies Take a Stand, has yet to find its outside voice.
The writer in the book, Fern McAllister, is coincidentally experiencing an existential crisis of her own. She’s frustrated enough by her fledgling career that when the story begins, she hasn’t written a thing in eight years.
“Maybe I’m not a writer, after all.” Fern remembers clearly the night she suggested to Mack that she might be ready to raise the white flag, though their now college-bound daughter was still requesting bedtime stories when the conversation took place. “I know I can write, but should I? Should I devote my life to something that pays me back in nickels?”
Mack responded by radiating the same calm that she’d married him for. “Money and attention aren’t the only worthwhile measures of success.”
“Just ask van Gogh, right?”
“If writing makes you happy, you should keep doing it.”
Therein lay the problem. “But I like things that like me back. Our children may drive me wild from the minute they wake up until the minute we chase them to bed at night. And yet, I know they need me and love me. I know my time with them is of value. I used to be able to rationalize the work of writing the same way—difficult, but worthwhile. Increasingly, though, it feels like a job for which I’m not getting paid.”
Those of you who have heard me talk about Tired Ladies Take a Stand know that I based much of Fern’s character on my own life. Like me, she is a woman with three happy children, a supportive husband, and the knowledge that she is safe and cared for.
We also share a nagging angst. What if the career you love doesn’t provide you with everything you hoped it would?
Unlike Fern, I’ve had novels do well. The Book Haters Book Club was translated into Croatian, Hebrew, Italian, Polish, Serbian, and Spanish. My book! From my brain! It’s a certified marvel.
But today’s market is unrecognizable compared to when that book hit shelves in 2022. I know because I recently poured my despair out in emails to my agent and editor and they sent me back the data. They also said Tired Ladies’ quiet reception wasn’t my fault. Shifts happen. Genres briefly go in and out of fashion. New terms like romantasy and spicy rom-com dominate the book buyer’s lexicon. Sometimes, they said, it ain’t nothing but timing.
I am earnestly trying to believe my team and their data. I have to. Because if I don’t, I’ll be tempted to quit this thing I love, just like Fern. And quitting means I’ve lost faith in myself, as well as in the characters I cherish, the ones who honor me by hopping into my head and saying, “Hello. Let’s have some fun together.”
Wednesday, I sent a series of sorrowful emails to author friends with the subject line, “Tell me this writer’s life is worth it. Unless it’s not.” Then I obnoxiously signed it with the closing, “Don’t let this email get you down.” As if I have that much power over other people’s emotions.
To a person, they answered with heartfelt empathy and tales of their own disappointments. They said that success is multifaceted and reminded me that every writer must decide for herself whether the journey continues. I’m relieved to note that each one of them writes on.
Today, as if the Universe was making sure I was listening, I received an unrelated email containing this quote from Bruce Lee:
"Do not pray for an easy life, pray for the strength to endure a difficult one."
Well, isn’t that just the period at the end of the sentence? Last week was hard. But it was also a lesson—that I didn’t choose this life; it chose me and, difficult as some days (weeks) are, I can decide to receive my gifts with a gracious heart. As much as my logical brain craves predictability and control, I don’t get to dictate the itinerary of my journey.
Only, I hate that! Uncertainty makes me cry, and stamp my feet, and send colleagues SOS emails, and scroll Indeed.com.
But then my creative brain whispers, “Predictable stories are boring.” An artist colleague reminds me that art and life both require contrast. And I remember that I can do things, lots of things, many of them hard.
The storm calmed, I sit back down and get to work.
Here’s hoping you are where you’re meant to be, friends. And if you feel you ever need to scream into the universe like I did last week, drop me a note. I’ve been there.
Gretchen Anthony