Dancing in the Dark
A post about internal and external rewards
Not everyone writes to be read. But I do. Let me make no bones about that. If I didn’t want this to be read, I wouldn’t be putting it up on the internet. I wouldn’t go to the “share” tab of Substack and make little graphics to post on social media. I definitely wouldn’t obsessively check the stats page to see how readership is doing this week.
(Seriously, who needs crack when you have a good stats page?)
I am also aware that I would probably be happier if I didn’t obsessively check the stats page. I mean not much happier. It’s not like the stats page is a source of constant woe. I know what I’m going to see because it’s the same every week. And yet there I am obsessively checking it. Because what if this is the week when it makes me very happy indeed?
Because I want to be read.
Which is, I think, fairly natural. A bajillion people are churning out a bajillion pieces of writing every day and we’re all clamoring for your attention like little stat-page addicted crackheads. I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in this.
Except…
OK, I’ve been doing this writing thing for a while now, and the thing about people reading my stuff is… I’m not there. Even if I was standing creepily over your shoulder (points if you just turned around to check) it would still be fairly boring. Reading is not a team sport. And just because you’re reading something I wrote, doesn’t mean you’re enjoying it. Which I also want you to do. This site is not some exercise in sadism. Promise.
(I realize me saying that out loud makes it sound like maybe it is an exercise is sadism, and I’m now trapped in a circle of increasingly weak sounding protestations that it’s not. But… goddammit read the words and take your punishment.)
Basically, for the writer, people reading the writing is a minuscule part of the total writing process. It takes me about a year to write a novel. Most of my novels don’t take that long to read. I think. I guess it comes down to how much you enjoy them. Again—and this is kind of my point—I’m not there. It’s not a part of the process I’m involved in.
Essentially, 99% of the writing process is the writing. At the end of that, there’s the sending it out into the world, maybe on this site, or maybe emailing it to my agent, and potentially eventually to an editor, but that’s the very last bit. At that point it’s mostly over for me. Hopefully people like it, but… how important is that?
Well… it’s quite important if you want to be read. And—like I say—I do want to be read.
Look, writing is a game with a lot of burnout. A lot of people come in, get some success and then fade away. And I don’t know this for sure, but I suspect a decent chunk of that is because the reward at the end often sucks. You spend a year writing, you get a book published, and then… then it’s just one more piece of writing among the bajillion others. It’s the same stats page as last week.
BUT… not everyone burns out. Some of us keep going, dancing in the dark, not knowing if someone with a flashlight will shine it in our direction, and hopefully not caring too much either. Because to stay at this game, what you have to love—what you have to adore—is the writing. Because that’s 99% of it. And if you don’t love 99% of it, and the 1% of it that you do love often isn’t there… oooph.
So, write for yourself. Write for the love. Write because writing is freaking awesome. Write as if no-one will ever read you. Write fearlessly and boldly and wildly. Write and have fun just writing.
And yet, despite this, and despite the number of times I’ve told myself this… I’m off to check the stats page.