Blood and Kissing (Insecure Writer's Support Group)

Hello fellow insecure writers! (If you are an insecure writer but don't know why I just called you one go HERE to find out and connect with other writers!)

It's been difficult to motivate myself to write in the last couple of years. I usually blame it on working full time in the corporate world and living completely on my own and spending so much time in traffic In all honesty though, those are  the excuses I use to avoid the more difficult to admit reasons writing has become harder and harder over the years. 

When I first started writing I was thirteen. I wanted to write a book because . . . I loved books. I figured I would publish it (of course) when it was finished but didn't think much about it. 

It wasn't until I had drafted and edited my third manuscript that I got around to researching how publishing actually works. By then I was nineteen and needed to start thinking about the "What am I going to do with my life?" question in a more tangible way. 

That was eleven years ago. I've learned a lot about literature, publishing and the ever changing writing world in that time. I've written four more manuscripts and published two of them. I've written a handful of short stories and lots of sonnets. I've performed my poetry on stage. I've learned about all this social media and marketing stuff. I've moved from working at a burger joint to working in a cubicle (with lots of interesting stops along the way including the zoo and a German deli). After all this time there's a question I've begun to ask myself that I don't like to admit to anyone that I've been asking.

What's the point of writing?

Not "What's the point of literature?" or "What's the point of reading?" I have very strong beliefs on why storytelling is massively important to us as human beings. It connects us in beautiful, honest, emotive way that nothing else can.

 But why should I specifically continue to write the specific stories that I am writing? 

What am I trying to tell the world?

And, perhaps more pointedly, is the world even listening? 

When I wrote SNOW ROSES it was because I felt like I had a scream in my brain demanding to be smeared onto paper. I obeyed. I spilled the ink out onto the page like blood from my soul. When the book was finished and released out into the world the reviews were positive.

"Great fight scene at the end." My fans said. "You write such beautiful descriptions."

My little writer's heart sank. 

"But, but" I wanted to protest "Did you question the conventions of what love really is? Did you notice the Oedipal relationship between Lucille and the two girls and want to stand up to the authority of the past? Did it make you want to face your fears despite the consequences? Did it CHANGE you?"

 I'm not saying I ever wrote to teach or indoctrinate my readers but the reason SNOW ROSES came out of me with such force and intensity is that the thoughts and emotions encapsulated in it are very dear to my heart. I've read so many books, especially when I was younger,  that really made me question the way I saw the world. Those were some of my very favorite reading experiences. I wanted to create something like that for my readers. 

When you examine the writing market today it's hard not to feel gloomy. In our current society we've all experienced the feeling that everyone's screaming to be heard but nobody's listening but --for me at least--it runs deeper than that.

As a reader I am finding it harder and harder to find books I actually enjoy. The market is so saturated with stories that are all more or less the same. Even most of the covers look the same. And they're being published so fast. I really only have time to keep up with a few of my very favorite series-- mostly by authors who debuted more than ten years ago when it was still possible to tell authors apart. 

 At bookstores I find myself staring at all the identical covers decorated with author names I've never heard of and blurbs swearing up and down that they contain concepts no one else has thought of before with lots and lots of blood and kissing, trying to guess which one --if any-- are actually worth my time.. More and more I find myself steering away from the noisy, overwhelming fiction section and purchasing copies of titles like "How to Talk to Anyone" and "Being Peace". 

So why should I add to the noise? What value am I really giving the world by producing another dark romance with a rose on the cover? 

I believe in the depth behind the stories I am telling. But do my readers? Do my readers care about the depth and growth of my characters? Do they care about what sorts of mindsets and insights the plots lead them to? Or are they just in it for the blood and kissing? 

And if they don't care, should I? Aren't I producing something for them? Shouldn't I be giving them what they want? 

But I do care. 

 I will keep writing, of course. The stories want to be told whether they are ever fully understood or not. Perhaps a story --and life for that matter-- is not meant to be understood. Perhaps it is just meant to be.