Sometimes the writer in me pushes through exciting me with a rush of – what, euphoria? Intoxication?…I’m not sure but whatever the spirit, it fills me, moves me, tickles me with its tender fingers making me feel like I can somehow turn my passion for words into a product, a living thing that sustains me.
Most wannabe authors dream of publication and I’m no different. But I’ve read enough to know that publishing is first and foremost a business and like all businesses, money is the main and ultimate goal. You must write what sells.
Whatever compels readers to swipe their cards or whip out their cash is what publishing houses want us to produce. Every how-to site and book advises authors to research prospective publishers and “see what they publish” and they advise us to see if we “fit” into the mission statement of the firm that has their books marketed to the people who they know will buy.
Look through all the conformist advice and see what you must be in order to traditionally publish: this is theme of the unpublished. Yet, when you really notice…when you “see” and comprehend that many of the greatest most moving books are the ones composed without conformist pressure to make money (or so I believe).
Perhaps I’m naïve, or maybe I’m just another bitter writer in a sea of writers pinning to “make it”. Either way, I’ve come to know that I don’t want to approach writing in the same manner I approach job hunting, because essentially that’s what publisher shopping is, when one researches the company and beefs up the resume to fill the need.
I am good at formula following. I can cling to a template and plug in numbers. I can compose within established guidelines and pass an audit with ease. I can mirror a concept or tweak a rationale. I can spin a story and put out whatever is necessary; that’s what I do every day at work.
But for now, writing is an escape; a magical titillating conjugal visit done purely for the joy of it.