Last week I did my first reader survey, asking Inkwell subscribers what topics they would most like me to cover in upcoming live workshops.
One respondent asked the question, ‘Is it worth it? I know that's a bit negative, but seriously, in the age of AI, culture wars, author cancellations, is it even worth bothering? 🙁’
This made me chuckle (knowingly) because I’ve certainly had dark nights of the soul when I’ve asked myself the same question, but I also knew immediately what my answer would be. I believe, enthusiastically and unreservedly, that yes, for me, it is worth it. Because what matters most is why you write in the first place.
To clarify, the survey was anonymous, and I have no idea who asked the question, but if it was you, I thank you, because we don’t talk so much about the benefits that writing can bring to our lives, regardless of publication success. This post is for you and the many who have pondered the same thing.
Let’s start with an assumption. Let’s assume we’re talking about writing that is intended for publication. Because writing for writing’s sake is quite different from writing with the hope and expectation that your work will be read. Writing as a creative act has value in and of itself. Consider the diaries and journals that people have written for centuries, with no intention of sharing them with the world. Think of arts therapy and the countless people who have found relief and healing by expressing their thoughts and feelings on paper. Consider the letters, prayers and love poems that were never meant for eyes other than the recipient’s. Writing for ourselves or our loved ones has a special kind of worth.
Writing for commercial publication is, of course, different, and I think it's this public side of writing that our questioner is concerned with here. So, let’s assume we’re talking about the dream so many of us have: to write a book and get it published. To see our works on the shelves of bookshops. To be a published author.
The publishing trade media is full of articles about how tough it is for authors these days. Author income is lower than ever, libraries are struggling to survive, and creative arts are systematically devalued in our schools. Amazon dominates the bookselling market, and many readers would rather download a 99p eBook than shell out £8.99 for a paperback in an independent bookshop. That’s if they buy books at all. Why would they when there’s so much immediately available, free entertainment competing for their attention? Cancel culture has made publishers cautious about what they publish (many would say overly so), writers are afraid to tackle contentious subjects for fear of being cancelled and dropped by their publishers, and now, AI is coming to steal our jobs. And when it often feels like half the world is on fire, it’s easy to think that writing stories is self-indulgent and pointless.
Yikes. In this climate, ‘is it worth it?’ seems a very reasonable question to ask.
What this comes down to is why we write in the first place. Identifying your why is crucial. It’s a conversation I have with most of my coaching clients, and an aspect of my own practice that I try to connect with regularly. Connecting with your why, understanding what writing does for you, and using that as your guiding light over time, is what brings long-term fulfilment in your writing life.
I’m reminded of the famous Charlotte Brontë quote, which sits on a postcard next to my desk: ‘I’m just going to write because I cannot help it’. Unlike Charlotte, I find it quite easy to ‘help it’, so over the years I’ve practiced noticing the differences between when I’m writing and when I’m not.
I know now that I’m generally happier when I’m writing, regardless of my publication status. When I’m not, it’s as if there’s background noise – a silent dog whistle that I’m not even aware of – until I do write, and it quietens down. Something is not quite right, something I can’t put my finger on. There’s an itch that must be scratched. I know I’m most content when I’ve had a good writing day. When I have a project underway and I’m making progress. I’m happier. Less irritable. Nicer to be around. And that impacts my life and relationships in myriad ways.
Writing gives me other things too, important things. Purpose and direction, an escape, a way to inhabit experiences different from mine, a creative outlet, and a way to communicate. It provides connection: to a community of writers and readers, and to a centuries-long practice of storytelling which is fundamental to our collective human experience.
And you don’t have to take my word for it. The growing field of neuroaesthetics, or neauroarts, studies the impact that consuming and making art has on our brains and bodies. It turns out that making art is literally good for us, something Susan Magsamen and Ivy Ross explore in their recent book, Your Brain on Art: How the Arts Transform Us. They bring together a host of recent research that proves how essential consuming and making art is to our wellbeing. For instance, a 2016 study conducted at Drexel University discovered that ‘making art for as little as 45 minutes reduces the stress hormone cortisol, no matter your skill level or experience. Making art is physiologically calming.’
Literature is no exception. It’s been proven in studies using fMRI imaging that reading poetry lights up the areas of the brain associated with rewards, and that expressive writing, so often used in therapeutic environments, changes neural activity by accessing areas of the brain that are critical in processing negative emotions. It looks like science is finally confirming things that art therapists have known for decades. Dozens of studies by James Pennebaker, a social psychologist and pioneer of writing therapy, have shown that expressive writing can ‘reduce blood pressure, lower cortisol levels, lessen pain, improve immune function, and alleviate depression while also heightening self-awareness, improving relationships and increasing our ability to cope with challenges.’
When it comes to writing fiction, there have been a few exploratory studies using fMRI tech, but recreating ‘real life’ conditions in a lab has so far beaten the boffins, and so far, results have been interesting, but not exactly conclusive. Maybe we should trust our own instincts and experiences. If we get benefits from the process of writing, isn’t that enough?
I’ve learned to separate the work of writing from the business of publishing. For me, true fulfilment comes from doing the work. From striving to do better; to be a better writer. From embracing the process, with all its ups and downs, and protecting my relationship with my writing by keeping part of it private, for me alone.
Don’t get me wrong, publication is fantastic. There’s nothing more gratifying after years of work than seeing your book out in the world and hearing from readers who love what you do. It can also bring important moments of validation, achievement and genuine elation – a great review, a prize, a moving email from a new fan – all these things should be celebrated, but they are ultimately fleeting. What remains is the work, and your relationship with it. That's where we find true, long-lasting joy. It’s not flashy or obvious. It’s personal and private.
Try this. Set a timer for at least 5 minutes. Take a pen and paper and free write on this question: What does writing add to my life?
You might be surprised by what comes up.
We talk a lot about the difficulties of writing, the things that get in the way, the struggles and emotions; we don't talk so much about the good stuff because it’s so hard to quantify. It’s individual and intensely personal.
So, is it worth it? Only you can answer that question.
Save the Date!
Our next workshop will be…
Thursday 20th June 2024, 6pm - 7pm UK time
The topic is up to you!
Last chance to have your say before I announce details next week! Please take a minute to fill it in – it will help me tailor things for you. It’s important to me that this community is built together, so please be honest. It’s anonymous and confidential.
Love this so much. Well researched and beautifully written. I enjoy writing and have only just started writing a book but so far I’m enjoying it. 🤞🏻 It’s only the beginning stages so I’m sure once I’ve finished the hard part of editing and shaping comes in — but maybe that’s what I can talk to you about in a coaching session. 😅 But yes, I agree it is worth writing no matter the outcome. I find that I have a distant dream of publishing and like in any “story arc,” the goal sustains us/the motivation is the journey to the end point even if it never happens. This is the first year I’ve made plans to make my dreams happen in a concrete way despite having a full time editorial job. ☺️ In my case, over the last year or so I’ve written pieces for competitions and submitted — short stories, non-fiction columns, book pitches, screenplays, etc. Nothing has come from it so far but the dreams are nice and the hope that one day… 🤔
At a panel of agents and publishers at this year's History Quill conference, I learned that the 17th century isn't selling, and that no publisher is willing to take on a series begun by another publisher. This while I was revising my second 17th-century whodunit. I pushed through the revisions and got them done. But I'm stepping back for now from the third one in the series to take up another project.
I write because I love to write! I always have. When I was in my 20s, I used to think I didn't have the imagination to be a writer of fiction. What I discovered in my 40s is that I have plenty of imagination - I just hadn't had enough life experience. I've been writing steadily ever since.