I was walking outside earlier today — because, you know, sitting in front of a computer screen all day is not actually all that good for your mental health, particularly when it’s a computer screen that’s inside your own house, so that you can pass whole days without even glimpsing the outdoors if you don’t actually make the effort —
Where was I? Oh, yes, talking about walking around outdoors, because it’s still actually warm enough that you can walk around outdoors (unusually so, for Wisconsin in November). Not that I tend to walk that long anyway. But it helps to clear out the mental fumes, and does a better job at correcting unfortunate moods than just about anything I know. Taking walks — a key to sanity.
I started today’s walk more or less disgruntled about my writing: the lack of response, lack of sales, etc., and the part of me that wants to be disappointed about this and invest my emotional energy in something more potentially rewarding, such as, say, goldfish raising. In short, I was mentally whining about my lot in life as an unappreciated, unread, and (mostly) unpurchased writer, when I was smacked by the realization of just how ungrateful I was being, and how forgetful of the many wonderful things that have happened to me throughout this whole writing process — which the various accompanying disappointments don’t really subtract from in any meaningful way.
I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I love language, and I love stories. I possess (I have long told myself) all the component skills to become a decent story writer: appreciation of language, a fairly decent work ethic (at least when it comes to writing), ability to think about plots, etc. I’d become more or less resigned, however, to the fact that those things just didn’t seem to jell properly for me. It hurt, wanting to do something really creative but not being able to do it.
And then this story came along. And if it seems odd now to look back and realize that I did actually manage to finish a novel, it seemed just as odd — possibly more so — while I was doing it. But also deeply exhilarating.
Talents, I believe, are areas where the veil is slightly thinner that separates us as mortals from our true divine potential. In exercising a talent, we momentarily experience something different and greater than everyday reality. Life itself is momentarily more real — a reminder of what can lie ahead if we keep our eye on eternity. Writing this novel was, for me, a bit of that. A glimpse of greater potential, of things I can’t do now but hope to be able to do someday.
I can’t make any claims for the quality of what I’ve written. For one thing, I’m far too close to it to have any real, objective idea of whether it’s good or bad. But I can say that to a great degree, I succeeded in making it the novel I wanted it to be. Regardless of what might happen with it from this point out, whether it will be reviewed in the papers and picked up by bookstores and read by millions, or hundreds at least (a more reasonably ambitious goal) — regardless, even, of whether or not I ever write another novel — still I’m grateful to have had the experience. My life is richer for it.
Great attitude. My own novel sold only just over 100 copies, but I don’t regret doing it a bit. In fact, I’m REALLY looking forward to getting to my next novel, because of that buzz you get while writing it. When my current slate of extra projects is finished about the middle of next year, I intend to take a year off from extraneous projects for solely my own creative work. And as I did with the first, I’m going to write the next novel for myself, the book I want it to be, not trying to appeal to or please some audience or fulfill somebody else’s rubric on the craft of writing. I’ll publish it, of course, but I’ve learned not to really care about sales much anymore.
Hey,
I think it’s important to distinguish between the number of people who read the book and the size of the effect the book has on those who read it. Many books get read (and bought) by many people. And when those people read the last page they close the book and don’t give it a second thought. It may have been an enjoyable read, but it hasn’t impacted their lives in any substantial way. On the other hand, I know that when I read the last page of you book, my experience with it was just beginning. The story you told and the characters you created truly changed the way I look at the world. Your book has changed me and motivated me to more to provide support and encouragement to people like Paul. You may not have any idea about the extent of the influence of your book, at least no tin this life. But I believe that in time you will see that your book has changed the world in a very real way.
Kevin
Mr. Jonathan, please take heart. I intend to buy your book for the read. This is an issue so near and dear to my heart, and you have filled a need that cannot be found elsewhere. Thank you for having the courage to do so.