We often hear it said that “everyone wants to write a book.” Although we may find a certain amount of comforting inclusiveness in this idea, I think we also sometimes respond to it with at least a smidge of disdain. After all, the only people who should really be writing books are those who are good at it—or at last those who are serious about it. Right?
But this idea, however vague or unrealized, is problematic—for many reasons. For one thing, I think it is the internalized cause for much of the shame and insecurity that authors (and I daresay other artists) tend to struggle with so stereotypically. For another, it suggests that creativity and communication are only worthwhile if they attain some arbitrary (and often ever-shifting) standard of universal quality. And finally, adherence to this idea to whatever degree also robs the individual, and ultimately the world, of many other types of potential blessings which extend far beyond the created work itself.
I’ll be honest: even the title of this site—Helping Writers Become Authors—implicitly suggests that only “authors” count in contrast to plain old workaday “writers” (though there really isn’t a dictionary distinction between “writers” and “authors”). I suppose this is all fine and well. After all, at a certain point most people engaged in any artistic pursuit—and especially to the degree that they desire a return from it (commercial or otherwise)—will find purpose and enjoyment in understanding and improving their craft.
But insofar as this site, and many others like it, seem to be focused on “the serious writer,” I think it is important to remember that writing is not merely the domain of those who have proven themselves “worthy” through exemplary skill and study.
Indeed, I hope everyone does want to write a book. And I hope everyone writes at least one book—or poem or screenplay—or paints a picture, takes a beautiful photo, etc. The act of creativity is sacred. More than that, it is the portal through we which we have the opportunity to bless our own lives and by extension the world. And this is true even if our work is witnessed by no one but ourselves.
If you have ever come to this site, others like it, or books about writing—or even just read a novel by someone whose skill and inspiration felt miles beyond your own—and felt that you should give up right now, that you have no right to write anything or call yourself a “writer,” much less an “author”—or if you feel your scribblings, however passionate, do not count because you have no ambition to publish or be a “good writer”—if grammar and story structure and arguments about POV and the Oxford comma aren’t your thing—it doesn’t matter.
We need your writing—and mine (because I feel most of those feelings on a regular basis)—as much as we do any of the great classic heroes of literature. The world needs us all to be writers and creators. It needs the next Pulitzer winner, and it needs the scribbled poem forgotten on a napkin in a cafe.
Creativity vs. Commercialism
For writers in this post-modern age, who have at our fingertips more options and control for publishing and making a career of writing than ever before, there is a danger of confusing the inherent worth of creativity with what often seems its natural commercial endpoint.
Not only does “everyone want to write a book,” but many people also dream of being published authors. Any prestige aside, as well as the idea that being a writer might provide a more rewarding vocation than a “day job,” we also tend to find deep resonance simply in the idea of sharing our ideas and words with others. After all, writing perhaps more than any other form of creativity is about communication. If nothing else, writing stories that are commercial successes seems to be the best way to communicate with the greatest number of people.
So far so good. And we all have to make a living (and, after all, writing is how I make my living, so I’m definitely not knocking it!). But it is important not to conflate the act of creativity with the act of selling the products of that creativity.
The worth of your writing is not determined by how many books you sell. By anyone’s standard, there are a plethora of great books that have never been published or, if they have been published, have never sold many books—just as there are a plethora of bestsellers that really aren’t that great.
More than that, however, the idea that the goal of writing must be commercially-viable publication is problematic because it discourages creativity for the sake of creativity. And that is really the whole point anyway.
Even when unwitnessed, creation is an act of organizing the chaos of life into order. It is what is sometimes called in the old fables “sorting this from that.” To whatever degree your art and your writing allow you to do this for yourself, it will impact those around you and in some measure the entire scope of life. That is hardly without value.
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