what's love got to do with it?

I gave a reading at a bookstore a few weeks ago that went so well I was invited back. After the event people came up to tell me how much they loved my work. And I caught myself thinking, this is why I write, isn’t it? (Spoiler: it’s not.)

The first time I shared my fiction was in a creative writing class my senior year. It was a demented story that ended with one character cutting out the other’s eyes. (Yes, I’m in therapy.) Word spread quickly about my sensational story, as things in high school do. Popular kids who typically ignored me were suddenly running up, asking for a copy, begging me to let them read it during fourth hour. And after fourth hour they’d rush up, telling me how much they loved it. The attention was intoxicating. I wanted more of that— people being in awe of me, people loving me. 

We all want to be loved and feel special. (Psst— you are special and don’t need to do anything to be ‘worthy’ of love.) But our drive for our writing can’t be love. Or rather, it can if we’re doing it because we love it. But writing for love is a terrible idea. I know because I’ve tried. It’s embarrassing to admit, but that used to be my driving force. For way too long I chased after that taste of admiration I got in high school. 

Of course it feels good when people admire our work. But that nice giddy feeling isn’t going to sustain us long term. We need more than those nice feelings, we need something that accepts the whole package: the good, the bad, and the ugly. That’s the stuff that can carry us through the hard days, the ones we can’t drag ourselves to the page because we hate our work. Days full of rejections that are timed just as we’re majorly doubting ourselves and our abilities. Days when life is hard and we burn our toast and the dog won’t stop throwing up on the carpet. 

Days the loving feelings aren’t enough. We need something solid to hold us when things get hard. Because I’m sorry to say, things will get hard. 

no burnt toast or dog puke photos (you’re welcome) but here’s something prickly like those kind of days

But that’s why we can’t latch on to the external stuff. Because I know for every person who will love my work, there’ll be hundreds (thousands?) who won’t. Billions who’ll never read it. The writing life is tough and typically very discouraging. Honestly, sometimes I’m not sure loving it is even enough. 

I write because I need to. Because not doing it isn’t an option. I know because I’ve tried not writing. (Turns out I get grumpy if I go too long without doing it.) 99% of the time there’s no positive feedback or people saying nice things. The writing life isn’t glamorous. It lets me down a lot. I can’t say I always love it, but I accept the whole package: the good, the bad, and the ugly. 

Reading Recommendations

Online: 

Elizabeth McNeill has a fantastic story about the end of capitalism over at Mid-Level Management Literary Magazine called We Are Emergencies. I love the humor, like this golden nugget: “AND A SOUL? HOW MUCH IS IT WORTH?” Kelly did some quick calculations and arrived at $73.46 per month but decided to keep that to herself. 

Another recently published short story I loved is The Rock Is Not a Rock by Shayne Terry, published by TriQuarterly. It’s super rich, which isn’t surprising when you know Shayne wrote ~100k words to arrive at this story! 

Over at Electric Lit, Andria Kennedy wrote about how Elissa Bassist’s Hysterical (a book I haven’t read but want to) helped her learn to advocate for herself. Such a great read. 

I’ve been talking nonstop about Davon Loeb’s work because I love his writing. His essay Fighting the Tree was recently published by The Sun, and is excerpted from his brilliant lyrical memoir The In-Betweens, which I was lucky to talk to him about.

And Sophie Amado published this terrific flash piece, The Brown Line Talks at Cosmic Double, which I think anyone who has ridden the CTA will appreciate.

Books: 

Up next/ preorder alert: A very nice publicist offered to send me Clint Smith’s forthcoming book of poetry, Above Ground. I’ve never covered poetry before, but I eagerly accepted the offer because I loved Smith’s book, How the Word Is Passed. Looking forward to reading it slowly. 

Sending you lots of admiration and love!