I've been busy doing what a lot of writers do: goofing off. Of course, my travel blog, 1Woman1World1Year.blogspot.com has been kept up because I continue to travel, and my Facebook Author's Page (AuthorNews) gets a little of my attention, but my writing blog has limped off into the corner and is currently licking its leg in disgust.
I don't think I'm alone in this, but I often don't enjoy writing. Yes, there is, sometimes, supreme satisfaction when some goal or accomplishment has been reached. There is also the terror of the empty page, the swirl of too many or too few ideas about what happens next in a story. The lure of the laundry, the happy hum of an open refrigerator door. Temptations abound, rewards few.
It's tough when you're fairly skilled at something, but it doesn't offer much of a payoff. One of my favorite short stories (by Poul Anderson, I think) was about the author Herman Melville. In life, Melville found modest success as a writer, though his great work, Moby Dick, met with little acclaim. In the story, he comes back and gets to see all the people he's influenced, the popularity of his work, the admiration for his efforts.
I don't pretend to be a Melville, though we all feel the tug of practicalities continually competing with art for one's attention. But thinking about that short story led me to a different place. Writing stories puts reality in the hands of the author--the end can be glorious, beastly, or bittersweet (my personal favorite). We may be able to influence our outcomes in life, but how often can any of us create exactly what we want? Only on the page, in our stories.
Writers--what do you say?
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