Struggles of a Writer

A friend told me there are two paths of struggle for creatives. Those who struggle within and those who struggle without.

Internal Struggle

There are people who get stuck in jobs, where they don’t get to pursue their passion and struggle within. I struggled in that way for years. Fearful that I’d never get the chance to write. It felt like a painful death from within. I could feel the unpursued passion burning within me. It felt like my job snuffed out that dream. Going to the office every day made me feel like I was losing myself. I became someone I didn’t recognize. I cried most days. The sad part, I was “successful” at my job. I excelled and the more I accomplished, the more resentful I felt toward the job. I remember coming to a point while driving down a road where a stray thought ran through my head, “I hate my life.” My unhappiness in what I was doing for work had somehow poisoned every aspect of my life.

Thankfully, I found my way to writing. I dove in, headfirst. I’ve often said that my worst day as a writer is better than my best day before I wrote. This is so true. That internal struggle, the feeling of part of you dying is so painful. On the other side of this though, I’ve found a different struggle. The struggle without, as my friend called it.

External Struggle

We live in a time that is not always the most supportive of artists. While all types of artists struggle in this area, I’ll speak as a writer. As a new writer, it’s so hard to gain traction, get your voice and work in front of other people. It’s compounded by people’s desire to consume your work for free. People have a greater appetite for entertainment. Yet, this desire comes with the thought that art is a hobby and people shouldn’t expect to get paid for their hobby.

Somehow, we equate work with misery. You shouldn’t get paid for something you enjoyed creating. But let’s be clear, there are many aspects of any creative process that are painful. What’s more, as a writer, by the time I’ve created something that worthy of submitting, I’ve invested months and more likely years. All without pay. Longer hours than I ever spent at any job or profession. Weekends, late nights, early mornings. No time seems off-limits. To be honest, no one would give so much of themselves and not get paid for any company in the world. Yet, this is what artists give for their craft.

Value as a Writer

A few years ago, I served as a Poetry Out Loud judge for the state finals. Each judge had a few minutes to read their poems between the competition rounds. I was the last poet to read that night. I felt so nervous closing out the night. None of the judges had heard my poetry before. Not even the person from the Arts Council who had asked me to act as accuracy judge for the competition. There were four other judges, including our state’s poet laureate.

A bright light shone on me, with the audience mere shadows. I could see shapes of people, but no distinct faces. I was so nervous that my mouth dried out and my tongue started sticking to the roof of my mouth. I wasn’t sure I’d get all the poems out. I ended my set with “The Things I Regret Forgetting.” I made it through that difficult poem without crying and my dry tongue let all the words out. Though barely.

Afterward, our poet laureate gave me a hug and many people came up to me to shake my hand. The audience felt connected to me after hearing my personal poem. They now felt they knew me, wanted to touch me, to comfort me. These people whose faces I couldn’t even see when I read the poem, with whom I shared my grief, bonded with me in a matter of minutes. I remember one woman came up to me and held my hand the entire time we spoke. She said my poem reminded her of her husband who she’d lost within the year. Especially the part about green eyes.

Kind Words are the True Mark of Success

I had a similar interaction over the same poem the following year. Once again, I was serving as a judge for the state finals of Poetry Out Loud. I brought some new poems, but I also read “The Things I Regret Forgetting.” The day after I’d read the poem, I ran into one of the participants’ parents. She said she was so touched by my poem and asked if she could hug me. I remember her saying, “I don’t even know why I can’t stop crying.” The poem had touched her.

I don’t often share these stories. I guess worry they’ll sound like I’m bragging. But most of the comments I get are personal and in private. Over the years, I’ve collected stories like these and look back on them fondly. They are what makes this journey worthwhile. I never thought by sharing my experience with grief that I would connect with so many people. I didn’t think my poems would touch them in the way they have. I hoped others would find healing as I did, but I never thought my words would be what led them to that healing.

For writers, artists, and creatives who struggle to get a foothold in the fast-moving space of the internet, social media, and the publishing industry – enjoy the journey. Take the moments of connection, of victories however small, and relish them. Those are the only things that matter, that make the process worthwhile. By the time you find you’ve arrived at whatever point makes you feel successful, you may be disappointed with what that looks or feels like. You may find that you missed all the moments along the way that brought true joy.