Write Here. Write Now.

And to What End . . .

“BTW everyone is paranoid over social media fallout about almost anything, plus ageism. Plus a growing bias against heterosexual white women.” 

The exact text from an editor on my novel – my hungry, hungry novel, three years, eight drafts, two copyedits and one proof later.  First of all, the wording of the text was awkward and really needed a good edit, but I digress.  Second of all, I can’t change my gender, skin color or sexual orientation. Do these sobering words count for anything?

Here’s what I know about publishing: it’s really hard to get your foot into the door.  There are more writers in this country than there are readers. Agents and publishers are paranoid about all the reasons a book might not sell, and forget about the reasons that a book might sell. Two years ago any writer’s workshop I attended stressed the importance of social media followers.  You need 40K follower per platform. You need 10K followers per platform. You need to be famous before you’re famous for anyone to look at your work.

How many books did those “influencers” who got book deals really sell? Where’s the algorithm that shows 15K Instagram followers translates into X amount of book sales? And now, what’s the appropriate age, race, gender and sexual orientation that helps you get your foot in the door of the highly coveted, highly dysfunctional publishing world?

I have no answers.  Just more questions, but I’m not asking them of publishers. The questions are for me.  The truth is, age does play a part. Seventy-two might be too old for someone to want to invest in my career. If no one ever offered me agent representation or published anything of mine ever again, what would that say about me? That’s the hard question.

Here’s my truth: I write mostly for the writing life. I write because my other work in the world is done. I’ve developed an affection for the study the craft, for the practice and rigor. I discover things about myself, good and bad, through the process of writing.  So if no one is interested in my work, it’s not an indictment and it’s certainly not the end of my creativity.

Age has a way of pulling you into a life that is being-centered as opposed to doing-centered. The youthful ambition of collecting achievements and accolades morphs into a gathering of self-knowledge and a spirit of gratitude. Does that mean that I should not do writing? The answer to that is this is my time to be a writer, and not give up on my dream of the big book sale, but to understand that ultimately everything will change and end. Unrealized dreams are taken to many a grave, but I can’t imagine a life without a vision to carry me to my someday death.

There are probably more writers like me than not.  A sisterhood of older women, tough old birds who choose to spend their last decades writing stories and books; women who sometimes get published by independent or hybrid presses, yielding small potato earnings. I’m always searching for ways to get my work out there. Does serialization work, or is it too cumbersome? Does a platform like Substack work, or is it just the newest, latest, greatest, platform that at the end of the day is just another platform?

I’d rather not think about these things.  I’d rather just write.  I’m not much of a marketer or promoter anyway, though I do what I can to draw attention to things I’ve written.  So I limp along, currently in search of representation for a book penned by this old, white, heterosexual woman, but I have to make the search secondary to what it is I love – the writing life.

The writing life is made up of early morning hours journaling, the power of slow, handwritten musings that reveal how soul wants to express in the world. The writing life looks like copious amounts of sweet, black tea and a lit candle on my desk; reading poetry aloud, to hear the rhythm and cadence of Wendell Berry or Amanda Gorman who have never failed to inspire me; a weekly piece like this one that underscores keepin’ it real; and finally the one new file on my laptop, containing the next, new, big project. 

No matter the odds, no matter the results, I am in the essence of my being, an artist. Writing has always helped me to make sense of the world. Creativity is the spiritual path that I walk daily, an ongoing prayer of making something out of nothing and paying homage to the ultimate Creator.

Our mouths would be parched if a younger and more diverse generation where denied publishing. Our souls are parched when the works of our elders are denied with only rare exception. On this day, I raise my virtual glass to you dear writers, and to you, precious readers. We all share the struggle, the triumph and the joy of creating a life of meaning. Remember this — none of us are ever as alone as we think we are. Cheers.