For the past few days, I’ve been in a creative slump. My dream has always been to be a bestselling author. I wanted books on the shelves. I wanted a massive line of people, waiting for my autograph. I wanted to be known.
But I really thought about it and did some research and realized all that stems from ego. It won’t make me a better writer.
It wouldn’t even validate the quality of my writing.
I have money coming in, so it’s not like I necessarily need the income. Sure, six or seven figures would be great, but it’s not desperately needed.
To quote a song…
“I am not afraid to keep on living. I am not afraid to walk this world alone.”
So, I’m going to keep on writing because, to quote a famous author, “when I write, I don’t feel like I should be doing anything else.” I just feel the characters and I feel the words that connect them to each other. I feel that symmetry, that flow, and it’s like watching a river trickle over rocks. There’s a chaotic, peaceful pattern to it all.
And that’s worth writing about.