Not for the Weak of Heart – The Real Struggle of Writing

Virtue is its own reward, and brings with it the truest and highest pleasure; but if we cultivate it only for pleasure’s sake, we are selfish, not religious, and will never gain the pleasure, because we can never have the virtue
– John Henry Newman

Writing is not for the weak of heart, the vain, the glorious, or the greedy. Writing is about time, patience, and monk-like devotion to the work. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, easy about writing. Gratification is continually stymied, completion an infinite horizon, and real quality always a mystery.

As you may know from my posts, I am currently working on a novel. I have made great, solid gains on it for many months now, until recently I hit a roadblock. I wrote about that issue in a previous post which you can find here. After speaking with my fantastic writing group, I gained great insight into what the deeper, underlying issues are within my story and what I need to do to address that. And well let me just say that I basically have to go back to the beginning and add a whole other narrative line to the story. I have to deepen things, raise the stakes, and flesh out the characters even more. As a matter of fact in another recent post I speak in more detail about the reasons behind this decision and why it is so crucial. You can find that post here as well.

So today I want to speak more generally about the real nature of writing as I see it and experience it more and more each passing day. Writing is the most challenging activity I have ever attempted. It is relentless. It is demanding. And it provides no reassurance and no guarantees. The real value of writing is only found in the act itself. If you don’t enjoy writing (for at least some or hopefully most of the time) then you’re missing the point of writing. As I’ve said before, most people are excited about publishing, far fewer are actually excited about writing.

The fact that I have to now go back to page 1 after writing nearly 60,000 words and add in a whole other element to the story and the motivations of my characters is not just daunting but at this point it’s damned near demoralizing. I mean I was always prepared to revise, but when it is heaped upon you like this it is pretty disorienting. The writing gods demand much and often only pay in the satisfaction of getting through another day with some words on the page.

If you aren’t really committed to producing the best piece you can envision then what are you really doing writing at all? That’s the real question I’m struggling with at this time. Perhaps what’s most frightening is to consider if I’m still as interested in this story as it stands. Or perhaps I could find a way to finish it differently, without going back to page 1. Perhaps there are more ways to skin this car as the saying goes and still keep my own enthusiasm and excitement and interest in the piece. I do love writing I truly do, but man do I hate it these days. It is truly confounding me and frightening me into a paralysis that only makes me more upset with myself and the work before me. This is hard. Writing is challenging. It is at these times that I know I should just put my head down and keep writing, just keep going anyway, in spite of it all. But even now I seem to be beyond the precipice to a place where all that I know is still unable to assist me, to carry me forward. It is at times like these that faith alone has the power and ability. I must keep my faith, no matter what. To believe in myself, in my works, in whatever vision I have. This is the final outpost, the event horizon. Without the tenuous sinews of faith at the very last, then I have precious little.

Writing is everything. It challenges me to my core just as it soars me to heights unknown. I love it probably as much as I hate it. It creates me as much as destroys me. And through it all, I am here, writing, crafting, reading, observing, and always dreaming.