Three years ago I decided to try my hand at writing a novel. I've been a professional songwriter since I was seventeen but I had never tried to write prose. In the ensuing three years I have written two novels, a novelette and a number of short stories. I love to write. I don't deceive myself into thinking that I'm a great writer, but I can tell an interesting story.
Four months ago I joined a writer's group here in Colorado Springs, as much for social reasons as for creative discourse. There is no critique process of our writing and most of our discussions involve marketing, social networking, blogging and self promotion. I don't have a problem with all of that, but we never discuss the creative process, that elusive spark that drives us to put word to paper. I feel like we're putting the cart before the horse in these meetings and I'm thinking of quitting.
All my creative efforts have been born out of a need for self expression, narcissistic as that may seem. A fellow writer said that we never know when our creative endeavors will inspire another person to begin their own creative search. To me, that would be my greatest success. While I'm not against recognition or monetary reward for creative work, I feel these should never be the impetus for creativity. I'm not suggesting art for art's sake, but writing simply to make a buck or see your name in print is cheap. It's word pollution and the world is awash in that these days. I choose to embrace the idea that my writing is like the sound of one hand clapping and if a breath of air flows from it then I've succeeded.
No comments:
Post a Comment