Certainly there’s more to writing than publication. As I have often told people: when the money breaks out against the hours spent, one would be better off picking strawberries as a migrant worker. At the same time, there’s no excuse for dashing through the hall of dreams, kicking over aspirations and pissing on hope.

Of note, ANYONE who has been published knows there are variables beyond the writer’s control – layout issues, editors, proofreaders – they all put their fingers in the pot. Though my copy remained 100% intact, there was a layout squeeze and a comma was omitted. Can you guess where this is going? After publication, more often than not, my friends and acquaintances, though quick to express praise, were equally quick to point out the missing comma and other needless observations. My big mouth gets me into a lot of trouble, but I simply smiled and thanked people. Arghhh.

Then there were the book signings – the gushing and clearly undeserved over-the-top praise. I say that the praise was undeserved because so many people put us writers in a Utopian category. I wanted to screech, “I’m just a person who puts words down on paper.” Lest you think I was/am ungrateful – I’m not. I simply became the proverbial dog who had caught the hubcap and didn’t know what to do with it. I had accomplished a dream (albeit an unexpected byline) and then was stumped. Writing is a curious journey fraught with insecurities, neurotic behaviors. Even validations make us quirky.

I think the very biggest thrill was to enter bookstores and find ‘my’ book. It was an amazing feeling. But yeah, I’m about 2 billion with Amazon’s sales. Oh, and the byline is Irene Bean (before I married). My byline on this site is Reenie because that’s what family and friends call me, and sometimes it affords me anonymity. Guess I’ve blown my cover!

Today, I’m trying to get published again. I think I’ve learned that it’s not the recognition I hunger for – I want people to read my words for pleasure, growth and emotional exploration. I want people to savor my efforts like one would savor a flavorful soufflé – accomplished because of a good recipe and the integrity of its ingredients.

The money would be sweet, too!

I think it’s important to think of getting published as a financial goal rather than an indication of the validation of one’s writing; because once you are published you run into another validation hurdle, does anyone read your book?

Anne Lamott addresses this better than I could in “Bird by Bird” but I can share my experience. Last year I had a non-fiction management book published. There was a real thrill in walking into Barnes and Noble that first time and seeing my book on the shelf.

But like all external thrills this one was quickly gone. And, as my book went largely unpurchased, it soon left the shelves of Barnes and Noble and was returned to my publisher. I now sit around 1.3Million on the Amazon Best Seller List.

So is it better to be published and unread or never published? I’ve come to the conclusion that both are meaningless as validations of my writing. I found that I woke up the day after being published with the same litany of aches, pains and need for breakfast that I had the day before. The worries were largely the same, but now I had an additional concern of “Will someone ever buy my book?” “Should I do more marketing?” etc.

I hope that you do get the opportunity to be published since it is fun. But I think that the writing is the key and the publishing might be best thought of as an incidental bonus rather than as a validation of ones work.

I think of writing—in fact any artwork—as being a little like that act of catching the bird mid-flight. Ideas and inspirations are sometimes quick, elusive. They often convey messages we wouldn’t normally think ourselves capable of handling. It’s like coming across something that is ripe to be harvested. We capture a moment, a message, a gift. To me writing is like that. If I keep writing I place myself in the place and time where every now and then something comes along for me to grasp and hold, perhaps treasure, or simply save in some way, possibly a way that allows others to benefit. If I can do that, the process provides the reward.

Keeping on writing . . .

I would love to be published someday, but right now I am trying not to think about it. I’m choosing instead to just enjoy the creative process.

When I have a particularly creative session, be it via writing, painting, or even coming up with a clever solution to a thorny problem at work, I’m infused with positive energy. It’s a natural high, and I find myself in a better mood, with more energy and more zest for life. There is nothing better than getting into “the zone” when writing a story, when the words flow effortlessly and the story seems to write itself. However, if I’m in the middle of writing and I start to think about publication, then the writing seems to slow to a crawl. The thoughts of publication have distracted me from the most important thing, the story.

Next Tuesday, I’m doing NaNoWriMo. I’m not sure what to expect, but I am looking forward to it. I’m hoping to meet many other writers in the area, and I think that there will be a real sense of camaraderie. I chose the idea for my book not because I thought it would be the most publishable, but because the idea is one that I want to explore for myself in more depth, and I think that the best way to do it would be to write a novel about it. We’ll see.

Barbara, your 3rd paragraph regarding regrets was sad to read. My obsessive urge to write came late in life. Maybe that’s given me a slight edge. I’ve sacrificed nothing in order to write. I reared three splendid children, maintained a tidy home, prepared a nice meal each evening, and kept my dog’s bowl filled with fresh water. My writing has come late in life, but maybe perfectly late.

I personally think the downtrodden, hard boozing, suffering writer is a stereotypical myth (not that you implied you are any of these). But then, maybe I’m lucky. When I write (even if it is a dark scene) my senses are unclouded, the adrenaline is startling, my mind becomes dizzy only because of the creative excitement my efforts are able to imbue. After a successful day of writing, that’s when I’m most apt to get shit-faced (am I allowed to say that on your site?), and write some illegible notes for my next day’s foray with words.

Given all that, I’ve still had my dark moments – more gray than black. As I’ve written before, when I started to peddle my manuscript I was certain my folks had erred by not naming me Hope because I had so much of it. Silly me.

I’ve come so close (to my way of thinking) with quite a few nibbles (more like chomps) at my manuscript. But all have come up empty. Not empty, really, because each nibble has given me invaluable hope.

Giving up is not an option for me – for all the reasons you stated. To quit would feel like failure. As much as I would LOVE to be published, I’m also enjoying the ride. I’m intoxicated with the process – the wonderment of discovering a well-crafted sentence, uniquely mine. I’m compelled to look over my shoulder and gasp, “Where did that come from?” With so few surprises left in life, writing provides a new frontier of discoveries for me. And like a lottery ticket – one has to buy one in order to win - same is true with my manuscript. If I don’t peddle it, I won’t get published. Unfortunately the odds are even.

Critiques are so gosh darn necessary, but so many are ill-prepared, soul damaging - especially if the critique is subjective rather than objective. Because I am new to writing, I know my enthusiasm is irritating. I’ve been blindsided by other’s cynicism because of my naiveté. I do not have street smarts and my hope is sometimes grating. I feel that some writers I know have lost their own sense of wonderment – they’ve become so disenchanted they can’t bear to be in the company of a neophyte believer like me.

I took a vacation from writing this summer. I shifted my energies to my garden. It was divine. But like any vacation, I was ready to return home - to my computer, my writing. And like any vacation, I returned refreshed and eager to renew my efforts.

One last observation. As I approach the end of my fifth decade, I own a different hurdle – publishing houses want youth, longevity, a cash cow. Though any of us could slip on the proverbial banana peel and be gone, my clock is ticking closer to demise than many writers. Yet, I persist. It must be that I am happy living my whole life? It must be that I am happy when writing? It must be that I feel I have nothing to prove? My writing doesn’t define the whole of me.

It is more fun to “get published” because of the larger audience and the fact that whatever money you make helps subsidize the effort. Publishing is too screwed up to *fail* at. Who knows how much is skill and how much luck? Nobody. What feels like failure might just be bad luck. Success may be only good luck. You can’t fail at the lottery.

I’ve know people who have destroyed their lives, their families, marriages because of their obsessive need to get published. Actually all those things are more important than another book in the world anyway. You have to do it for fun, then if you come up with something you like, well, you’ve bought a ticket, might as well check and see if you have a winning number but don’t count on it. The book we’re working on now…we are doing because we wanted to. It is a bad idea, sale wise. But I said, basically, it is a big crapshoot. If I don’t enjoy all the time spent writing this book that no one is waiting for (non-mystery) I’m probably wasting my time so I’m going to write exactly what I (well, we) want to and enjoy it. I think you’ve got to take that attitude.

Mark, I’ve always liked that particular Lennon quote, though it took me years to take it fully to heart. I still have plans, and damned ambitous ones. But the fun is now in the journey there.

Blogdog, absolutely! One reason I first got into technical writing—as an editorial assistant—was so I could tell people I was in “the business”—removed as my portion of the business was from being a published novelist. Then, when I became a technical writer I was thrilled because I was actually getting paid to write—something—anything. Silly, because I already knew I wanted to write fiction, and I did, but I thought I had to get paid to do it before I was “really” a writer. But the real satisfaction in that job was the same as it is with fiction—finishing a project and knowing I’d done my best. Technical writing is pretty cut and dried, though. It’s easy to know when you’ve done it right, at least with the type I did, where someone went out and tested the procedures on a machine once I was done. Fiction is more like raising kids, I think. It’s hard to tell along the way whether you could’ve done something better or different. It’s all so subjective. Some of us take longer to develop a feel for it than others. Some never do.