It’s probably healthiest for the aspiring writer to look at fiction writing one of two ways. 1) As an after-work side job or business that one is willing to give up on if it doesn’t pay off, or 2) as a beloved hobby to pursue in one’s spare time—after time with family, after taking care of responsibilities, and perhaps even after just goofing off.

There were a few years when I spent every evening and weekend writing, and every vacation editing, revising, or otherwise working toward publication. I wish now I’d just taken a trip somewhere. That would’ve made me happier, healthier, and perhaps even fed my writing more effectively. I might’ve had something more interesting to write.

Many of us grew up with the notion that if we give up on a dream, or anything we’ve invested much time or effort in, we’re quitters—failures—the next worst thing to total losers. We were taught to never quit a job unless there’s a better one already waiting. That’s probably the worst way for an aspiring novelist to think about writing with the dream of publication. An aspiring novelist’s desire to be published is sometimes like a gambling addict’s urge to place the next bet. Every failed effort leaves us planning the next time—because next time we’ll make it big. This realization hit me hard, because I don’t even like to gamble.

There’s more to life than writing.

There’s also more to writing than being published. At one time I was unhappy, and convinced myself my unhappiness was due to not being published. I quit writing altogether after a wounding critique from an agent I’d actually paid to drop me into such a trough of self-doubt. The really awful thing was, he was right, about that manuscript. I just stopped. I didn’t write any fiction for a year. After that year I still didn’t want to write for publication, but I realized I had to write this one story that had been developing in my mind for years. I needed to write it. I started it because the story wouldn’t leave me alone. After a year of writing nothing but miserable journal pages, I plunged into the first draft. I wrote my best work yet. Maybe the reason it was better than what I’d written before was that I didn’t care whether it would be published. I just wanted to write it, for me, and for the story itself. It had to come out of my head onto paper. This took a long time. It was a long story. Too long. The cutting and editing process seemed to go on forever.

As it turned out, I couldn’t interest an agent in it. Fifty submissions—yes, fifty, and not random, but well thought out submissions to selected agents—resulted in two offers to read my manuscript for a fee and “doctor” it. Instead I self-published Shadows Fall, first through iUniverse, and later on my own. A few years later I self-published Snow Angels on my website as a free ebook. (My reasons for that are a whole other post.)

These days I still want to be published—by someone else. Self-publishing is too much like publishing, which isn’t writing. Besides, it doesn’t pay. I never broke even on expenses, in spite of some glowing reviews and personally rewarding feedback from readers, which happily continues to trickle in.

I eventually realized it’s more important to live than to live for publication. In my case living includes writing, spending hours at the computer or sometimes with pencil and paper, crafting a story, and being happy doing it. As soon as I begin thinking again that I must be published, I find the writing isn’t nearly as much fun. I still visualize seeing it published. I don’t think I’d care so much about the writing process if I didn’t. But that’s no longer a reason in itself to continue writing. My happiness as a writer no longer relies on it. Instead of focusing on wanting to be published, I’d rather expend my passion on living the best life I can, including doing the best job writing when I’m doing that.

So, yeah, I’d like to be published, and published big if at all possible. I’d also like to win the lottery. But I’m not giving up the rest of my life in hopes of winning the lottery, so why would I give it up for a dream of publication? I write because I like to write.

Does this love of the process mean I’ll keep writing no matter what? No. I like to do other things, too. I have a passion for needlework, and for watercolor. I like to take lots of time to cook. I hope to travel more. Perhaps another new career altogether will take hold of my passion. (I retired early from my last career, in technical writing, editing, and distribution, and I’m not 50 yet.) I take fiction writing one project at a time, these days. While I’m writing, I have that loose possibility of publication in my head, mainly because I need to have a reader, an audience, in mind. I think that makes me a better writer, it keeps me reaching for excellence. But I don’t commit myself to continuing no matter what. If I finish this book and it sells, so be it. If I finish this book and it doesn’t sell, so be it. If I finish this book and never want to write another story again, so be it.

If a writer still enjoys the writing process and wonders if she should continue, after any length of time spent unsuccessfully attempting to publish, the primary questions I believe she should ask herself are—Am I improving as a person through writing? Do I stretch myself in the direction of publication and reader enjoyment? Do I seek feedback and can others derive satisfaction from what I write? Do I have an instinct for telling a story? Am I growing my skills? Or do I engage in this only for my own narcissistic pleasure? Because whether she does it for herself or for publication, if publication is even a vague goal, the writer needs to keep that possibility, and the need to treat this like a business, in view. Fiction is a form of communication, and that implies others will get something of value from it if they choose to read it, even if it’s simply for entertainment.

Published or not and writing or not, I intend to be happy living my whole life, not just the writing life.