Guardian had a fun post in March: Writing for a living: a joy or a chore?
Surprisingly, some novelists do not enjoy writing, which I find incredibly odd:
I get great pleasure from writing, but not always, or even usually. – Hari Kunzru
Writing novels is no fun; nor is, generally speaking, reading novels. Reading people writing about novels is not always fun, either, because relatively little of this kind of writing is any good. – Amit Chauduri
When I was young, I thought that the fun part of writing would be the “creative” bit, making stuff up and inventing things. The older I’ve got, the less fun this has become. I dread it. – Geoff Dyer
I was a little miffed that only novelists were included in the “writing for a living” list. I mean, aren’t professional writers on that list too?
Here’s my take on that question:
I adore writing, but there are times when I just don’t want to write anything. Unfortunately, when you write for a living, you are not given that choice, and at times you resent it – the act of writing.
I write and edit about 5,000 words each week. I wish I could say I sing “la la la” while I do this, but most of the time I feel like ripping off clumps of my hair as I bend over in agony over a badly constructed sentence – mine and another writer’s.
So, after a hard day’s work, which usually involves 8 hours of intense concentration on the act of polishing and creating sentences, my brain switches off and says: “No more words! I want TV!”
But I get a special thrill when I write anything non-work related. When I write about characters I made up (or borrowed), my heart races with excitement and I forget that the clock is ticking. I have writing retreats where I lock myself away in a magnificent hotel room and tap away furiously on my keyboard for hours on end, emerging only to feed myself or indulge in some shopping.
I don’t understand this drive of mine to create worlds through words; I don’t understand where my characters come from as they seem to speak from another world, and all I’m doing is taking down what they’re saying. I feel like an otherworldly observer, like some kind of god who determine their fates. (Often, it’s not a happy one.)
Why are some of us writers? Why do some of us need to write? Now that’s a mystery only God can answer.
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