Last Friday, agent Rachelle Gardner wrote a thought-provoking post: What If There Were No Money In Writing? which discussed how the publishing world is rapidly changing and it's becoming much harder to make a decent living from writing alone. She concluded with, "Would you still write? Would you self-publish? Just enjoy writing as a hobby? Would you hang it up altogether? I understand you’re a writer because you want to be read… but how much of that is about getting paid? If there were no money in writing, what would you do?"
I know what I'd do.
In the words of Finding Nemo's Dory, I'd "just keep swimming, just keep swimming."
I love to write. I have to write. The thoughts trapped in my head beg to be released on paper, whether or not anyone reads them at all. Writing is my joy.
I've spent the last hour or so reading up on temporal lobes, cerebral cortexes, and brain shearing. I've studied up on narcolepsy and hh bloody type for the past week for my NaNoWriMo novel. Not because I love science that much. Or brains. Or sleep. Or blood. (ACK!)
But, because I love to create other worlds that feel so real, you could practically fall into them through the pages. Like Alice through the rabbit hole.
I may not write for a living. But I MUST write to live.
