The Benefits of Not Caring

Maybe you shouldn’t invest so much of yourself in your writing. I mean, look at what it’s doing to you. You’re staying up until after one or getting up at four just to write “one more scene.” You were late picking up your kids from school, what, three times last week? You haven’t made a home-cooked dinner in a week, there are three fish floating at the top of the tank (Betty, Fred, and Barney – they’re not just sleeping), and the laundry in the washing machine has been awaiting transfer to the dryer for so long that it’s turned to penicillin.*

Aren’t you tired of the punch to the gut that arrives with every agent rejection? The personal ones are the worst. They raise your hopes with words like “you’ve got talent” and “I really liked your story” then dash them against the rocks with “but it’s not for me” or “it’s just not ready for prime time.”

Do you really want to endure another round of “so when’s your novel coming out?” from friends and relatives? Or stifled giggles after answering “I’m a writer” when asked “what do you do?” at a dinner party?

Look, your husband (wife/significant other/cat) was sincere when he said “If you want to write a novel, then you should write a novel.” He just didn’t think it would take more than a week or two. (This explains why glaring stares have replaced loving looks and door-slamming has replaced cuddling.)

Then there’s all that difficult stuff you’re remembering – on purpose – so you can infuse your novel with truth. The yelling matches, the dish-flinging fights, the lonely nights, the secret trysts. The unrequited. The longing. The wishing. The missing. The heartbreak.

Wow. You’re really bringing me down here.

It’s just a book.

Maybe you shouldn’t take it so seriously. Maybe you should just paint by numbers instead of digging so deep to find the perfect words. Maybe you should copy someone else’s formula. Maybe you should write schlocky trash like those novels that bewilder you with their popularity.

Maybe you shouldn’t worry about the plot problem in chapter seven or the paper-thin characters that litter the pages like ticker-tape. Maybe you should be happy with your first draft because you don’t really have time for a second.

Maybe you should exchange your publishing dream for something a little less daunting – like finding a cure for insomnia. You could use more sleep.

Maybe you should admit writing is just a hobby.

It would be a hundred times easier if you didn’t care so much.

Maybe you should try that.

*I’m aware that you can’t make penicillin from moldy clothing. Unless that clothing is made of bread. Are you so distracted by your writing that you threw clothing made of bread in the washing machine instead of the dishwasher? You may need an intervention.