When it comes to writing, I have lately felt I can’t step into my power. I don’t know why. People tell me I’m a writer, but until I am on the world stage, I don’t think I’ll ever feel like what I’m doing will qualify me as a Writer. There are those who do the thing every day — and they’re validated by their magazine articles, their awards, people handing over thousands upon thousands of dollars for their novels. Those are the Writers. But I’m not there. And while I know it’s not healthy to compare myself to those who are at the top of the game, I’m ready for the next leg of this journey, so that I may feel I am at least somewhat closer than I was when I started.
Yes, Stephen King has countless books and garners large sums of money for that. He has a large Twitter following to which he can say a couple words, receiving re-tweets upon re-tweets. There’s J.K. Rowling, and though she has said very problematic things about the trans community, no one can deny her powerhouse status within the world of books. There’s also F. Scott Fitzgerald who seemed to have knocked it out of the ballpark in his twenties — a feat that no one seems to have attributed to a lot of work he must have done before that.
That’s just the thing. No one talks about the years of work we writers had to put into our craft before achieving their success. Everyone just talks about the fact that F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote one of the most iconic American novels of all time. They also quip that J.K. Rowling seemed to have spun magic out of a typewriter one day, just because she felt like it. No one talks about how J.K. Rowling was literally on food stamps and worked as a teacher before her manuscript was even accepted. No one talks about how she sent the manuscript to countless publishing houses before one of them agreed to take a chance on her.
No one talks about how Stephen King started his own printing press with his brother when they were young, distributing hand-made magazines to those within their inner circle, to make little to no money.
No one talks about the countless years of work we writers have to put into our craft to get anywhere near the kind of success the Kings and Fitzgeralds achieve. From a small age, we writers develop a fascination with language, realizing that if we take the time to learn about it, with its rhythm, styles, and innumerable twists and turns, it will come to our aid should we pursue any type of publication.
Learning this craft is no easy feat, though. We spend hours in front of our laptops or, if old-fashioned, typewriters, in hopes that some day we will spin magic out of our endeavors, so that others may read our particular take on language and the world around us. There is no guarantee, of course, that we will succeed. But that’s what separates the writers from the wannabe’s. We do it because we love the act of writing, knowing that even if no one reads what we put to paper, we nonetheless did that which we are created for — to create through language.
I think that’s where I am. I feel as if I have put all this work into my craft — more than anyone I know — but I’m still not a world-renowned Writer. I’ve been doing this for years, so why haven’t I broke into the business? Am I not doing enough? Am I about to hit it big and just haven’t gone the last leg of the race?
That’s why I feel like an imposter. Because I wonder if, after all this work, any of it will amount to anything. Yes, I write for me, and I will always do so no matter how many people read my works. But at the same time, I’m ready for the next lap of this journey. I want people all over the world to read my works, not just those in my inner circle. I want to be renowned, not only for validation but so that the world may see what can happen when one stays with this writing business for as long as I have, so that they, too, may appreciate this beautiful craft just as much as I do. Is that so much to ask?
