Why Writing is like Parenting.
Back in the days before I was trying to promote myself as a professional writer, I had another blog where I wrote about anything I felt like, mostly rants about my life as a mother. I don’t talk a lot about my kids here as I am acutely aware that the demographic that would read my book has little crossover with the demographic that would be interested in a tongue-and-cheek piece about kindergartners. This morning, however, while I was recovering from the stress of getting my children ready for school, I thought to myself, “writing is a lot like parenting”. So if the childless and the non-writers could bare with me, I’d like to list some reasons why.
Nobody cares about your baby. You endured many a sleepless night getting that book in the form it is today, but a shot of the cover is about as interesting to your Facebook friends as a video of your son’s holiday concert. The more you post about your bundle of joy, the more your followers will wish that there was a middle finger alongside the thumbs up button.
Guilt. No matter how much of a helicopter parent you are, there will be a time when you neglect your children in some way. Maybe you’re twenty minutes late picking them up from school. Maybe you allow them to watch tv all weekend instead of spending quality time. Maybe you leave them chained to a rusty sink, held captive by a group of trigger happy gynoids, while you wrestle with a case of writer’s block laziness.
Frustration. You keep writing and rewriting that novel but it never reaches the level of brilliance you envisioned. Your characters don’t listen to you. They spout clichés and digress into subplots just to give you more editing. Writers understand that their characters are real people because they fight with them every single day. The process feels very much the same as trying to convince a stubborn five-year-old to put her pajamas on.
The pay sucks. If you kill yourself marketing your novel to the masses you’ll have a small chance of becoming a household name. If you teach your children to carry a tune you’ll have a small chance of becoming a successful family singing group. Your chances of becoming the next JK Rowling are about the same as your chances of becoming the next von Trapp family. And unless you reach that level of success, you won’t make any money.
You wouldn’t change a thing. As difficult and thankless as your job is, you can’t imagine doing anything else. Your offspring, whether written or biological, represent your greatest achievement. You created something beyond yourself. You made a stamp on the world that will exist after you are gone. Maybe not everyone appreciates your efforts, but you don’t do it for the accolades. You do it for them, your children and your creations. They are the reason why you are here.
