Finding Joy

Writing is fun. It is joyful and therapeutic, inspirational, cathartic, soul-reaching work. When it isn't work.

Writing as a profession can sort of suck. Making it a profession is hard. Blogs that are financially successful, (especially ones where the blogger just writes, no crafts or cooking) are few and far between. Getting a steady, loyal readership is tough. Just ask, well...me. I've thought about quitting, but really, if I was in this for the money I would've quit years ago.

One of the best ways to write, and, make money at it, is books. But, that process sucks, too. First, you have to write a book, then edit it, edit some more, then some editing--you get the picture.  Then, you have to find an agent, more editing, then the agent has to find you a publisher. (I made that sound much easier than it is.) I'm still on the editing part.

I recently had someone tell me about their friend's daughter who makes a few thousand a month writing and publishing ebooks. This, of course, got me listening. Then, she said that her friend had never read any of her daughter's books because they were too risque. Heh. That's a nice word for SMUT.

(What do I mean by smut? You know, like 50 Shades of Gross, er, Grey. Not that I've read it. I haven't.)

I could write smut, I'm sure. Come up with some descriptive words for body parts, throw in some heavy breathing and cheesy dialogue. Easy peasy.  I could do it.

I won't.

See, I believe my writing gift is just that, a gift, a heavenly one. It wasn't meant to write suggestive stuff for bored women to pass the time with. I want my writing to bring as much joy to the reader as it does to me. I want to make people laugh and think and realize the possibilities. I want to write about heartache and trial as well as success. I want someone to read it and say, 'That's exactly how I feel. I'm not alone.'

As for my book, I think I'd sort of lost my vision.  It has become this weight around my neck that I drag along as I repeat the mantra, "Must finish, must finish, must finish."  Last week, someone I just met asked me about it, so I explained the concept, then I told her why I started writing it. And, saying the why aloud felt like a rush of fresh air filling my lungs. The weight was lifted. I remembered my purpose. It isn't about making money.

 It's all about joy.

(Photo a Day- A Living Thing)