12/26/11

Writing For the Love of It

Once when I was expounding… (perhaps I was obsessing)…about someone who owed me money, my dear and sensible husband said, “What if you tried giving money to someone with no intention of getting it back? Just give it with love. That’s what I do. Then if it does come back, it’s a gift.”

(When I’m obsessing, that’s really not what I want to hear, by the way.  I want commiseration, sympathy, or at the very least, a “tut” or two.  But Robert has always been better at making his way through the real world than I’ve been.  When I’m smart, I listen to him.)

Since then, I’ve found that before handing over my hard-earned cash, I ask myself if I would resent never getting it back.  I can’t express how much it’s helped, because I let the money go without strings, or I don’t let it go at all. 

(And the important thing for me to remember about strings is that they’re not only tied to the other person -– they’re tied to me as well, and sometimes I get tangled up in them, while the other person walks blithely away, whistling.)

Yes, I’m getting to the point…about writing.

I wonder if the name “author” is only reserved for those who get paid for it -- or if it’s possible to be an author while giving it away, without strings.

(You see, I can’t seem to stop writing, no matter how little I get paid for it.) 

A novel-and-three-quarters written, and starting on a third.  Not only have I been paid next to nothing, but I’ve actually spent a little printing books to give to friends.  And I don’t regret a penny of it.  In fact, it felt really, well…good.

So, if we put a value on our writing –- and I do –- then as we blog, and post, and price books at 99¢, we’re giving gifts.

No regrets.  No expectations.  No strings.  Just for the love of writing.   

(Don't get me wrong...if someone handed me a big check right now, I wouldn't be turning them away...)

But really, I do love to write.  For the love of it.


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