Working Through the Pains of Passion for My Writing Craft
The struggles of a failing career doesn’t have to mean giving up, especially when you have two little kids who have to see those struggles and realize the end goal is always worth reaching for
I’m a writer. I breathe it, I live it. It’s the only thing I want to be, and the idea of contemplating anything else damages my soul. It’s not lightly that I stress the importance of this role in my life, because it’s a constant struggle as I attempt to make any sort of living doing the very thing I adore. Writing is a passion that envelops me constantly in flames of failure, constantly bombarded with waves of wondering doubt at my own ability to succeed and support my family.
Why continue something if there’s such agony at the unknown? Will I ever be successful enough to provide food on my family’s table? Hell, how about afford a tank of gas? The stymied financial windfall from my craft is a daily reminder of my failings. It’s unavoidable and some days the burden of those thoughts, that knowledge of what I’m not doing, is overwhelming and paralyzing to my brain. It’s as if someone asked you to walk up a mountain, and you think, “Oh, I’m a solid walker,” and then the mountain turns into a straight up-and-down Herculean climb, then the doubt of actually fulfilling that goal of sustaining a life as a writer creeps into my already tenuous thoughts.
I feel competent in my ability to jot down “pen to paper,” but the overwhelming realization that my family is supported on my wife’s teacher’s salary is not lost to me. It’s amazing that we are able to sustain ourselves in any fashion, but the fact that we have bills that need paying does not make me feel any less guilty or understanding that my daily failures are just that — I’m failing. The value of my writing might be significant to a degree, if I’m giving myself any credit (which I don’t do enough), but the apparent drop in confidence, value, or any recognizable form of saying, “Look what I did today and how that will translate to our bank accounts” does not always rear its glorious head. In fact, it’s more like a bedeviled boar’s head that screeches into the unknown as a constant detracting reminder of my utter self-loathing for being such a familial burden.
SO, WHY CONTINUE?
The answer is simple; yet, blindingly complicated in my own headspace. Simply — my kids need to see me not give up. They’re 7 and 8, and I’ve been failing at just working from home for a couple of years. Yes, I am a stay-at-home dad who dropped off and picked up his kids from school pre-pandemic, and homeschooled them both last year and the coming year, but the impact for me is always there. I fail again, day after day, but my kids have to know that when you have something worth striving toward, failure is part of it. Yes, there are successes. Yes, there are failures. I want them to see that the world has its ups and downs, and when you absolutely love what you do, there isn’t any other option. The path might be shaky, but the journey to get where you want to be will always be as important, and that is something I want my kids to see.
My kids, Adelaide and Marshall, they have to know that it’s okay to dream. It’s okay to find passion in a specific thing that gives life meaning. Writing does that for me. It’s the one thing that gives me a semblance of identity, whether I lose myself in a fictional world or share thoughts on something exceedingly geeky or related to what my kids might like (like an animated film). It’s a wild cycle of finding balance in a world, or even my own brain where my own hyper-critical nature demands so much and sees so little in return. In my mind, the failures are overwhelmingly obvious; though, I understand the importance for me, and my kids to see, the resilience of moving forward. Writing is my craft, and whether or not someone has noticed that craft enough, and in this case, enough to balance the scales on my bank account, then I will continue to tweak, create, think of new ideas, and twist it all around again until that satisfying moment happens for me.
As for my kids, they see me working day in, day out, and I hope their vantage point is of someone dedicated to an end cause. I want to write until the end of my days. I want to share the vibrant tales of a leading lady, the twisted world that’s been upended by a dystopian nightmare, or even just loving lines of dialogue that make readers (or viewers) connect with their soon-to-be favorite characters of all-time. That’s the dream. I have to believe that this reality is a possibility, and I have to let my kids see that too. Even through the failures, they have to know that the journey isn’t all bad.
They have to know that the passion behind whatever craft they endeavor upon one day will all be worth it, because wanting something should be enough. The hard work, the dedication, maybe in the end it will all be worth it. Whether or not I’ll see any financial value in that, I don’t know. But maybe my kids will get enough from the message from seeing me working, and having fun, and one day hope to find that same kind of love.
