A modest explanation for why it might seem as though I am writing less even though I am doing more
At the height of my writing productivity, some years ago, I was publishing one to two essays a day on the blogging platform Medium. I was churning out work at a breakneck speed, much of it at a high caliber. The downside to this was that I was making little, if any, attempt to publish my work through traditional outlets and legacy publications. I was taking the easy road, choosing instant gratification over longterm success, making a quick buck by sidestepping all the gatekeepers, and just doing it myself. There was tremendous freedom in all this, but alas, it was short-lived and unfulfilling.
Once Medium decided to stop paying its best writers, I more or less abandoned the 12.5k followers I had accumulated, and chose instead to move everything to my own website, one that I fully controlled and managed. I didn’t have nearly the alleged reach I once enjoyed, but the people who signed up on my independent website were presumably more motivated to read what I was putting out. Recently, I’ve had another change of heart, and have decided to pursue publishing once again. There must be something about the autumn that inspires this desire in me. Maybe it’s the pumpkin spice.
There is a strange, but obvious truth, that the more you write for publication, the less you publish freely and independently. One of the more annoying facets of publication is just how long everything takes. Nothing moves quickly in the world of publishing, so the pitch you write today may take six months for an answer, and if it’s accepted, more months still until publication, so that you can easily wait a year before something you’ve written sees the light of day. I find it a hard pill to swallow.
As I make yet another attempt to get my work published by traditional outlets, I find that I have less to offer those who have attempted to support my work in the meantime. I don’t think there’s any who would blame me for trying, and indeed most would praise and welcome the effort. Still, it’s hard not to feel guilty because it looks as though I’m doing less, when in truth, I’m attempting to do so much more. I have all these ideas, many of which seem timely, and I have to make a choice: publish it myself or hold onto it so I can pitch it to someone else.
Lately, I have been pondering a few separate, but intertwined theories on how to live a more fulfilling life, and they include limiting your options, focusing on a few key priorities, and avoiding the shirking of hard work in exchange for instant gratification. Convenience is a trap and distraction a poison. The most fulfilling life is one where you are pursuing a goal with mindful intent and refuse to allow the world to intrude on your process. This is easier said than done, but there are greater rewards to be had.
I have been reading “Four Thousand Weeks,” a book by Oliver Burkeman. The basic premise is if that your average human lives to the age of 80, this accounts for just 4,000 weeks of existence. We all have this delusion that we are somehow immortal, even though intellectually we know this is far from the case. In fact, the four thousand weeks, as insignificant as that sounds, isn’t even close to being guaranteed. Any one of us could be gone tomorrow, regardless of how many weeks we think we have left. The answer, is to make the most of this incredible gift we’ve been given and stop allowing others to dictate how we spend our time.
I did the math recently, and at 58 years old, and this being early September, I have lived for almost exactly 3000 weeks, which means I have just 1000 weeks left to live, assuming I make it to the age of 80. Anything less would be disappointing, and anything more, a bonus, but the finite nature of things is a wake up call to do more with what’s left. How many days, weeks, months, and years have I squandered doing things I didn’t want to do, and neglecting the things I truly valued?
This is all to say that I’m going to try to make a concerted effort to write for publication, which means delaying gratification on the work I cherish most, but also that I’ll be withholding my best writing from the people who generously support my work in an effort to reach a larger audience.
I will always desire an outlet for more direct engagement and feedback, so will likely turn to more diary-like correspondence on my blogs, but they may tend to be shorter and more impulsive, which is not to say any less entertaining. I’ll also probably write more political ranting to Bread & Roses, my subdomain, because the world is going to hell in a handbag, and that’s not the type of work I expect to publish.
Wish me luck.