So I Write

 So I Write

I’ve always loved this quote by Stephen King: If God gives you something to do, why in the world wouldn’t you do it? So I write. 

Does Stephen King think we need yet another book in the world? I guess he does because he’s still cranking out dozens of them.  Does anyone need a book, poem or work of art from me? I don’t think so, but I do have a strong sense that God gave me these things to do. So I write. I love the writing and hate what comes afterwards—the months of sending out queries, the rejections, being ignored, feeling like I had wasted my time—every writer knows this feeling—except Stephen King, of course. 

Whenever something I’ve written is published I think of my grandmother. She raised six children, lost much during the depression, and became a widow in her sixties. I remember her dwelling alone in a small apartment above a hardware store across the Ohio River from a steel mill. She wrote novels and some poems. I relate to the need to create and accomplish something once your children are raised and you finally have the time. She dreamed of being published but her dream was never fulfilled and so sometimes I feel like I’m living her dream or at least doing it in her honor.

Long after she was gone all of her handwritten manuscripts were found in a relative’s basement. She was so short on money that the words were crammed on every page from top to bottom, front and back, to save paper. I set about sifting through the thousands of pages, some out of order or missing, and put together six complete novels and some pieces of others. They were full of good people struggling through life, just as she had. There were also letters from “vanity presses” expecting large amounts of money in exchange for publishing her work, which was an impossibility for her. I put them in 3-ring binders, and after re-reading them, I presented them to my mom. So much for the dilemma of what to do with them—until my mom died and I was left to clean out her home of sixty years. 

At that point I laid them out at a family reunion and offered them to my cousins. They took them all but it made me think about all the unread copies of my three novels and three poetry books (so far) that are languishing in my house. What to do with them? Will one of my children have to throw them out at some point or should I make a bonfire in the backyard and do that now? Because, you see, even though my books are published they are not in demand. Yes, I feel the sense of accomplishment and I am proud of all of them, but all I ever wanted was for them to be read—maybe by more than my family and friends, too. 

I’m facing the same dilemma with my mother’s art. She was prolific and spent over forty years creating beautiful and unique works. She entered many shows and won awards but she never made much effort to sell her work. Everyone in the family chose pieces when she died and many are being displayed, but, you guessed it, the rest are all stored in my house and in my sibling’s houses and none of us know what to do with them. Some of the work was experimental, class work, or unfinished, but can I just throw them in the trash? Not yet. But neither do I want my own children to have to do it. (I like to paint also, but I hesitate to put another piece of unwanted art out into the world at this point.)

I acknowledge that I have a deep need for self-expression—sometimes I envy people who do not—so I know I will continue to create. As infuriating as the internet and social media can be, the upside is that there are multiple ways to publish and share all types of creative work. This is something my grandmother could have never imagined. 

During this terrible year of a world-wide pandemic those in the arts have had to be especially creative to get their gifts out into the world. It seems like everyone is vying for attention for what they do to stay relevant and unforgotten. I am thankful for all that is available to me. Writers can self-publish now without stigma and, if they’re good at promotion, they can do quite well. Personally, I stink at self-promotion, but I will do the best I can for this new book and if God gives me another one—-I’ll probably have to write that one, too. Oh well.