By: Jason Rivers
Updated: Dec. 18, 2015
Originally Published: Jan. 22, 2015
Writing brings little joy. There may be fleeting satisfaction in having completed a piece, but that’s mere nostalgia—akin to relishing a triumphant moment on the field during a high school game, while the grueling practices leading up to it felt like torture. Or perhaps recalling your graduation from law school, proudly holding your diploma, even though the journey was a nightmare.
Happiness in writing? Whoever claims that has never endured the agony of staring at a blank screen for hours, gripped by the fear that the words you conjure will never measure up—not to your expectations, and certainly not to your editor’s. The anxiety mounts: no acceptance means no paycheck, which could lead to juggling credit card bills while trying to keep a roof over your head, all for a sliver of relief from the relentless anxiety that some creative writing instructor once suggested you harness as inspiration.
Whoever said those blissful words clearly hasn’t faced the despair of pouring thousands of words onto the page, only to realize none of them resonate, forcing you to backtrack. You sit there, contemplating the hours wasted—hours you could have spent enjoying time with friends, indulging in good books, or binge-watching your favorite shows—only to dive back into the same torturous process.
I bet the individual who romanticized writing never had a moment of doubt about their career choice. They likely grew up dreaming of being a writer, never considering alternatives, unlike those of us who, in moments of desperation, pondered if we might have been happier as a firefighter, a police officer, or if we had stayed in the military—retired now, sipping cocktails on a beach while penning an unburdened manuscript.
Look at the likes of Edgar Allan Poe, who sought happiness in his craft but ended up delirious on the streets of Baltimore before dying at just 40. Jane Austen? She had no recognition during her lifetime and passed away at 41; her epitaph didn’t even hint at her literary contributions. Ernest Hemingway drank heavily for decades, ultimately succumbing to suicide—alone and sorrowful. Mark Twain battled depression for 15 years before he passed away in 1910.
You could likely pursue just about any other profession and find more fulfillment. I know a multitude of depressed writers, yet I hardly encounter drywallers or construction workers who end up weeping into their beers over their jobs—at least not for the same reasons.
And let’s not even get started on the unpleasant realities of editing.
This article was initially published on Jan. 22, 2015.
If you’re intrigued by the journey of family building, check out this post on couples’ fertility journey for intracervical insemination, a great resource. For those considering home insemination, the Cryobaby home intracervical insemination syringe kit combo is a trusted option. Additionally, for comprehensive information on pregnancy, visit Womens Health.
In summary, the writing journey can often feel like a path to misery rather than joy, with countless writers facing the harsh realities of their craft, leaving one to wonder if there’s a happier road less traveled.
Keyphrase: writing and happiness
Tags: [“home insemination kit” “home insemination syringe” “self insemination”]