why do i want to be a writer?
on publishing, having people read my work, and writing for myself vs others
In a world where publishing and being a ✨NYT Bestselling Author✨ feels like the ultimate goal, I’ve been thinking a lot about my reasons for writing.
Though I brainstormed this post’s title before a phone call with my writing group yesterday, I feel like what my group member said about his motivation for writing struck a chord with me. He said, “I don’t care about being published. I just want people to read my stuff.” So he’s embarking on a journey of digitally posting chapters of his book.
I was awestruck. “That feels like such a creatively pure place to be operating from,” I told him. Which, immediately, stirred up a lot of feelings in me.
Part of those feelings come from the purity culture I was raised in—If his motives for writing were creatively pure, and my plans for writing included publishing, were mine impure?
No, that’s not how it works, I gently remind and parent my inner artist child. But then I wondered, “What does it mean to be operating from a place of pure creativity? Not caring what other people think?”
On the most recent episode of Quid Prose Quo, we talked about self-censorship, using Ursula K. LeGuin’s essay The Stalin in the Soul as a framework. LeGuin very much emphasizes writing for writing’s sake. Literature shouldn’t be about publication, it should be autotelic—that is to say, done for its own sake, a goal and end in and of itself.
All of this leads to my question: Why do I, C. K. Jensen, write?
Let’s start with what I write. I write queer stories, fairytales, and mixes of the two. Similarly to my friend in my writing group, I want people to read my work. I write for them, to help bring them to a greater level of understanding, whether that understanding is of themselves, others, or the world. I am a firm believer in the theory of window books versus mirror books, and I hope my books let others hold either a window or a mirror up to their faces.
Ultimately, though, I’m writing for myself. As much as I want to be traditionally published, I’m making peace with the idea that that won’t magically solve my problems or bring me readers. I want my work to be accessible for others, but I’m writing for my inner artist, my inner child. I’m writing these books for a C. K. that didn’t have access to queer books, to fairytales that affirmed their gender and their place in this world. I’m writing these books for a C. K. that needs to remember that there is good in the world, even when the sun is going out. I’m writing it for every version of me—past, present, and future—who needs stories to live, to breathe, to hold onto when the world is bad and dark and scary and the forces of evil and death and darkness are all conspiring to take over.
I write because fantasy has been a lifeline to me—I want to extend that same lifeline to others.
Why do you write?
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