That’s where I find myself today, in the place after “What’s the use.”
You see, writers – and by “writers” I mean “me” – often have to talk themselves into doing what they do that makes them writers… that is, writing. They have to talk themselves into it because they’ve encountered hundreds upon hundreds – hell, thousands – of rejections, and can’t bare one more. At the same time, though, this manic need to write keeps pressing on them like a twelve-pack on your bladder.
There’s a spot between “I need to write” and “What’s the use”… and this is it.
I just finished my seventh play and the success I’ve faced has been minimal at best. And if you don’t think all the rejection from publishers, theaters, and friends is hard, please share your stash! It hurts – a lot. So, you start to tell yourself, “Maybe I can just ignore this need to write, because actually writing never leads to anything good.”
So, you do. But this doesn’t last. Because that feeling of “What’s the use” is nothing compared to the need to write, which is as strong as the beat of your own heart… and it sucks.
So, I’ll probably start this new play pretty soon. After all, I have little say in the matter.
Anybody tells you they want to be a writer, slap them.