Many believe I have it easy, but the truth is I grapple with a complex love-hate relationship with writing. Reading is a pure joy, and I relish writing about personal subjects whenever inspiration strikes. However, when faced with assignments like explaining car oil changes or choosing computer motherboards, motivation becomes a battle. This is the reality of writing for a living – churning out numerous articles daily under tight deadlines. It’s far from a blissful existence.
Ironically, much of my life was spent seeking fulfilling and engaging work, something I’d eagerly choose rather than be forced into. Yet, this ‘real world’ often dictates otherwise. Even passions can wane when others dictate the writing process.
Despite the occasional drudgery, I persist because writing is my forte. My husband often finds me working late, driven by deadlines. He asks why I’m still at it so late, my response is always the same: “Because I’m paid to do this. Because I love this. It’s my job, my life.” He understands and lets me be.
Over the years, alternative opportunities have presented themselves, tempting me to write solely on my own terms – novels, articles, blog posts, personal journals. The appeal of complete creative control is strong. Yet, I consistently return to writing for a living, secretly loving the process. Compared to superficial pursuits like insurance sales or real estate, writing feels substantial. I write well, quickly, and efficiently, taking pride in my work, even when my fingers and eyes ache.
Writing is fueled by passion. Passionate writing yields masterpieces. I take pride in every article, viewing them as my creations. Though countless in number, each piece holds a part of me.
I’ve mastered efficient, rapid writing without losing quality. Don’t get bogged down in perfecting the opening; focus on completing the piece, then refine and polish it. This approach has allowed me to build a life as a writer.
After seven years of writing about often uninspiring topics, do I still love it? My feelings remain mixed. But I believe I’ll keep writing until my final breath, demanding my keyboard be buried with me. Once a writer, always a writer.