The Writer’s Draft

There is a difference, you know.

The difference between those who choose to write and those who need to write.

It’s not a decision one makes lightly.

As though choosing to write for a living is akin to interviewing for a job.

Or someone who has observed how many laptop-cowboys are riding the seats at their local coffee shop, and they want to join in.

Think about other creative pursuits.

Let’s take acting.

Do people say to themselves, “Gee. I’d like to make some extra money. I think I’ll take up acting. I’m sure I’ll be able to pull in a few extra bucks by showing up at my local community theater.”

Or painting. Maybe sculpting.

“Yes. Must do that. Let’s see, I have a few brushes lying around, I’ll just buy a can of paint and start slapping some brushstrokes on a cheap canvas I bought from an arts and crafts store.”

Perhaps this isn’t a fair comparison.

Because you see, acting and painting are not commercialized. At least not to the extent writing is.

I suppose the truth of whether or not you’re a real writer comes out in moments like these…

When you’re sitting home alone, waiting for the one you love to return. And you can’t think of really anything else except to rip the lid off your head and start writing.

Simply for the sheer joy of writing.

To look at a blank screen and start filling it with words.

Your words.

Your thoughts.

Your heart.

Over the course of a few decades, I’ve noticed a lot of revolving doors.

People come and go throughout your life.

And people come and go throughout whatever career or job is suddenly deemed “hot.”

Those of us who have been writing for a very, very, very long time — realize that the only way you know you’re a writer is by your insane tenacity to keep on writing, even when you’re not paid to do it.

Even when no one reads what you wrote.

Or even when people read what you wrote and were unmoved, unchanged, unbroken, or uninterested.

Because see… we don’t care, us writers.

We really don’t care.

We write not because we desire fame (although that can serve a purpose).

We write because we must.

We always will write. And we’ll always be working on a draft.

First draft. Second draft. Forty-second draft.

It’s why there are so many unfinished novels floating around, clogging up the minds of many good writers and even great writers.

There is still a conversation that sticks in my mind, a rather surprising one I had a few years ago.

It was with an aspiring copywriter.

I had just finished a presentation and we were talking about the profession. I immediately started to recommend a few classic copywriting books that could help him hone his craft.

His response?

“I really don’t like to read.”

I was gobsmacked.

A writer who doesn’t like to read?

There may be a handful but they’re the exception. Unicorns, really.

Because I cannot think of one prolific and great writer who did not also love to read books. Who didn’t enjoy pursuing knowledge. I call it “the hunt.”

And “the hunt” happens on a regular basis.

At the library, a bookstore, or online.

The hunt is a deep hunger that resides inside the mind of every writer I know.

Heh. “I know..”

Knowing.

Both the prey and the reward.

But see, those who must write understand this.

And those who look at writing as simply a quick and easy way to make a buck, don’t.

There is a difference, you see.

The difference between someone who writes because… well, why not?

And those who write because it is the only way they know how to survive.