How a Stranger Changed My Career as a Writer

Do you enjoy the stories you’re telling?

I’m reviewing the final draft of my fantasy book before it goes to print. Since this has been four years in the making, I sank into a delusional form of safety that perhaps this book would never come out and it could remain the story that I love so dearly. Once I publish this book, it will no longer belong to me. It will belong to the world, and everyone will have their own relationship to it.

I’m a poet who dreams of dragons, and any time an artist breaks into a new category, there is a sense of unease for how it will be received.

I went to grab a coffee from my favorite shop the other day before diving into the manuscript. It was 7:30 AM—far too early to be out in public for me—but alas, a girl needs proper caffeination. While I was waiting for my drink, a man came up to me. He had a sprinkle of freckles on his nose, salt and pepper brows, and a bunch of chunky necklaces that swung from his neck.

As an introvert, and a young woman in a city that may as well be Divergent come to life, I am typically closed off to strangers. It’s something that I am working on. For some reason, he got passed my defenses. He had a warm smile, and an aliveness in his eyes that made me curious.

“You’re an artist of some sort, I know it,” He said.

I didn’t look particularly artsy in my dad’s oversized t-shirt and slightly feral hair, but maybe he was psychic. Or maybe I just live in a city where every artist comes to make their dream come true. Regardless, as a writer, I was too curious about the character to not investigate.

“A writer,” I replied softly.

He gestured towards a pair of chairs for us to sit.

“I’m a writer too. Scripts, mostly. Tell me, what stories are meaningful for you to tell?”

I told him about the book for the better part of half an hour. He asked all sorts of interesting questions that caught me off guard. By the end of it, I forgot about my coffee that was sitting on the counter waiting for me. I admitted to him that I was nervous for the launch. I wasn’t ready for my stories worth and success to be measured by my ability to market it.

He gave me a wolfish grin, looking something of a cross between Yoda and Merlin.

“Did you enjoy writing it? Was it a meaningful experience?”

“Of course,” I replied without hesitation.

He threw both hands up in the air,

“Then it’s already a success! You have to separate the industry from the work. Our job as writers is the work. The work is the work, the result is the world’s.”

The work is the work. The result is the world’s.

I’m not entirely convinced he was a real person. This has happened to me a few times in life before important events, when it feels like the universe borrows a strangers body and speaks directly to me through them.

Regardless, it was a healing notion. I know so many artists who question how good their work is based off their social media views, or book sales. The truth is, there is plenty of popular art that isn’t very good, and plenty of unseen art that is a masterpiece. The commercial industry and the work are two separate things.

Yet, if we focus on the work, instead of expecting one book to be the end all be all of our career, then the pressure melts away. It’s no longer about writing the next great novel. Instead, writing becomes a marriage—a lifelong devotional practice and commitment that will see us through so many versions within one life time.

“To love someone long term is to attend a thousand funeral pyres of who they used to be.” - Heidi Priebe

Be willing to attend the funeral pyre of the artist you used to be, and you may find yourself being reborn into the kind of artist you once looked up to.

There is no secret to writing. There really isn’t. There’s no magical trick where inspiration falls from the heavens and birds dress you in the morning. I wrote my books because I glued my ass to the chair. It was sweaty and frustrating and wonderful. I made it my priority, because distraction really is the death of creation, but boredom is the birthplace of it. No one was going to tell me, “Hey, you should prioritize writing a fairytale. It’s really important.”

But that is my life’s work, regardless of the result.

Moral of the story: embrace the unexpected characters that cross your path, and keep creating even if there is no arrival point.

Your friendly neighborhood scribe,

Allie