The Paper Trail

A couple weeks ago, I was talking to a friend about my writing.

I told her I was hesitant to work on another novel because I didn’t want to write a whole new book… only for it to be done. Only for it to sit on my computer, useless. Not edited (I always give up at the “editing” stage). Not published (because how do I even go about doing that?).

I explain how I didn’t want to write another book because it would just feel like more of the same.

I mean, think about it for a second. It takes months or years to write a full length novel. Hours upon hours of time at a computer, typing away, pouring my soul into a story I find beautiful. And once all that time has been put in, and I have a finished draft… I see it for what it really is: “Not good enough.”

And before, when I saw my draft as not good enough, I would shrug my shoulders, roll up my sleeves, and attempt to edit. I may make it through one round of beta readers before I give up, but I’d have all the intentions to make that story good. And then I’d move on to something else, determined to write something better than last time.

That mentality worked for the first couple books. But it doesn’t work anymore. Because now I fixate on the finished product, and I’m hesitant to start something that still won’t be good enough, that still won’t make it through the editing process, and will still end up dusty in my Google Drive.

I told my friend that I don’t want to write another book because it feels like there is no point to it all.

What is the point of passion?

Is there something you are passionate about?

Something that brings you joy like nothing else? Something that you would drop everything else for? Something that you could never get bored of?

When I started this blog, my passion was writing. It was the central theme of my life – the track on which my whole world was set upon.

That passion caused me so much joy, I forgot to do other things with my time. I remember skipping out on “forced family fun” movie nights because I’d rather sit and write. I remember being at the beach with my extended family, and spending several hours a day working on an outline for my novel rather than lounging on the beach in a swimsuit.

I took my writing on vacation with me. I took my writing to school. Writing was my free time, and I loved that.

But I didn’t love it because it was a rock solid career path (it isn’t). Or because publishing would be a piece of cake (it won’t be). Or because it’s perfectly tailored to an introvert’s interests (nope – apparently writing has lots of extroverted components like marketing and making friends).

I loved it because I loved it.

Some passions translate to actual jobs. Some are simply for joy.

In my mind, writing is a “job” passion. I expect it to be a job one day, regardless of whether that expectation is actually reasonable.

But I also have a purely “joy” passion: Books (I know, plot twist). My library isn’t going to turn into a job one day… at least, I’m not aiming for that. I just read for joy, and I’m passionate about stories, even when there isn’t a “tangible” point.

Joyful Passions

My book passion is kind of getting out of hand. I’m the type of person that would buy multiple copies of the same book because the covers are different. I’m the type of person that would make people buy me new copies when they destroy the old ones (sorry, little sister). I’m the type of person that unnecessarily surrounds herself with books, even in inconvenient situations.

For instance, my college dorm room in another state is not the place to start an old book collection. So naturally, I did just that. There’s a cute bookstore near campus that I love browsing through, and I’ve definitely bought a couple of ancient books from them (I tell myself it’s because I want to support small bookstores). When one of my professors mentioned a book sale at a nearby library, I dragged my friend on a thirty minute walk so we could go check it out. I left with like nine books for $5 total.

In a cramped college dorm, there isn’t exactly space for an extensive book collection. Nevertheless, tell me how I arrived at school with five books I planned to read during the year, and ended the year with 15 books that wouldn’t fit into my luggage?

The fact is, regardless of reasonability, I now have an old book collection blooming at college. I only have three so far… but I think for the average college student, three books printed before 1930 is three too many.

With zero other justifications, I must accept the fact that book collecting is a joyful passion. It serves no real purpose. Marie Kondo (author of The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up) recommends only owning 30 books max. I almost died when I read that line in her book… which is now on my shelf, along with hundreds of other reads.

Sometimes, a passion serves a purpose simply for bringing joy into life. Maybe it has no long-term, career purpose. Maybe it’s not strictly a “productive” source of fun. And maybe it costs loads of money every year to keep up with the latest published novels and estate sales, but it’s worth the joy.

Some books that I adore having on my shelf (and will never, ever, ever get rid of, even if I run out of room in my future house… or current bedroom):

• Signed books – for my eighteenth birthday last year (during that one pandemic), several super kind authors reached out and sent me books and encouragement.*
• Old books – the older, the better.
• Special editions – my favorite is the proof copy I picked up at the U of A festival of books.
• Crisp hard cover books – straight from Barnes & Noble
• Annotated books from high school – I heavily annotated Tess of the D’Urbervilles
• Classics – my favorite being Crime and Punishment
• Favorite series (that were foundational in my development as a writer) – including Percy Jackson, Harry Potter, and The Lunar Chronicles

Maybe my room looks a bit overwhelming, with all these books and other crazy interests of mine (including quotes written in calligraphy, antique knick-knacks, and candles), but they bring me a special joy that we should always be reaching for in life.

Joy is Reason Enough

My friend is pretty smart.

She reminded me that writing doesn’t have to have a point – or, at least, not the kind of point I want it to have.

She asked: “Why did you write your other stories?”

Well… for fun. Because I wanted to. I wasn’t necessarily trying to create something publishable. I just wanted to create.

And I suppose, based on my metric, those books are “useless”. Except… they aren’t. Because I was doing something that I loved, and I did it with heart. And in the end, something that causes joy is not useless. It’s priceless.

I’m still hesitant to write another novel. I still wonder what the point of writing is, if I don’t reach the heights I want to reach.

But I still collect books. Books I won’t read, books that sit on my shelf unread for five years, duplicate books, special books. And there really isn’t a “tangible” purpose to that passion either. I mean, it’s just taking up space.

Yet, I feel perfectly okay spending loads of money on books. I feel okay letting unread books take up space in my room. I feel okay letting my passion for words written on paper, bound by glue and art, to be a little bit “useless”.

Because I know it’s not really useless. It makes me happy.

So I need to learn how to focus on the “happy” when I pull up a Google Doc on my computer, and begin to write something the world will never see.

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*Here are the authors that reached out to me on my birthday last year – sending me signed books, bookish goodies, or simply a kind note (which was literally a lifeline in the middle of the quarantine that ruined my senior year). They are all such kind human beings and I think it’s totally worth it to check them out – but remember, this recommendation is coming from me, not from them 🙂

• Laura A. Grace, who sent me her encouraging book Dear Author along with bookish goodies
• Verity A. Buchanan, who sent me her novel The Journey
• Bryan Davis, who sent me his novel Masters & Slayers
• Kaylena Radcliff, who sent me her novel Mouse
• Ronie Kendig, who sent me a box of goodies, including her novel Brand of Light
• J. L. Rowan, who sent me her short story “The Book of Thyme”
• Evangeline Denmark, who sent me her novel Curio
• Beth K. Vogt, who sent me her story in A November Bride in Autumn Brides: A Year of Weddings Novella Collection
• Sarah Monzon, who sent me her novel With You Here
• Erica D. Vetsch, who sent me her novel A Child’s Christmas Wish
• Tabitha Caplinger, who sent me Bloodline in her series The Chronicle of the Three
• Kara Swanson, whose novel Dust I helped promote on this blog
• Angela R. Watts, who kindly sent me her novel The Divided Nation
• Cindy Thomson, who reached out with a kind and encouraging note
• Erin Winters, who emailed me with birthday wishes and encouragement
• Jenness Walker, who orchestrated this entire birthday surprise