I listen to my wife.
My wife is a brilliant woman, and over almost thirty years, I have come to appreciate her in that way. Yes, I do a lot of foolish things I thought up myself, but I do listen when it’s appropriate. One of the things she’s been telling me has been to get back to what pleased me when I was younger: writing just for the hell of it.
When I was in school and then in college, I wrote a lot. Maybe not as much as I write these days, but a lot. And I shared it with my friends. That was the limit of my “market.” I pleased myself, and I pleased the people I care about; that was all I needed.
However, the necessity to turn a skill into cash is a problem that every adult must eventually face, and I began pursuing publication. It took me ten years to finally get that ball rolling, but I did it. Eventually, I arrived at my current position, a sometimes front-list author with a respectable bibliography and a steady income. And I’m unfulfilled.
Yes, I am proud of how far I’ve come, but I don’t enjoy the work as much as I did when I was sharing my stuff to share it. My wife says I’ll be happier if I stop writing for “the market” and write for the love of writing. And you know what? I think I will.