I made the mistake last night of watching a movie right before I went to bed. My wife has pointed out that I seem to have too weak a filtration system for this sort of thing. I’m a bit of sponge, it turns out, and when the movie in question is addictively interesting to me but also incredibly violent—as this one was—the result is a very restless night’s sleep. So I dreamed of murder and bodies in bed sheets and woke up very glad for the sunrise. I have tried to explain to some friends of mine, many of whom are devotees of action/gangster movies, my aversion to watching execution of any kind – that is, I take no stand against it aesthetically, I just can’t stomach it personally – and they have come to accept me as likeable movie wimp.
But the movie brought to mind something that I can often forget: stories do affect people. It’s easy while caught up in the business of trying to become a writer to lose sight of the reason we write, which is to communicate with other people. Because once the book has been written, and once you find an agent, and once the agent finds a publisher, and once the publisher gets the book into bookstores, at some point a person, just a regular person, is actually going to pick that book up and read it for the same reason you pick up books and read them—to be moved and entertained.
You will affect people. People will think about what you’ve written, and maybe cry and laugh about it. And this fact will be surprising and maybe even a bit alarming. Yes, it will be nice to get paid to write, and yes, it will be nice to be your own boss, but in the end, if you look at it honestly, you will see that the responsibility that comes with writing—no matter the genre—outweighs any personal gains to your lifestyle. The money will be spent, your hours will come and go, but the reach of your words will endure beyond the book jacket.
With this in mind, what then do you most want to share?