I’ve been asking myself, why do I write books?

For me, of course. Writing is fun: I can make up stories, people, settings, locations, situations.

So, if I do this for me, why do I bother to edit, work with beta readers, and plan on querying and pursuing traditional publication?

That is, why do I secretly want people to read my work and, moreover, enjoy it?

The misery of writing lies in the hope of being read (of being published). That drive (that dream) impulses me to try and improve my craft. It prompts me to strive for excellence, even though I’m unconvinced that one definition can encompass what excellence means in the arts. Writing is subjective, and in this world, every word said about a book is nothing more than an opinion.

When we write for an agent, an editor, a publisher, potential readers, and whatnot, we write for approval. We write for recognition, for praise. Whether we want to accept the truth or not. It’s about ourselves, not them.

I know I’m venting, so let’s get back to the point: it is difficult to trust myself. I believe in my work because I enjoy creating it. I trust my voice because it is honest and uncontrived, becomes it never bores me, because my mind and my heart never leave the pages —even long after I finish writing and editing. I have the conviction that my characters are complex and engaging. I love my worlds and the awful people in them.

And yet, when feedback comes, even though it is mostly positive, I can’t help but feed on it. I can’t help but feel validated by the positives, and doubtful about the negatives.

Now, hear me out: I know this is normal, but I’m not used to seeking validation or relishing in it.

It freaks me out. It’s too vulnerable a position.

I feel the madness looming ahead as the prospect of querying becomes a reality I hope to confront within the next two months.

I’ve done everything I can. I’ve given my completed manuscript all I have.

Will that be enough?

What is my definition of success?

What am I doing, and for whom am I doing it?

Whenever I ask myself these questions, I come to the same conclusion: The books I write, whatever the reception they will find, are treasures to me. I’m trying to remind myself, every single day, that such satisfaction is the only thing that should matter —and what makes writing as worthwhile as it is.