Is The Struggle Of Writing Worth The Reward?

Are you ready for a shock? Here it is… I don’t write for the money.

Every time the revelation of being a writer leaps from my mouth like a slosh of spilt wine from a drunken woman’s glass, the reaction is always the same: ‘Oh, wow… that must pay really well, huh’? It’s as if people think my paycheck is made of solid gold just because my demented chicken scratch turns into a book.

Don’t get me wrong, making a living is important. But my writing isn’t driven by gathering coffers.

So, to tackle the age-old question of whether being a writer is worth it, we need to dig deeper than a gravedigger into the murky depths of our passion and psyche.

I can already hear your inner sceptic groaning, ‘Great, here comes the philosophical spiel’!

Maybe I will get philosophical. Maybe I won’t.

The only way to find out is to take my hand, follow me into this dark forest of a subject and hope I don’t leave you on your own.

I could be wrong, but I think it was Ernest Hemingway who said, ‘There’s nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.’

In a Gothic way, it sounds almost romantic, doesn’t it? But there’s a kernel of truth there.

When we write, we pour a bit of ourselves into every character we create. Our heroes embody traits we admire or aspire to, while our villains often reflect parts of ourselves we’d rather not acknowledge. It’s like using the page as a twisted form of private therapy—a way to confront our darker sides and keep them at bay.

Is this a benefit of writing? A chance to exorcise our demons and share our struggles through our stories? Or is it just a means of indulging ourselves?

Many writers channel their personal demons onto the page, hoping that their traumas and fears might resonate with readers who face similar challenges. We craft fear-filled fables, hoping they might offer solace or insight to those who need it.

But while the Romanticism of the craft can be captivating, it only goes so far.

George Orwell, in his essay ‘Why I Write’, famously said, ‘Writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout with some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven on by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.’

While I resonate with Orwell’s description of the struggle, I’d argue that the pleasure of writing often outweighs the pain.

Writing is undeniably a solitary pursuit. It’s a deeply personal craft that drains mental energy and demands intense focus, yet it results in something almost magical—achievements we once thought impossible. When we hit that state of flow, it feels as though we are possessed by a demon, a creative force.

The outcome?… Ink-stained pages that, when read, perform their intended magic: they entertain.

This is where the true value of writing lies. It’s not just about crafting stories; it’s about providing a respite and a sense of connection in an otherwise chaotic world. For readers, our words offer more than entertainment—they offer solace and a fleeting sense of belonging.

Every time I meet a reader, whether new or familiar and see their genuine smile and appreciation for my work, it’s profoundly rewarding.

Writing might be an addiction for many of us—our unique brand of insanity—but the ultimate reward extends beyond the act of writing itself. It’s in the positive impact our work has on others. This connection, this shared experience, is more gratifying than any monetary reward or accolade.

Yet, even with this understanding, one might wonder: what truly fuels this relentless pursuit despite the lack of financial incentives? What drives us to continue pouring our souls onto the page?

Despite the modest financial rewards, infrequent accolades, and rare praise, what makes writing truly worthwhile is the profound, almost magical experience of making a difference.

It’s not about personal fame or fortune. It’s about the moment when a reader connects with your words, when they feel seen and understood by someone they’ve never met.

I have been fortunate enough to receive a note of gratitude directly from a reader, and I have received an email from someone who decided that taking their life was no longer an option and all because they dared to read one of my books. I also know what it’s like to see a reader smile like a madman who had just been gifted a new axe and it was simply because a book of mine entertained them and nothing more.

These moments of impact outweigh any monetary gain.

You may never personally know your readers, and they might only recognize your name in passing. Yet, there’s a profound, unspoken bond formed because you dared to create something meaningful. You poured your soul onto the page, exposed your vulnerabilities, and shared a piece of yourself with the world.

This connection—this shared experience—is the true reward. It’s what makes every gruelling hour of writing worth it. And when you see the difference you’ve made in someone else’s life, even in the smallest way, you realize that the real treasure lies not in the material, but in the human connection you’ve fostered.

     That’s why I believe that it’s more than worth it being a writer.

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