A good friend who is a prolific reader but
doesn’t write asked me a variation of the this post's title question.
Hers was more along the lines of “do you love
to write?” or maybe “do you need to write to be happy?”
I thought of an answer one of my favorite
authors gave to the question. Polly Horvath is a master whose prolific output would
suggest she lives to write. When asked if she loves to write she said, “I love to have written.”
That about sums it for me as well. Before any first-drafting day, no matter
if it’s a novel or a picture book, I feel anxious in a vague way. I recognize
this feeling as a sort of fear. Fear that I can’t, fear that I don’t have it in
me, fear that if I don’t I never will again.
Then I sit down and write. After the day’s self-assigned output, I
have a feeling of calm that I now recognize as a sort of peace. I might even
liken it to a calm version of bliss.
So there it is: I love to have written.
It also answers the question in this post’s
title. I am drained but also filled. I am exhausted and energized at once.
Anyone who confronts fear and comes out the
other end knows this feeling.
