Laura
asked
Lois McMaster Bujold:
I love libraries and book stores. However, when I browse rows upon rows of books I often doubt if my own writing will contribute or amount to much, especially when weighed against the great investment required of my very finite time. Did you ever face similar doubts? If so, how did you reason/wrestle with them?
Lois McMaster Bujold
Yes, of course. I was probably driven through most of them by economic pressures that were indifferent to my feelings.
"Changing the world" or even "changing the world of science fiction" was never my goal, fortunately. "Not getting my utilities cut off for nonpayment of bills" was. That, happily, turned out to be a more feasible aim.
It is the nature of the book market that one cannot be financially successful without also being well-known, one's name being one's brand-name, more or less. Which is felt to be the means and which the end will vary from writer to writer, natch. And whether one really needs "rich and famous" or if "self-supporting and well-known in my field" will do. Beware those moving goalposts, which can always make one feel artificially bad.
"How high is up?" is one of those dangerous questions that each writer must answer for themselves. Setting goals unrealistically high guarantees frustration, too low risks not challenging oneself to do as well as one otherwise might. (As a rule of thumb, it is also better to focus on what you can do, and not on other people's non-controllable responses. "Finish a book" is controllable, "sell a book" less so, "become a bestseller or win an award" still less so. Unhappy is the writer who boards this train wrong way round.)
As for time, it passes at exactly the same rate for everyone, regardless of how one chooses to apportion it. It's all choices and tradeoffs. Some prices might really be too high, some rewards too meager; only the person who is leading that life can decide.
That said, when I contemplate the ever-upthrusting mountain range of reading matter in the world, effectively infinitely more than I could ever read in my remaining lifetime, I do sometimes wonder why on earth I'm trying to make more, yeah -- if that were my only motivation. Except that writing is in itself an intrinsic pleasure for me, if a weird one -- I sometimes wonder if writing fiction ought to be classified as a dissociative disorder. So I would likely still be making up stories even if no one else wanted them, only with less social approval.
Ta, L.
Yes, of course. I was probably driven through most of them by economic pressures that were indifferent to my feelings.
"Changing the world" or even "changing the world of science fiction" was never my goal, fortunately. "Not getting my utilities cut off for nonpayment of bills" was. That, happily, turned out to be a more feasible aim.
It is the nature of the book market that one cannot be financially successful without also being well-known, one's name being one's brand-name, more or less. Which is felt to be the means and which the end will vary from writer to writer, natch. And whether one really needs "rich and famous" or if "self-supporting and well-known in my field" will do. Beware those moving goalposts, which can always make one feel artificially bad.
"How high is up?" is one of those dangerous questions that each writer must answer for themselves. Setting goals unrealistically high guarantees frustration, too low risks not challenging oneself to do as well as one otherwise might. (As a rule of thumb, it is also better to focus on what you can do, and not on other people's non-controllable responses. "Finish a book" is controllable, "sell a book" less so, "become a bestseller or win an award" still less so. Unhappy is the writer who boards this train wrong way round.)
As for time, it passes at exactly the same rate for everyone, regardless of how one chooses to apportion it. It's all choices and tradeoffs. Some prices might really be too high, some rewards too meager; only the person who is leading that life can decide.
That said, when I contemplate the ever-upthrusting mountain range of reading matter in the world, effectively infinitely more than I could ever read in my remaining lifetime, I do sometimes wonder why on earth I'm trying to make more, yeah -- if that were my only motivation. Except that writing is in itself an intrinsic pleasure for me, if a weird one -- I sometimes wonder if writing fiction ought to be classified as a dissociative disorder. So I would likely still be making up stories even if no one else wanted them, only with less social approval.
Ta, L.
More Answered Questions
Catherine Nemeth
asked
Lois McMaster Bujold:
In one of Barbara Hambly’s fantasy series wizards/magic use had been outlawed/severely curtailed because the world was entering an Industrial Revolution and it's so easy for a wizard to wreck machinery for paid industrial sabotage or personal animus. Given how demons shed chaos (Otta/Atto in weaving room, sorcerers on boats), do you have any thoughts as to what may happen to sorcerers if/when the Wot5G has an IR?
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