Only Writing For Myself

We all start writing because we love it.  Simple as that.  We love the feel of words spilling out of us.  We love the creation of worlds, of love stories, of wars and epic battles and comedic breaks.  We can't NOT write, because writing makes us happy.

Then we start to write more.

We start to look for feedback on our pieces.  We begin to tinker with that idea of "maybe this could be an actual book."  We gather feedback.  Criticism.  Advice and requests and praises.  And with all that, with all the newly molded dreams and goals in mind, we change.  We adjust why we write, without even realizing it.  We start to form phrases, paragraphs, chapters and books based on the feedback.  The readers' desire.  The demand.  We love writing.  Because it makes us happy.  And now, we strive to make others happy as well.

So where is the line drawn?

Where do you keep yourself writing just for yourself, while still writing for the readers who love you?

Do you let bad reviews get you down?  Do you let good reviews change the path of a story?  Do you write a piece you do not fully feel, just because someone begged it out of you?  Do you say yes, or no?

Or do you kindly with a world full of appreciation say Thank You then continue what you are doing, imperfect amazing you?  Because you are amazing.  Because you have something to share with the world, whether they realized it or not.  Because that, that writing thing alone, is what makes you happy?

I am writing for myself.  I keep all the words of others in mind.  I let them help me grow, become a better writer, fuel my revenge fire, keep me going on my lowest days.  I love the fact that the words I craft manage to bring joy to another's day.  Yet in the end, I am writing for one reason and one alone: It makes me happy.

And that is all the reason I need.

“Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self.”  ― Cyril Connolly