Either you’re writing because you love it, or you’re writing because you’re seeking external validation—to be loved for doing it.
Most of my conversations with writers over the last few months have circled this polarity like a starving coyote circling a trap with a juicy steak.
“I love writing more than anything…but I need to be validated or approved…but I love writing, yet I need validation in the form of XYZ.” This feels like gas-brake-gas-brake-gas… you get the idea.
There’s no rule that you can’t feel both. Vacillating is totally normal. It’s human. It’s just that you cannot BE both at the same moment in a scene, or a chapter, or a novel. One will always win the moment. One will always determine a creative choice or direction.
You will FEEL which polarity a creator is at when you’re reading or consuming their work. It shows. It sparkles in the language, the cadence, and the sensation of immersion into the scene or character. Or you drift off, or skim the page to get to the good stuff.
One is soul, the other is ego.
Writing like your soul is on fire and the only way to smother the flame and save yourself from a fiery end is to type faster, tell deeper stories, submerge into the world—breathe it in even if it kills you. That is writing because you love it. You need it. It fuels you.
The ego version is a constant worry about being good enough. Did I make too many mistakes? Is this awful? Will this make me money so I can keep going? What if this sucks? I suck. This obviously sucks. No—I will be clinical, perfect… canned. But what if canned sucks? If I’m not getting paid for this, it’s not meant to be, which means I must suck.
And so on and so forth.
Finding writers who’ve cleared the ego hurdle is a challenge. I still trip over my ego some days. It pops up like an uncomfortable itch. The kind they don’t make a cream for, ya know?
I’m lucky in the sense that I’ve been able to re-structure my life to support my love of writing, storytelling, and world building. I’m fortunate to have my primary energy be in the form of devotional creativity. My world no longer hinges on the fear or worry—only the joy, at least most of the time. It required a full overhaul of my life and the way I interact with the world, so it’s not for everyone. It took a lot and still does to be in this space.
The plus side of living this way is the lack of wobble in the decision matrix when difficult creative choices need to be made. The downside is that often there are no positive feedback loops to sustain challenging or difficult times; financially, energetically or even creatively.
I’m out of pocket almost every day. Usually financially, but often energetically. Every day is an emotional down payment to continue along the path.
So why this topic now?
As the world feels like it’s on fire and the US is currently on a downward spiral, everyday survival fears and anxieties act as pop-up blockages between creatives and their craft. These times are unprecedented, absolutely.
These times are terrifying, no argument here.
What they also are is a test—how committed are you to your way of life, your choices, and your craft? How badly do you want that book written, that film made, that show developed?
Because now the ante is higher, the focus will need to be more determined, the down payment to hold your daily creative space is part of the inflation bubble.
It will cost you more energetically and emotionally, mentally and financially to push back against the fear of survival to keep your creativity and love of the work free from external clutter and distraction.
The recommendation is to find another way to survive, and spare your precious writing energy and creativity for the joy of it… just for now. Just until things improve.
Writers who cannot separate these channels when they sit down to work will tip toward the side they’ve cultivated. For example, if you practice fear and the need for validation—your choices and creative outputs will lean that direction. If you practice love of the work and immersion into the experience as a creator—you will build from that space and your work will reflect that choice.
The unfortunate reality is that when the need for validation (and survival) is driving those decisions, creativity is rarely involved. Worse, the artist rarely receives that external validation, so there’s a gap in the nourishment of the feedback loop which often robs joy from the experience and lessens the desire to persevere through challenging times; meaning it’s more likely you’ll give up when you don’t see the payoff.
Not everyone can easily reformulate their day-to-day to accommodate their love of the creative process, whatever their medium or art. BUT you can still habitualize small choices, small wins, easy feathers in the cap to build the practice of leaning toward only the love of the work, love of the process.
In short, the world is a stinking dumpster fire at the moment—but it always corrects eventually, somehow. This is a temporary, uncomfortable period. It might last awhile, it might be over shortly. The not knowing makes it hard to plan, to visualize, to measure reserves. Again, it’s a test. When you have to put a higher deposit on your love of writing—you value it more, which means you value yourself more.
Whatever it takes, put your ass in the chair. Do the exercises. Show up. Then do it again. Look for the love, the joy, the freedom in the process. Then do it again. Keep leaning toward the choices that say yes to your voice as an artist. Teach yourself to tip toward the joy.
Eventually. Not today or even tomorrow, but in the not-too-distant future you will find yourself at the table hands on the keyboard—the decision muscles, the creative resilience you’ve built over time will carry you across the finish line and not once will it occur to you that your ego didn’t get fed. Ironically, and if by magic, you’ll realize your ego is no longer hungry, and all you had to do was what you love most.
The next little while in this world may be a struggle. Lean into your processes and let them carry you through. See you on the other side.