Wow, what a winter break of revisions it’s been! I am proud to say I mostly stuck to the plan I made in December. Starting with an idea of what changes I wanted to make to a story helped keep me from getting (too) overwhelmed when I sat down to work–and I did sit down to work. Almost every day, sometimes for 5 minutes, sometimes for more than an hour. As a result, I’ve revised 6 of the 7 stories I plan to include in The Book and am considering adding an eighth to the collection, if I can get it done in time.
I’ve also been thinking about the fact that, more than in any other semester, this year’s break has been a sign for what Life After School might be like, writing on my own momentum, fueled by my own desire to put out the best stories I can. It’s changed my mind about my goals for writing this year.
It’s always mystified me to hear people talk of a deep “need” to write, as though their sanity hinges on it. You know that stereotypical artist’s parent who’s contemptuous of the child for not having a “real” career? That’s been me. I don’t like to admit writing can be fun, even when I do it in my spare time, even after I have a good session and my story’s all I can talk about for the next hour. It’s starting to seem ridiculous to keep this grudge against what I do around.
This year, instead of resolving to write every day, churn out a set number of stories, hit time or word goals, or meet similar numerical quotas, I want to accomplish something I imagine will be more rewarding and lasting: I want to take my relationship with writing to the next level. I pledge to do my best to remember that writing is fun and fulfilling, and to approach my laptop at the end of the day with a welcoming spirit. I promise to use quantifiable goals and quotas as tools to encourage me to write, not an end in and of themselves. Most importantly, I promise to keep going after my grad program is over, even if no one’s reading. Sooner or later, if I put joy and work into it, someone will.
Jessica Jonas 
The need-to-writers seems to be one of the most powerful cliques of writing commentators and semi-professionals. Most weeks I encounter the judgement that you are only a hobbyist if you would not spend your last hour before Armageddon writing.
People who are fully professional (i.e. make a living only from writing) seem to take a slightly different view: you need to write when you have a deadline so you are a hobbyist if you do not submit because you did not feel like writing.
So “need” seems mostly to be snobbish.
Of course many of us who do not feel the need to write everyday might be doing it anyway without realising: if I count longer posts on various subjects on internet fora I certainly write every day.
I love this post, Jessica. I’m finding it so helpful to think of writing– vocation and work– as a relationship. It totally reframes the anxiety vs play argument. Like any commitment, both are going to part of it. It’s this tension that hums around what we’ve chosen in life. We don’t worry as much about what we don’t love fiercely– and if we don’t remember to play, we bleed what’s most vital from a relationship.
Dave, thanks for pointing out the cliquish side to the “need to” writers! It can be discouraging to hear, and I’m glad that you pointed out the ways many people write without “counting it.”
Melissa, I’m glad this view is helpful to you, too! It’s certainly helped me make sense of how to incorporate a sense of play, and I’m trying to be more compassionate with myself on days where I get less done. After all, I would be kind to the people I love. Treating writing as a relationship makes me see it as something to cherish and protect, rather than demand quotas.