Money makes you think too much. It distracts you from what really matters. That elusive insight.
And look, a paycheck is wonderful. Money for an upcoming holiday. Flashy new clothes. The rent.
But that’s all superficial.
And writing is anything but.
I like to write for the reaction. I’m one of those weird people who will look at everyone else when the joke is finalised.
Smiles, laughter, emotive inspiration. That’s what writing is all about. Feelings. The right emotion. That slow nodding of the head.
But how do you write for feelings in a world that is systematically drawn towards making money? Such a silly scenario, isn’t it?
You hope for the best, prepare for the worst.
You intentionally string your keywords together in hopes of satisfying Google. But I don’t want to satisfy Google. I want to satisfy you, dear reader.
But no, I have to play a game I don’t want to play. An unnecessary step towards success.
We writers wish for shares and likes while fearing something worse than pure rejection.
Because nothing is worse than the suffocation of silence.
I throw paper planes into the mist only to hear it scrape along the ground. And all I want is for one of those paper planes to fly. To soar? Maybe. Hopefully.
My goal is to break the silence. To find that niche that everyone talks about.
To win the unwinnable race.
And it is unwinnable. Because winning implies an end to the race. But there is no end here and there is no race.
It just keeps going. One day you’re climbing the hill, the next you’re quietly screaming on the decline, seeking a new trend for the upcoming mountain.
I want to ride that rollercoaster.
I want the thrill.
I want that belly full of butterflies as I drop into the fast lane.
But I don’t want to do it for the money.
Who rides rollercoasters for money?
Feature image: Freddie Collins on Unsplash