Have you ever felt like the world doesn’t care about your writing — specifically, the world around you: friends, family, social media contacts?
You could be a poet just starting out or a published novelist, but those closest don’t seem to get what you’re doing or why you’re doing it; they imagine you want to be famous, or that it’s just a hobby, like keeping a diary. In other words, it’s not all that serious. In truth, it can sometimes feel like you're trying to make yourself understood through a thick pane of glass — for years, the suggestion given to me was that I go into journalism, which never interested me but is an understandable idea given I come from a background where that would likely be the only “proper” writing career to come to mind. If any of this sounds familiar, then don’t worry; you’re not alone. In fact, it’s pretty standard for creatives in any discipline, whatever their background or class status. In my case, only one family member has read all three of my books and told me what they thought. There have been various instances where friends or extended family members have told me that they’ve bought one of my books and they’re looking forward to reading it… Only to never mention it again. The most embarrassing moment, however, came when my old band, FABRIK, released our second album in 2020. We’d spent three years recording it, and put a lot of time, effort (and money) into making it as strong as possible. I was hugely proud of it (and still am), and of course, I posted about its release on my Facebook and Instagram. Around the same time, I posted a picture of some potatoes that I’d managed to grow in my first attempt at a veg patch. Guess which post got more likes. The album sunk without trace (not helped by all live promo being cancelled by the pandemic), and FABRIK ended. I couldn’t consider making music for at least a year afterwards because I was so bitter about it — and some potatoes getting more attention than my heartfelt creative endeavours felt like the universe spitting in my face. Even before that happened, however, I’d spent years fretting about and getting frustrated by similar things, assuming they meant that my writing — or any of my creative work — wasn’t good enough, and that, by extension, I wasn’t good enough either. And I know I’m not the only one. I remember a musician friend once venting on Facebook about how more “friends” liked posts about his then-new EP than actually went and listened to it, and I’m sure you have at least one equivalent story. But a few months ago, I stumbled on a quote from Garbage singer Shirley Manson (which, for the life of me, I cannot find again, despite half an hour of Googling). In it, she said something to the effect that anyone who was going to dedicate themselves to something creative had to persevere with it, even though friends and family were never going to be into it. This from the frontwoman of a multimillion-selling rock band! The implication was that, despite all that she had achieved, some of those closest to her still didn’t understand it all. What she said chimed with my own, much lower-level experiences and helped me to finally realise something crucial that I believe any creative should bear in mind: Your network is not your audience. But crucially, that doesn’t make your work worthless; it just means that the people you have on social media — people you work with, went to school or uni with, randomly met on a night out, or even share DNA with aren’t automatically the right audience for your writing. This leads us to the positive side. If you’re a creative with something to say, and you can say it to a certain level of technical competence, then there is an audience out there for you. Almost all of my most enthusiastic (and most honest) reviews have come from people I’ve never met — and probably never will meet. And I have to say that that is at least as satisfying than a member of my immediate family liking what I do. There’s nothing at play beyond someone enjoying my work for what it is — there can be no question of not wanting to hurt my feelings. The most difficult part, of course, is finding that audience, and this is where you need the help of outsiders: agents, publishers, bloggers, poetry night organisers, writer groups, writer development programmes like the one I’m fortunate enough to be on… The list is long and consists of people you may not have met yet but who can help you get your work in front of people who will understand it. The search for an audience is a serious, often lonely graft, and however selective you are with approaching agents, etc. It can often feel like door-to-door leafleting — shoving your work through the doors of possibly hostile strangers, often to no response — but don’t let the ambivalence of those closest to you dishearten you. There are people out there who will appreciate and even love your work, even if you have no idea who they are. Have you written something you want to get out into the world? Do you feel like it could do with a fresh pairs of eyes to check it over first? If so, then get in touch; I’d love to help.
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AuthorI'm a writer and editor from Birmingham. Nothing fancy about that! Archives
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