The desire of a writer’s heart

Is fame and fortune what a writer’s heart desires? I say no. The writer’s ego might desire fame. The mind, the lifestyle, the budget may clamor for money. But I say the heart of a writer will only be satisfied by readers.

Some writers may be fulfilled with only one reader. Some may need millions. Millions of readers is only a dream for me, but I need more than the few I’ve had. That’s not to diminish those who’ve read my work so far. They were a delicious appetizer, the amuse bouche, and they gave me a taste for more.

Unless my novel is read, it’s only a collection of words, ink on paper. It has no meaning. It has no life. When I announced that I’d completed writing Brevity, several people congratulated me. I felt odd accepting that. True, many people talk about writing a novel, though few actually do, but I didn’t write this book for myself—not just for myself. It wasn’t really completed when I wrote the last word.

A book is something best shared, I think. How often have you finished a book and immediately wanted to talk about it with someone? Whether you liked it or hated it. So, yes, I finished my book, and now I need someone to read it. I need to talk about it with someone. Many someones.

My heart desires it.


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