Writing Fiction: Happiness?

A friend once asked me, if I managed to get a book published, would I be happy?  I said yes, for about two weeks.  There is something in me, however, that does believe that getting a book published, people buying it, appearing at readings, will somehow make me permanently happier than I am.  In the summer I won a competition and fully expected that at least one of the agents on the panel would offer to represent me.  None of them did.  I subsequently went through something very close to depression.  Being that close to getting what I wanted and then not getting it was too much.

In talking to another friend about this, I realised that, in part, I had thought that if was able to get all the things I wanted, I would somehow have been able to transcend my everyday self.  My friend has had his work published and he expressed the view from the other side: that he had thought that it would bring him a certain recognition, and it had not; or at least, not in the way he had hoped.

In end, he said, published or not published, you always come back to yourself.

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One thought on “Writing Fiction: Happiness?

  1. You are right of course. I’ve a friend who says, ‘Where ever you go, you take yourself with you.’

    Where ever Paul Gapper goes, he will know he has written a novel. Not everyone has done that.

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