Can’t Not Do It

“…books aren’t written on whim or promises.  Books are written on years turned inside out by ideas that never let go until you get them in print, and even then writing’s a last resort, a desperate ransom you pay to get your life back.” — Richard Bach

Well…yeah…except (speaking only for myself here), it’s not a question of “getting my life back.”  My life IS the writing.  Sure, I have hearth and home and family and pets and outside obligations but, in a way, THOSE things are the ones from which I have to ransom back my life.  Those are the responsibilities I have to fulfill/beat back/ignore in order to grasp my “real” life,which is words, always words.  The craft comes first, and not just the sheer joy of being able to do this work, but the WORK of this work — the frustrations and tears and WANTING TO GET IT RIGHT that keeps me writing and learning and reading and learning.  I’ve learned which authors I can do back to time and again to get a jolt in the arm, to recharge my batteries, to remind me of the joy inherent in this work even if no one ever buys it.  (Obviously I hope someone will, but it’s not like I’d stop writing if they don’t.  Won’t stop.  CAN’T stop.  Writing is who I am.  To deny that…well, that’s to deny everything.  And to heck with that!)


About Melissa Crandall

Longer ago than I care to admit--although I will--I cut my writing teeth on fanzines and media tie-in novels. Since then, I've moved on to narrative nonfiction, speculative fiction, and essays. I write to explore and understand the world around me, the things I see and experience nearby or from a distance. If I shake myself up, cool. If I shake you up, even better. Not gratuitously--what's the point in that?--but to set what I know, or think I know, on end and realize, "Well, doesn't it look different from this side!" My work is neither sexually explicit nor graphically violent. Let's face it - your imaginations will come up with things far worse than anything I could write, no matter how descriptive. Besides, it's just not my thing. I live in Connecticut with my supportive husband Ed, a cat named Ruby who might just think she's a dog, and an epileptic Australian shepherd named Holly who isn't quite certain anymore who she is, except she knows she loves her mommy.
This entry was posted in Connecticut, Darling Wendy, fantasy, Fiction, Literary Fiction, Mainstream Fiction, Melissa Crandall, Science fiction, Speculative Fiction, Writer, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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