“Do what you love and never work a day in your life.” Whoever first sold us that line had it all wrong, and we have been buying that lie ever since.
Have you ever loved something so much you just want to wrap yourself up in it, let it flood your veins, let it crawl over your life like ivy on a stucco wall? That’s how I feel about writing. I am my best self when I write. That’s why I became a writer.
I received my novel back from my editor. The critique did not crush me into bits of pathetic dust, as I was afraid it would. Overall, I feel good about it. Yay.
I hoped she would return it with a simple note: “Don’t change a thing. Bestseller!” Even just, “F**k yes!” would be music to these ears.
Instead, I have a little more work to do. I just want it done, but it’s not that easy. If I want it done right and well, I must work. In between work on the book, I have to write, edit, and sell articles about how one might keep their dogs alive and happy in cold-winter states or why bringing a tool kit on a motorcycle ride is a good idea.
My job is wonderful and I love it, but it’s hard work. It’s damn hard. It’s beautiful, enlightening, cathartic beyond measure, and uplifting. But it’s also frustrating, disheartening, confidence splitting, impossible to break from, and damn hard.
Some may say, “Well, the point is it doesn’t feel like work, because you love it.” To that I say yes, yes it does feel like work.
If you make a living doing what you love, you will love what you do for a living. That’s the real truth.
To be successful at anything you have to work, and work hard. And if you love it 90% of the time, there’s still that 10% that sucks.
If I loved gardening as much as I love writing, I wouldn’t expect to sit amongst the sunflowers all day conversing with bees and smelling the sweet lilac on the wind. I would expect to till the earth, pull the weeds, mow some big-ass lawns under the hot sun, and pour sweat while doing it.
Love doesn’t make the work less difficult, just more worth it.