Noise, noise, noise

In the past day and a half, I've encountered a variety of loud events related to writing: a major review (mixed), a royalty statement (good), and some other almost news (good). These are exactly the sorts of things that distract me, churn me up inside, and make it hard for me to write. Similar, albeit lesser, events, such as a critical comment or a rejection slip, once could stop me from writing for a year or two at a stretch. Correct that: I reacted to them by not writing. I am the only person who can stop me from writing.

What I've learned is that all of these things, good or bad, are just noise, complex wave patterns assaulting the brain space where writing needs to live. Sometimes they feel good, because they do, after all, represent attention, but even then they are fundamentally damaging.

The work is the thing. My desire, my job, my passion, what I must do is write the best work I can, put it through a reasonable number of drafts, and move on to the next piece. If the result attracts a huge readership and makes me as wealthy as King or Rowling, I'll be stunned and happy indeed--but I'll still need to write the next book. If the result instead appeals to no one, if I stop being able to sell anything I write, as painful as that would be, I'd still need to write the next book.

I must do a better job of remembering what matters and what is merely noise.