People ask me this question a lot: How do you become successful? How do you make a living writing? I’ve always wanted to do that. How do you do that? Is it worth it?
My standard answer is: I’m lucky. I’ve been fortunate to have good fans. And yes, it’s worth it, all of the sacrifices are worth it to be here, making a living doing the thing I love most.
That’s the truth–especially the first two sentences. That last one is also true–at the same time it is the most appalling lie.
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But at the same time writing is an amazing, primal ride, it’s also the curse. In fact, it’s almost exactly like the Chariot and the Devil.
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And the symbols themselves are also instinctual. They are elementals, parts of our world, parts of our psyches, parts of ourselves.
Thus it is with the Chariot and the Devil.
The Chariot is the card of journeys, of forces that bear us from our intended path, the card of the warrior who is cut off from any influence but the road under his feet and the control of the opposing powers at his command. The Chariot is the card of being swept away, of doing battle with the elements, of being taken away from our homes and our comfort by mighty things beyond our power to control. Sometimes you can bear your cart back on the intended path, and sometimes you have no choice but to hang on for the ride.
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Writers know these cards really really well.
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That’s writing. That’s the journey. That’s what we do when we take living, breathing human beings from Point A to Point B.
It’s incredibly addictive.
It holds us in thrall.
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I’m writing. Get up and clean the kitchen. I’m writing. Get up and take the kids for a walk. I’m writing. Feed the goddamned dog. I’M WRITING. TALK TO YOUR HUSBAND! I’M WRITING. ENGAGE, GODDAMMIT, ENGAGE!
I’m writing.
If I don’t learn how to stop, it may one day be the only human contact I can manage. The Chariot may have borne me from all those I love, from all that is human, and the Devil may have me in thrall forever.
Melodramatic, of course. A life and death struggle from a fat woman at her computer at the kitchen table, in a room filled with moths and office furniture, but meant to prepare food.
But it feels real inside my head.
I’m taking the kids for a walk. So I’m not writing. We’re going swimming tomorrow. So I’m not writing. I’m cooking dinner instead of having Mate stop for takeout. So I’m not writing. I’m watching television and knitting with the family. SO I’M NOT WRITING I’M NOT WRITING I’M NOT WRITING.
So I can take those things and use them to control that Chariot, enslaved to the primal forces of the most insidious devil mankind has ever battled.
The Devil of creativity, the entropy that creates apathy, the thing that drags us away from our families and our loves, from our pride and our homes…
And creates homes and families and loves and prides that we will never have.
Well I say it is.
I believe it is.
But I’m the warrior on the Chariot, I’m the ego in thrall to the Devil.
I clearly believe what I’m saying– but ask yourself.
You know who I am. You know what my cards are. Am I trustworthy? Can you control those cards? If you can, jump on the Chariot, and strike up the conversation with Old Nick.
You too can be part of the ride.
Some days, the dragon wins. Some days, the journey is worth hijacking the chariot for. Then, there are the days that the Chariot drug you out of bed and you're on the Highway to Hell, with an OCD conductor asking for the pink shiny ticket.
It's all good when you know that however the deck is stacked, you have have the grand and terrible Gift to write about it.
Hugs, Amy! Write On!
What an extraordinarily passionate response about writing. I loved it. I loved the tarot cards references and a vision of you on the Chariot.
You fascinate me, always, with what you put to paper with pen.
Keep on writing. Hire someone to clean the house 🙁