The Business of “It”

By Amy Lane 

Yes, writing is a business.

The longer you do it, the more you become aware: the parts of the process you like best, the part of being the petty god, creating new worlds and new people and forcing them to interact and mature into fruition, become a smaller percentage of your day.

You find yourself editing and trying to schedule your blogs and your interviews, missing deadlines for things you really enjoy because there just aren’t enough hours in the day.

You find yourself stressing.

And what was once a hobby, and then the best job in the world, is suddenly sending you screaming for chocolate chips and whisky.

And then—

You see it.

Whatever “it” is.

It could be a hot picture—porn, the rawest form, naked bodies, sweaty, covered in fluids, penetrating, tongues fucking everywhere.

It could be something subtle—fan art that makes your gut contract or an episode of your favorite show in which two characters look at each other as they’ve never looked before.

Maybe it’s a joke in a comedy, or two people walking down the street, their body language subtly intimate.

A book you’re reading, a music video, a song you’ve never heard, the sound of someone masturbating, their breath urgent and harsh and desperate.

It could be the sensuality of a glass of wine, or your lover’s fleeting touch on your shoulder.

Honestly, the shape, form, taste, touch, or smell of “it” is not the point.  What’s the point is what “it” can do for you. “It” is the reason that writers write, musicians sing, and painters cut color.

“It” is that thing, that moment, that shimmering emotion or important thought that we try so hard to capture with our art. It’s the passion that drives us, until we overfill and we have to—are forced to—spill whatever is inside us onto the page, or the instrument, or the brush and canvas.

And we never know where “it” is, or when “it” is coming.

So, yes—writing is a business, and business is boring. Business isn’t why we got into this, and even if we take to it like ducks to water, find the fascinations in the nooks and crannies, find the science of making stuff that appeals to the greatest number of people, it’s still secondary to that thing we love to do.

So when “it”, our inspiration presents itself?

We need to be ready.

We need to be able to look at that porn shot our friend sends us, appreciate the fan art our daughter shares, or laugh at the rabbit video from a fan. Yes, business is pressing. Yes, there are demands on us we never thought we’d have. D

But that moment when something moves us—that is our reason to be. That is the thing we love—so much so that we invented new ways to share it! That is the thing we shouldn’t forget because once upon a time, it drove us to reinvent ourselves.  If we find another thing—another drive—that’s fine. But maybe all artists should make a pacts—with their editors, or their beta readers, or their besties, or their fans—to not forget the thing that drove them into the business in the first place.

To always be ready for “it”—because “it” is our favorite thing.

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