What keeps us creating when there's no guarantee of worldly success?

I often think about people who spend years on their craft, hoping for financial reward or public acclaim but knowing that it might never come. What fascinates them so much that they keep on working, regardless of the external results? Maybe it’s a love of the process—but the process has to go beyond just having a good time. It has to teach us something about ourselves, our lives, our world.

Last week, insecure about putting myself in cyperspace in a public way, I sent out my first newsletter, which let people know that I’ve finished my memoir, a coming-of-age story set in West Africa. People I haven’t seen in years—and some I’ve never met—wrote back to congratulate me and tell me they can’t wait to read The Geography of Desire. I’m forever grateful for their enthusiastic support.

I’ve tried several studios over the years, but this is where I work best.

When I say I’ve “finished” my memoir, it doesn’t mean I’ve found a publisher—only that after years of writing, getting feedback, and revising, I’m satisfied that I’ve made the manuscript the best as I can. Now it’s time to start looking for a literary agent, who will hopefully sell my work to a publisher. Many writers—especially unknown ones like me—approach scores of agents before landing one. Some never do. 

I began my bookover a decade ago, knowing that it might not get picked up by a big house like Penguin. But the longer I worked, the less important that seemed. I became absorbed by the process: making a little-known corner of the world come alive, getting at the emotional truth of my story, and creating a narrative with forward momentum. I became more confident in my writing and gained a deeper understanding of my life. And that—whether I end up publishing with a big house, a little indie press, or a site like Wattpad—is precious to me. 

If you’re one of those people making art and hoping to sell it but knowing you might fail, ask yourself what your creative process teaches you about yourself, your life, your world. Then, when the indifference of the marketplace makes you wonder why you keep it up, you’ll have your answer. 

The world beckons, but the laptop is cozy.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the risks I’ve taken and how I’ve learned from them. My biggest adventure happened when I ran away from home to live in Africa, an experience that changed my life in ways I could have never foreseen. I’ve written a memoir of this time, sometimes thinking I would never finish it. But I did, and I hope you’ll add your name to my email list so I can keep you posted as I look for a home (read: publisher) for The Geography of Desire.

By the time I was twenty-four, I was stuck in a dead-end job and my love life had dwindled to ashes, so after a decade of dreaming about it, I joined the Peace Corps. I was scared I wouldn’t be able to make it in an African village, but I was equally desperate to reinvent myself. What really prompted me to get on that plane, though, was the image of my future self: an old woman sitting in a rocker kicking herself for not even trying to do the thing her younger self had so passionately wanted to do.

A lot of us long for adventure, but it’s raining outside and the laptop feels cozy. Though the world beckons, we hesitate. Years pass. Some of us might be thinking about opening an Etsy shop, others about hiking the Appalachian Trail. Still others might simply want to get their own place on the other side of town.

Have you ever taken a risk that changed your life? Or are you hesitating? How did you get up the courage to take the first step? Or what will help you do this? I’d love to hear from you. You can reach me at linda@lindagambill.com or on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook.

I was super-happy to get wheels. Loved that Honda 50! We had a lot of adventures in The Gambia.