angst (ängkst) n. A feeling of anxiety or apprehension often accompanied by depression

I’m starting to understand why writers are always so melancholy. Angst is their constant companion, a shadow that stalks their every move. But what is its origin?

Just imagine a job where:

You work odd hours. Two hours one day, twenty the next, or days where you can’t work at all.

You seldom receive feedback on your performance. Unless, of course, it’s below par. Then you receive plenty in the form of xeroxed notes that don’t really tell you why your work doesn’t meet standards, just that it doesn’t.

You take it with you everywhere you go. Characters talk to you at the strangest times, especially times when you need to be concentrating on something else. There is no way to turn off their incessant chatter, often making a writer feel she has tendencies toward schizophrenia.

Your success is entirely out of your control. The only part of the publishing process within your power is writing a fantastic story. Everything else happens out of range of your senses and between people who are extraordinarily busy and cannot compulsively email you every five minutes to tell you how things are progressing.

Is it any wonder writers have so much angst?

I am trying to rein in my own rampant glum by writing. The irony of the situation is that the cause is also the cure. I concentrate on shaping new stories that I hope will please others, especially editors. By honing my craft, I keep my mind sharp, my imagination nimble, and my melancholy thoughts busy enough they are somewhat harnessed.

Back to the keyboard!