She says: “I have to get back to real life again. It wasn’t an easy decision, because it took a lot to get to the stage of being a published author. But during my teacher training so far, I’ve dealt with so much – flooded schools, fire alarms going off, children being sick …” And, after living in her own fantasy worlds for so long, it’s this seeming mundanity that Swainston craves. That and “doing something meaningful with my life”. But won’t she miss the writing? “Chemistry feeds that sense of wonder that made me want to be a writer in the first place,” she says. “Besides, I’ve never said I won’t write again, just that if I do write another book, I’ll do it on my terms.”
- Fantasy author Steph Swainston tells David Barnett why she is giving up her day job, The Independent on Sunday
This article has invoked much passion in my immediate circle, as one of the most important discussions of writing to have happened in a long time. And it’s important not only because a writer has up & publicly announced she’s quitting, but because it reveals something I’ve been musing on for years: artistic burnout.
It seems to me often in the writing circles I frequent that I don’t encounter what I thought I would encounter when I started. There’s less of the passion and drive and excitement of pursuit, more of the cynicism that comes from exhaustion and defeat. And although there’s plenty of articles on ‘how to deal with rejection’, there’s less on ‘how to deal with creative exhaustion’ despite this being a likely outcome for the bulk of writers who are a) paid nothing or very little for our writing, &/or b) work our writing around the stuff we do for payment.
Which seems like a hole this blog could fill for the next couple of weeks while I wind down from another novel edit, & wind up for a trip to the World Fantasy Con in San Diego. Hmmmmm.
New project!
Mirrored from 'other blog' deborahb.

Comments
You know, when I was younger, the road to success seemed much simpler... like, you try to be something, and you succeed, or you fail. And I always thought of those bands who disappeared as having failed in some way.
But reading interviews with them now, looking back, I can see it differently. How they made choices, so many of them. About what was important to them. At some point "making it big" became less important than family, or travel, or just living. And a lot of them seem to have found contentment in that, with music still a part of their life in some way, but the whole fame thing being just a small part of their past.
And I guess maybe part of growing up is coming to the realisation that living is about making the most of who we are, now, and trying to be happy day to day, rather than working toward some imagined future goal.
I wouldn't turn down Neil Gaiman's fame or Stephen King's riches, but I'm less and less inclined to compromise my day to day happiness to work toward that goal. Writing is welcome in my life to the extent that it creates and enables joy and enjoyment, but no further than that. And if that means that I will never be famous or wealthy, I'm okay with that bargain.
Yeah, spot on. I remember seeing a band of middle-aged dudes one night, playing a bar that was pretty much empty except for a dozen of us who'd come to see the OTHER band, the one our friend was in. And I just looked at these guys with such ... I dunno, sadness?
Looking back, I think: hey, those guys were at least *creating*. They were getting up there, doing what they wanted to do, putting the power in their own hands. Plenty of other people DON'T get up, don't risk the humiliation, don't try. They go home & watch tv shows about OTHER people getting up. ;)
It's a bittersweet realisation that hey, maybe this is the best there is, & maybe that's OK.