The Home of Forgotten Stories

Everybody wants to write a fancy steak dinner.

It’s true. We want to write that rarest of works; popular with every reader, beloved of (most) critics, well-recognized as the pinnacle of the writing craft. The Great American Novel, the Pulitzer Prize winning work of journalism, etc., etc., etc.

Unsurprisingly, most of us are not meant to write that particular work. And that’s actually perfectly fine, because the biggest secret is: not everybody wants to eat a steak dinner every night, and even the finest steak dinner can be forgotten.

The writing public is voracious for new things to read. Now, more than ever before. Novels, articles, blog posts, tweets, rather than obliterating the written word, the internet has made it more essential than it’s ever been. There are people who read a new novel every single day of their lives. And yes, some of those novels stand out as particularly fine, but many of them are simply a pleasure to read.

Some of us write burgers and fries. Easy to consume, easy to digest, more of an everyday pleasure. A singular treat for those readers who perhaps find the steak dinner off-putting. They don’t want something elegant. They want something they can relate to. They want a book they can read before bedtime and go to sleep satisfied with a happy ending, and they go by the popular vote, not the critic’s opinion. And it can be very high quality in the meantime. You remember that one delicious bistro burger you had that time? Even the critics enjoyed it.

Some of us write a salad. Simple, quality, fulfills a distinct purpose and that purpose is to nourish you. Perhaps a little harder to digest, but not necessary as heavy as the Pulitzer. A self-help book, a book of affirmations, a book of daily devotions, something small that aids the heart and soul. Popular as well, though often totally ignored by the critic, still this work is beloved by people who are seeking something healthy.

Some of us write oysters on the half shell, or snails in garlic butter… The audience you reach is smaller, but more devoted than your steak audience could ever be. Maybe you only appeal to the critics, and the everyday reader ignores you completely. This is currently a highly respected category of literature, but difficult to dwell in. Your audience will be small. But oh, how they will love you!

The trick is that almost every reader in readerdom wants a combination of these things. Most don’t want to eat steak every single day. Most want a good article that makes you think during a lunch break one day, and a comforting short story for dinner on another day that was pretty rough. Chicken Soup for the Soul made excellent use of this metaphor.

The point I’m trying to make is, write. Write.

Stop caring about the steak dinner. Stop caring about trying to reach every single pair of eyes on Earth. Stop caring about impressing the critics. The readers in this world are hungry for your work, no matter how humble or conventional or fancy or foreign or odd it may be. And there are billions of readers.

If you can write a burger and fries, all you need to do is write the hell out of it. Write the finest burger and fries you can. Someone out there is going to love it.