There is a decent amount of ego in writing, or any of the arts, but I’m a writer so we’ll focus on that. We all want the recognition that our words informed or entertained or both. We want to hear from others how our words link together with elegant aplomb to change their lives. We want to scoff in smugness at the critics who dare say we are anything but great, after, of course, we’ve proven their petty complaints wrong with our stunning talent.
There is no absolute that any of this will happen, that we won’t continue to strive in glorious starving artist mode until the very day we die. That even in death we will be obscure or worse finally seen as a genius and bombarded with unheard accolades and financial reward.
Sometimes ideas come before their time other times they aren’t quite the gems we think. Altavista (remember them? No? That’s ok there’s a reason you don’t.) passed on buying Google for the equivalent of nothing back in the day. Apple fired Jobs who went on to found Pixar and then come back to Apple to invent the societal altering technology we all can’t live without.
You would be in good company if that innovative and elevated and magnificent work of art you put out to the world went unnoticed by another soul. The question becomes – do you stop knowing this or do you continue?
