For as long as I’ve been a writer there have been two things I could count on — that my mum would read everything I wrote and that my wife would read none of it.
I love my wife unconditionally. She’s kind, considerate and loving. She’s a great mother to our kids. She shares similar family values to me. She’s fun and outgoing, and brings out the best in me. I find her attractive. All good.
What’s vexed me for a while now, is her seeming disinterest and indifference to my writing and my life as a writer. It’s bothered me more as time has gone on.
In the early days, I could’ve explained her indifference as her giving me space to pursue my hobby. Many years, many hundreds of blog posts, a few self-published books and a couple of newspaper articles later, I’ve started to think there’s more behind it.
In my more fatalistic moments I convinced myself that it was symptomatic of wider issues of disinterest; a lack of support and her general apathy towards my creative endeavours. Then I snapped back to reality and realised it’s probably not that deep — at the very least there’s probably an underlying reason behind her choices.
It was as I listened to a recent podcast interview with Steven Pressfield, author of the appropriately titled book ‘Nobody wants to read your Sh*t’ that I was prompted to reconsider — maybe my experience isn’t all that unusual?
Is it reasonable to expect friends and family to read our work?
Is it even helpful if they do?
Is there any real value in any praise or well-intentioned criticism they might offer?
Pressfield thinks not.
I’d like to thank…
If you’ve watched an awards ceremony like the Oscars, you’ve witnessed flustered and tearful celebrities reeling off lists of those who’ve played a part in their success. Their spouse usually comes first.
If I were ever required to give such a speech (not that there’s an award ceremony for minor fledgling writers) I’d struggle to attribute much about my modest writing successes to my wife. She’s not unsupportive as such — she doesn’t stop me from doing anything I want in life. It’s about how she reacts to my work and the very idea of me spending time writing.
I doubt that she’s read anything I’ve written in over a year. I doubt she could even name the platforms I write on or tell you how many books I’ve written or what they’re about.
I realise that airing my trivial dissatisfactions makes me sound self-absorbed, egotistical, needy and entitled — I can’t disagree with that assessment either. I feel pathetic for even admitting to it.
Many would rightly argue that she’s not obliged to stroke my ego or boost my morale when it comes to my writing. There are probably many ways that she doesn’t feel recognised and supported by me either. Such comments are fair and accurate, at least to a point.
I often wonder how it would be if our roles were reversed? If she were the one trying to develop her creative skills or pursue a passion-project I like to think that I’d be on the sidelines cheering her on, reading everything she wrote, wouldn’t I?
What benefit does it serve to get support from a partner (or friend or relative)?
In the old-school world of book publishing, literary agents and publishing houses are keen to advise writers that when pitching their books it matters little if their best-friend, their spouse or wider family believe their work is outstanding. They’re equally disinterested in writers who self-identify as ‘the next J.K. Rowling’.
Such claims are inevitably flawed and of course, biased in their assessment. We cannot realistically hope as writers that those we love and who love us back will be completely objective in their responses to our writing. Even if we’re garnering ‘harsh and honest feedback’, at best we’ll get a couple of criticisms but dressed up in plenty of fluff to soothe our ego.
Writing is hard of course, and we all find it testing at times to take the bold step of finally publishing our work. We know that it’s only by putting it out into the world that we can gain the true and honest feedback that we hope will be positive and simultaneously fear will not be.
To help ease such fears I suppose that most of us still like to seek a bit of reassurance from those we love and trust. It helps insulate us from the harsh realities and unfiltered perspectives shared by those in the outside world.
I know that I can usually count on a few claps or a ‘Like’ from my mum on most pieces I publish — it helps, even if I know she’s driven by love rather than objective appreciation of my writing.
Support — an essential element of solid relationships?
Feeling supported by others is a big part of what makes us believe that our relationships are subjectively ‘good’ too — there’s science behind its importance.
The Grant Study began in 1921 and followed 237 male participants for the next 68 years, attempting to identify the key contributors to prosperity and wellbeing. Periodic interviews were carried out with participants and the study identified two key factors as predictors of long-term prosperity:
1) Having a Happy Childhood
2) Enjoying Supportive Relationships
It’s not just about feeling supported either — the study also found that participants’ experienced happier and longer lives if they were in a position of providing support to others. We like to feel seen and appreciated, and it makes us feel good to be needed and appreciated by others too.
For such a long-term study to conclude that supportive relationships are one of only two significant predictors of long-term prosperity, seems significant as a predictor of healthy relationships.
It makes me more inclined to try and understand why my wife is the way she is when it comes to her supporting me (or not) as a writer.
What’s behind it? Does it matter?
I’ve wondered if she was avoiding my writing out of fear — a fear that she might discover my work was terrible and may then lose respect for me?
I’d considered that her disinterest might amount to simple apathy or envy. Perhaps she felt like the time I spent writing was a distraction from spending it with her, or in other more worthy and more fruitful pursuits?
I’d even considered that she didn’t like reading online until she started following a blog written by a friend. That annoyed me in the moment, especially when she wanted me to read it too as in her words “it was so good”. I reminded myself that I don’t own her attention or her time though. Who am I to determine what’s worthy of her and what isn’t?
Steven Pressfield has a different theory to explain why many writers find that their friends and family demure from reading their work.
As he puts it:
His theory seems to be that those close to us, who know us as the person behind the writer have a sense that when we write we go through a process of becoming something or someone else. We’re no longer just the husband, wife or friend — we mutate into the storyteller, the poet, the theorist or the essayist.
When we change into our creative selves, they fear losing the person they care about. They fear seeing evidence of us changing as we write — and so out of a sense of love and protection, they distance themselves from our writing persona by avoiding what we’ve created.
It’s a theory at least — and feels more comfortable than believing my wife is apathetic and disinterested regarding my writing!
Moving forwards
There’s little I can do to force support from my wife, nor do I want to — especially in light of the theory presented by Pressfield.
She’s supportive and accommodating of me in many other ways and I’m being ego-driven and needy in believing she owes me her attention or admiration. Whatever praise or criticism she might offer probably means little anyway, even if she were to read my work.
I wonder sometimes if anything could ever happen that might change whether she were interested in reading my work or not?
If I were to suddenly become successful, rich or famous, would that convince her to read my stuff? What if one of her friends were to start following my writing, would it persuade her to take more interest?
If Pressfield’s theory is correct, then presumably this would have little effect over her actions either — it might even make her more fearful of me changing and hence make her even less inclined to read my work?
All things considered I guess it’s best left as is. At least I can count on my mum reading everything — thanks Mum!
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This post was previously published on The Brave Writer.
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