Overcoming “Writer’s Guilt”: Why Imagination Matters So Much During Turbulent Times

I try not to write too many posts aimed mainly at writers, since most of the folks who read my blog aren’t fellow scribes. Occasionally, though, things happen in the world that compel me to address my writing brethren—to comfort and console them, to commiserate with them, and, every once in a while, to light a fire beneath their ass as well as my own.

Today is one of those fire-lighting times. (I almost went with “ass-fire times” but the image it conjured left much to be desired.)

Several writer colleagues of mine—particularly fiction writers—have expressed how torn they’ve been feeling lately about working on their novel or short story or any other form of creative writing. To be clear, these writers aren’t struggling with the writing itself; that is, they’re not having issues with coming up with ideas or getting into a flow. And it isn’t that they can’t find the time to write. Rather, they’re wrestling with the guilt they feel while writing. They’re questioning whether fiddling around in fictional worlds is something they—or anyone else—should be doing right now, considering the real world is in the grips of historic turmoil.

Such “writer’s guilt” is understandable. I completely get it. Hell, up until recently, I completely experienced it. However, I’m pleased to report it no longer has the same hold on me as it did a couple of months ago. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve learned how to overcome the guilt that’s wreaking havoc on writers (and artists and musicians—and basically anyone else who takes pleasure in a creative pursuit) during these turbulent times.

Now, It’s important to point out that overcoming writer’s guilt is NOT the same as not giving a damn about anything other than your own writing. Not even close. Continuing to create in a world full of mayhem and hate is an act of courage, not of selfishness. Your imagination is a weapon that, when wielded properly, can heal humanity.

How so? I’m glad you asked. ...

Stories provide refuge for people in need of—and deserving of— escape. For many, the only way they can take their mind off of the harshest realities is through reading fiction. And not just fantasy or cozy fiction. I know lots of folks who turn to horror novels or psychological thrillers or some other dark genre to help provide cracks of light in a world that often feels pitch-black.

And to those of you who feel “reader’s guilt” while enjoying a good book, go easy on yourself. Escape does not equal apathy or complacency. I personally know several dedicated medical professionals and a few ambitious activists who, when on a break from treating patients or leading protests, sink into a novel, a short story, some poetry. They escape into new and different worlds so that they can live to fight another day in the world outside their windows.     

Stories remind readers of the strength of the human spirit. In addition to providing a healthy and necessary means of escape, stories refuel readers. Inspire them. Even transform them. Doesn’t matter if it’s an epic hero saga or a gritty crime novel; every well-told story introduces us—the reader—to a main character with the odds stacked against them and something or someone standing directly in the way of what they’re dying to achieve.

Stories give us underdogs who refuse to stay down. They give us “bad guys” looking to make amends. They give us low-life’s aiming sky high, losers we can’t help rooting for. Stories stick us in the shoes of a stranger we already know and then put us through hell. Put us through fire. Forge us.

Go ahead, just try reading a novel like Little Secrets by Jennifer Hillier or Blood Standard by Laird Barron and NOT be moved by the tremendous grit and compassion such stories exude.   

Stories are a powerful medium for shedding light on and eliciting action around important social issues. You needn’t be a politically charged author-slash-activist to tap into the zeitgeist surrounding your story, thus adding power and agency to it and its characters. Few fiction enthusiasts enjoy being hit over the head with a writer’s political or social agenda, anyway. But unless your novel or short story is a radically fantastical one that takes place on a distant planet with alien beings in the distant future, it likely features humans living in a human world facing issues humans face—issues readers can relate to. Issues that captivate them and keep them riveted because they hit the reader right smack in “the feels.”

Authors like Attica Locke, Don Winslow and Alafair Burke write amazing, unputdownable crime fiction that isn’t necessarily about but centers around such systemic social issues as racism, police brutality, gun violence, and misogyny. These authors don’t write one-dimensional heroes who run around and solve major societal issues; rather they create multifaceted, flawed protagonists grinding it out in fictional worlds that mirror our real one. Worlds where humanity’s biggest problems are etched into the setting and inform each characters’ beliefs, thoughts and actions. More importantly, these authors demonstrate with great skill how it’s possible to tell captivating tales that entertain readers while simultaneously causing them to think about—and perhaps even take action around—things much bigger than the book they’re holding.   

A writer not writing is a danger to themselves and others. Sure, a novelist could quit writing entirely to focus all of their time on trying to fix or heal society— and doing so would be a noble endeavor—but not all noble endeavors are necessarily smart or feasible. (Don Quixote, anyone?) Studies have shown that if a writer quits writing abruptly out of guilt, there is a 100-percent chance they will go completely insane and murder everyone in their neighborhood. (The studies were conducted by Harvard or Stanford or some other really important university, I can’t recall exactly. All I know is they were definitely conducted somewhere prestigious and are not just something I’m making up to support my point.)   

Actually, just forget about the research I just cited and instead listen to Franz Kafka, who famously said: “A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.” For those of you who think Kafka was just being dramatic when he said that, talk to just about any writer’s family. Talk to mine—ask them how I get whenever forced to go more than 48 hours without writing. There’s a reason why my wife invested in interior doors that lock from the outside.

Now, to be clear, I am NOT saying writers should be excused from caring about the pandemic or from being active, socially responsible citizens who stand up against injustice. In fact, if you’re a writer, I strongly encourage you to take occasional breaks from your writing to check on your neighbors and/or give blood and/or donate food and/or volunteer virtually—and to definitely educate yourself about systemic racism and what you can do to help end it.

Just be sure to then take all the humanity and the heartbreak and the strength of spirit you witness and experience, and incorporate it into a story that reminds us of what it means to be alive.

YOUR TURN: Any of you writers out there been struggling with guilt while working on your fiction? And for you normal people, er, I mean non-writers, have you been experiencing a similar type of guilt over a creative pursuit you normally enjoy? Share in the comments section below. Then get back to creating.