V. H. King's Ink

Believe it or not, there are days when I feel like I won’t reach anyone with my work. I know I’ve said time and time again that being famous sounds scary. I still stand by that. At the same time, I have this deep hope that my stories and my art will resonate with other people. I have found such hope through stories. I have found a home where grief is allowed, where joy can be found in the simplest of life’s gifts, and where the bravest thing you can do is face the fears inside yourself.

I cherish the space that I’ve found between the pages, and I want to give that back to others.

I worry that I’m prideful, thinking I could create something that would have such an effect. Who am I to think I can create something that will resonate with others? I don’t know their stories. I’m no Great Wise Being who can see into the depths of the human heart. I have no real training in the arts, in a professional or formal sense. My career so far has been cobbled together through self-published projects. How could I possibly gain the traction needed to make a difference? That type of thinking is where I start to go astray.

If I doubt my ability to make a difference now, when will I believe that I impact others with my work?

This isn’t a matter of believe it and you’ll achieve it. It’s more of a practice. Practice believing that what I write already makes a difference. Work on trusting that, in time, people will find my writing if they’re meant to. I have to remind myself that, even when I finish writing a story, that story doesn’t cease to exist. It stays out there for others to find. There will always be room for someone to experience a story, an art piece, for the first time. I think that’s a lovely bit of magic, and I know it gives me hope.

Recently I received a bit of advice: Every piece doesn’t have to be a masterpiece.

While this was primarily talking about unfinished art pieces, I think it applies to my writing too. I’m not a perfect writer. I’d go so far as to say that the perfect story will never exist. But perfection isn’t my goal. Connection is. And in order to connect with others, I think my work has to have some bit of imperfection. Because that’s what makes it human. Flawed characters are far more relatable than ones who never do anything wrong. We all make mistakes, no matter how old or how educated or how rich we are.

The truth is I’ll never know the exact impact of my work.

Sometimes that’s incredibly daunting. Insecurity and fear are quick to whisper that, because I can’t know the impact or reach, I don’t have one. That’s not true. I already know people who enjoy reading my stories. They ask questions to keep me talking about the worlds that come to life in my writing. My friends make silly jokes about my characters, and I love them for it. But not knowing the people who my words reach, not knowing how deep of an impact I leave–that leaves room for surprises. I don’t know the future, so who can say who I might reach one day? Who can predict how many people will share my words with others?

It’s okay for me to not know. It’s terribly difficult to make my peace with it. Short stories are a special kind of challenge for me, because I love writing to figure out all the answers. But I will never know them. I have to leave room for readers to fill in the gaps. I can imagine all sorts of endings and backstories, and the person next to me can imagine just as many different ones.

That’s another bit of magic–the way someone can find unique themes and threads in my stories that I myself don’t even notice. The more room there is to imagine, the more people who fill in the gaps–well, who knows what we’ll all come up with? That’s the kind of connection I’m looking forward to–and it’s a delight I already enjoy.