It’s a public accepted fact that writing is a public obligation; I’ve said as much in quite similar words in past articles. This basically means that as much as writers might like to think that they can just write for themselves and write whatever and however the hell they want, that simply isn’t true or reasonable. A writer writes so that other people can read and appreciate the writing, but for people to appreciate the writing, they actually have to like it. So the writer has to write in such a way that people will be more likely to view the writing in a positive light.
This is a naturally accepted part of the process and is honestly just good business sense. Customers need to like the product that is being potentially sold to them. Even art needs to appeal to someone other than the artist for it to truly be successful in its purpose to communicate a personal message from the artist to someone—anyone.
That being said, there is danger in letting that mentality consume the true purpose of writing or become the driving purpose itself. As a writer, an artist, a creator—you have to remember your own artist’s integrity—the commitment you make to yourself to never completely lose yourself in seeking to please the crowds. You have to remember the promise you made to yourself that everything you created and produced would actually come from you—that nothing you made would be made entirely out of fluff, out of the desire to simply please the crowds and make you money. I know it’s cruel, the reality that integrity has to potentially mean not getting paid as much—not being able to live off your art quite as much. But honestly, would you be able to live with yourself if the driving purpose of your art was just to get paid? Sure, money is nice. Don’t ever think that I don’t value financial security as one of my top priorities in life. But if that’s all your live for and all you create for, how empty is that?
There just have to be moments in your career where you simply say “screw it” and create something for the sheer, raw beauty of the thing that you’re creating, without giving a single damn about whether or not someone else will like it. Because while producing widely approachable, widely likable fluff will get you easy approval from a lot of people, are they people that you really feel comfortable with having as fans? The alternative is staying truer to yourself and being rewarded with the knowledge that the people who love and appreciate your work are genuine—that they truly do understand what you’re trying to convey.
It’s a silent struggle, to be sure—but as long as you can remember why you starting creating in the first place, it doesn’t have to be an eternal one.