I’d Write Anyway: Writing vs. Publishing (Especially for Indies)

About a month ago, I was listening to J.F. Penn’s podcast where she had Becca Syme on as a guest, and something they said lodged itself in my brain and refused to leave.

It wasn’t some brand-new idea. It was a simple question that most of us think we’ve already answered:

Why do you write?

Not the cute answer for Instagram. Not the polished line for interviews.

The real one—the one that shows up on the days you’re tired and behind and wondering why you’re doing this at all.

And then, layered over that, another question started nagging at me:

Why do you publish?

Because those are not the same question. 

We All Want the Big Break (Let’s Be Honest)

Let’s get this out of the way: most of us want the success.

If someone says they never think about sales or visibility, I’m just going to say it—they’re probably lying to themselves more than to anyone else.

We want:

• big sales numbers
  

• dream-come-true emails from readers
  

• movie and TV deals that feel impossible until they’re not
  

• the surreal experience of being on a talk show, or seeing our book face-out in a store we didn’t have to pay for
  

We want that.

But that’s not why we write.

We write because we can’t not write.

The Difference Between Writing and Publishing

Here’s where indie publishing comes in.

Writing is you and the page.

Publishing—especially indie publishing—is you, the page, the cover designer, the editor, the ads, the newsletters, the endless stream of social media content, the bookkeeping, and an inbox full of things only you can decide.

Writing is art.
Publishing is art plus business.

And those are different loves.

There are people who write only for themselves.
There are people who write to share, but have no interest in turning it into a career.
And then there are those of us trying to build a business out of the most personal thing we do.

If you’re here for indie publishing as a get-rich-quick plan, the reality is… this is probably not for you.
This path is slow. Messy. Unpredictable. Sometimes the brilliant book barely makes a ripple. Sometimes the weird little side project takes off.

So it’s worth asking:

• Do you want to write?
  

• Or do you want to publish?
  

• Or do you actually want both—knowing they’re not the same work?
  

Because “I like writing” and “I want to run a business built on my words” are two very different commitments.

Is Sharing Your Words Really For You?

I’m not here to tell you who is or isn’t a “real” writer.

This is gently asking you to be honest with yourself.

Publishing means you are choosing to put something deeply personal out into the world and then watching what happens when other people meet it—with all their opinions, moods, expectations, and reading tastes.

So ask yourself:

• If you never hit your big financial goal as an author, would you still want to publish?
  

• If your books stayed in a small, cozy corner of the internet, would sharing them still feel worth it?
  

• If you could walk away from publishing tomorrow and feel relieved, what would that tell you?

Because it’s okay to realize you love writing but don’t love publishing.
It’s okay if writing is meant to stay private, or shared only with a small circle.

Letting go of publishing doesn’t make you less of a writer. 

What I Know I Can’t Let Go Of

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I would actually be willing to set down to make room for the life I want.

I might, someday, let my YouTube channel go—for good.
I might quit my 9-to-5.
I might reshape or release a lot of things that take energy and attention.

But I won’t stop writing.

If someone told me I could never publish again, I’d be heartbroken—but I would still write. The stories would just live in documents and notebooks, maybe only ever read by me.

That’s what I mean when I say this is not a hobby I picked up; it’s something that lives in my bones.

Where It Started: Fairies and My Nana

Writers love to say, “I’ve been writing my whole life.” It’s almost a cliché at this point.

But clichés exist because they’re true.

I was writing stories before I was even in school.
I have journals from before I was six years old, filled with messy handwriting and impossible plots. Pages of characters no one else will ever meet, but who mattered deeply to that little girl version of me.

No one told me to do that.
No one promised me money or followers or a film adaptation.

I wrote because I had to.

And that hasn’t changed.

It wouldn’t matter if I never sold another book—I would write anyway.
Success is wonderful. I’m chasing it. I’m working hard for it. But it’s not the reason I sit down and wrestle with chapters that aren’t working and characters who won’t cooperate.

The reason is simpler and messier and harder to justify on a spreadsheet:

This is who I am.

For me, it started before I could even write the words myself.

My Nana used to tell me stories about fairies when I was little—hundreds of different versions, all following the same fairy characters. She saw the world as a story. Everything was a narrative waiting to be told, and she was always creating one.

That’s where my love of storytelling began.

Back then, I didn’t know anything about publishing. I didn’t know authors were “real people” with contracts and deadlines.

I just knew that making stories felt like breathing.
And even now, as an indie author juggling all the business pieces, that’s something I’m grateful for every single day.

Loving Something Means It Can Hurt You

Anytime you truly love something—a sport, art, music, writing—it comes with a little pain. Sometimes a lot.

Writing can heal you.
But in order to get to that healing, you often have to write through the painful parts first.

You have to figure out what’s meant for readers and what’s meant for your own therapy. You have to decide how much of your heart you’re willing to put on display.

And then there’s the practical pain:

• days when you don’t hit the word count
  

• years when you don’t hit the goals
  

• stories that don’t land the way you hoped
  

• releases that fizzle instead of explode

There are so many ways writing—and especially publishing—can break your heart.

At Author Nation this year, one of the questions that stuck with me was:
What happens if you fail?

Not in the abstract, but for you specifically.
What does failure look like? What does it cost? What are you truly risking when you decide to hit “publish”?

Raising the stakes like that can feel scary… but it also brings clarity.

Because when you choose to share something as personal as the words from your brain and heart, that is truly brave. You are risking disappointment, criticism, and indifference.

So you have to know why you’re doing it.

A Hard, Honest Check-In

So here’s my gentle challenge to you:

Take a quiet moment and really ask yourself:
If you knew you’d never hit those big, shiny milestones, would you still write?

If the answer is yes, welcome. You’re in this with me. You are allowed to want more—more readers, more money, more recognition—and still root yourself in the deeper why.

If the answer is no, that’s not a moral failing. It just means maybe writing isn’t supposed to be the main character in your life. Maybe it’s meant to be a side character. Or maybe it’s not meant to be there at all.

And if that’s the case, you are allowed to lay it down without shame.

Because here’s the secret:

The writers who stay, the ones who make it through the dry seasons, the brutal launches, the disappointing sales reports, the books that don’t find their people right away—

They’re the ones who would write anyway.

Writing for Yourself vs. Writing for Readers

There is a difference between:

• Writing because you need to.
  

• Writing because you want to connect with readers.
  

• Writing because you want to build a career.

Sometimes those overlap. Sometimes they don’t.

You’re allowed to:

• Keep some things just for you
  

• Write “practice novels” no one ever sees
  

• Shelve books that were healing to write but not meant for readers
  

• Decide that your joy is in writing, not in watching sales dashboards

And you’re also allowed to say,
I love this enough to also do the hard, unglamorous work of publishing it, promoting it, and standing behind it.

Just be honest about which lane you’re actually in.

A Question for Your Journal

If you want to dig into this more, here’s a simple journal prompt you can try:

“Even if I never ________, I would still write because…”

Fill in that blank with whatever you’re chasing:

• hit the bestseller list
  

• make a full-time income
  

• get an agent
  

• sell foreign rights
  

• see your book adapted
  

Then sit with your answer.

If you find yourself thinking, “If I never hit X, I don’t know if I’d keep going,” that’s not a reason to quit—it’s a reason to get curious. Maybe you’re called to something slightly different than what you’ve been pushing for. Maybe the way you relate to publishing needs to shift.

If instead you feel a quiet, stubborn yes—I’d write anyway—then you’ve found something solid to stand on when everything else feels shaky.

So… Would You Write Anyway?

For me, the answer is clear:

Even if I never sold another book, I would write anyway.
Even if none of my stories left my hard drive, I would write anyway.

I want the success. I want more readers, more sales, dream-level opportunities. I’m actively working toward those things as an indie author.

But success is not the engine.

The engine is this: I can’t imagine a life where I’m not telling stories.
I can let go of other things. Writing isn’t one of them.

So I’ll leave you with this:

Whether you’re journaling in secret, querying agents, going indie, or somewhere in between, take a moment and ask yourself:

If the shiny milestones never happen, would you write anyway?

Because at the end of the day, no matter what happens with sales or algorithms or opportunities, I know this:

I’d write anyway.