What Moves You?

I’ve been chatting with some of my friends recently, and the topic of motivation came up. It was in a larger sense of the concept, not specific to writing, but I couldn’t help but think about it in that framework.

The conversation was an interesting one. And I found that my motivations were much in line with theirs. What is it that keeps me moving toward my goals? The obvious motivation is completing what I am working on. The motivation is the thing itself. Want to have a finished book? You need to finish the book. Goal, method, result. Easy peasy.

The conversation moved on, but I didn’t. I was stuck. I kept coming back to the question and chewing on it. Yes, I am motivated to complete my work because I want the work complete, but it is more than that. It’s not just motivation. It’s deeper than the project. 

I’m motivated to do the work because the work means so much to me. I have a story to tell. I have the need to tell it, to express myself through storytelling. I want to create something that will outgrow me and take on a life of itself. This is art. The seed for it comes from both somewhere deep inside me and from all I have experienced. Some day, I will ‘shuffle off this mortal coil’ and become substandard compost. 

Mortality is its own motivation. I want to leave something behind. 

Earlier this year, I was blessed to have two of my stories picked up for publication. One of the two is the seed for the novel, and the novels to come. That in and of itself is motivating, but nowhere near as much as what followed. 

My boy was so impressed with this achievement that he told everyone and anyone who would listen. He told his religion teacher at school that his dad was a ‘published author’. He read my story and wrote a book report on it for his English class. My boy. So proud of his dad. 

And all that is wonderful and motivating and so incredibly humbling, but that isn't even the best part. That isn’t what has lit a fire under me like no other. My son, almost 14 years old, has started writing his own stories. I inspired him to tell the stories that live in his heart. I showed him it could be done and now he wants to share his art with the world. 

So far, he’s written a historical fiction piece about an obscure naval battle set between the French revolution and the Napoleonic Era. He’s also writing a fantasy short story set in his own created world. He’s overflowing with ideas and is pouring himself into the process. 

He taps me for shared writing time and we do one-hour sprints together to work on our projects. It’s become yet another thing we get to do together. Dad and Lad Time. We read each other’s work and give feedback. We go for walks and brainstorm together. He dreams of getting published and even one day writing a book with his dad. 

So what motivates me? The project itself, of course. A legacy of storytelling, no doubt. Fortune and fame? Why not?

All that is nice. But what feeds my spirit is the light in his eyes and the fire in his heart.

I’ll leave it there for now. I have a story to finish.