Your Last Book

I cannot recall what I was listening to, or if it was reading that discussed the asteroid conundrum. Here is the question at hand:

You are an artist of some kind, a painter, sculptor, writer, musician, and you have been working for years of your life to become gifted at what you do. You learn that the world is going to end in 30 days, and all human life and everything we have ever created is going to be destroyed. Humanity will never rise again, and all works of humanity will be lost, including yours. Will you keep creating your art in those next thirty days?

Ignore questions about who you would tell, or scarcity of resources, or hunger or danger and how it will happen, or convincing people to do something about it. Take those off the table. That is not the point. The point is to get at the question of why you create art. In my case, why do I write?

Some artists who have answered this question say that if you do not answer with an unequivocal “yes,” you do not deserve to be creating. I think that is a little harsh. I think it means you desire to have your art consumed, and that is not a bad thing. Maybe you want to interact with the people who consume your work which is not a bad thing either.

I think these kinds of theoretical questions are useful to help us figure out why we take actions. Perhaps if you knew this and you said, “no, not at all,” you know for absolute certain the core reason you write is to be read, not to tell a specific story in your head. Also, not a bad thing. I don’t think there is a right or wrong answer here; I think it is about knowing yourself. The problem is that I find many of these kinds of questions to be a little too contrived.

Here is one that gets at the same question, is not at all contrived, and is something I think every writer and every artist should ask themselves: What if your last book is the book that makes it? Let’s stick with writing for my example. You will never be known in your lifetime. Nobody will publish you until your last book. After 40 years of toil, your story hits shelves and on the very next day, you die. Heart attack, car accident, whatever. Not the point. You are a breakout hit. A million copies are sold, your family is set forever, and they know you have 40 years of writing in backlogged books to hit the shelves for the next 30 years to come. You will change countless lives. Millions of people will hear your ideas, engage with your stories. Movies will be made, and you will be lauded for a hundred years.

But you’re dead. Would you work in obscurity for your whole life if you believed the last book is the book that makes it? Would you keep writing?

This is a very real question for me. I have written a lot of books and a lot of short stories. None have made it yet, but I genuinely believe each time I sit down to write, the next one will make it. I like the stories I write, and I think I broadly get better, so I even believe each time is a better chance than the last. But I am also not young. I am old enough that I won’t live long enough to finish all the books I have thought up, much less future ideas. I may die sooner than later, and this is my scenario with every book.

I keep writing.

Would you? I hope so. I hope you believe in what you are generating so much you cannot help but create your next book, even if it is your last one.