Dear Reader,
By the time this email reaches your inbox, I will have finished editing my second poetry collection, and while this may not be a big deal to you, it certainly is to me. You see, I am one of those writers who hates writing but loves having written. The writing process is often laborious, touch and go, and full of frustrating silence. I spend most of my time staring at that infernal blinking cursor, reminded that an empty page stands between me and success. For me, finishing anything is worthy of celebration, especially when the actual writing is done, and all that is left is to place my manuscript into the ready hands of the editorial team.
But why put up with the torture? I often ask myself the same question. Why toil away if the process is frustrating and full of failure? Am I a masochist—hard-headed and unable to accept defeat, reveling in my own self-inflicted creative pain? It certainly seems that way, at least from the outside.
My day usually begins at 6:30 AM. I wake up and spend the first ten minutes mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, much to my displeasure. Then when I've had my fill of dopamine and self-loathing, I get up and stumble into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee (though, more often than not, my wife wakes up early and is kind enough to make one for me). After I kiss my wife goodbye, I retreat into my office, a small space about 10 ft long and 8 ft wide, with enough room to fit a desk, a reading chair, and two bookcases that hold the 300+ volumes I own. I close the door, sink into my chair, and watch the sun as it rises slowly over the church down the road. When the coffee is finished, I move to my desk and open my computer. For the next hour, I wrestle against the blank page and write until 500 hard-earned words fill the screen like bits of black coal dragged up from under the earth and laid bare under the open sky. There's a lot of deleting and rewriting. Some sentences come easy. Others have to be wrangled and subdued like a wild mustang, roped and ridden until they're broken in and ready to ride. I usually leave my desk exhausted, and by 8 AM, I'm already on my second cup of coffee.
I've been writing like this for almost three years, and despite having my fair share of wins, it hasn't been easy. I threw in the towel on multiple occasions, written essays no one will ever read, and parts of novels that will remain locked away until my kids decide to burn them or, even worse, read them after I'm dead when their post-mortem interest kicks in (I prefer the former). Mix that with a bit of imposter syndrome and the propensity to procrastinate, and I'm lucky I get anything done at all.
So why, despite this, do I keep on writing?
It can only be for love.
Many writers like what writing can give them—fame, fortune (good luck), influence, etc. But those writers don't last. The ones who endure, who write until there's nothing left to say, are those who both love and hate the blank page. They may grow weary and frustrated, hit writer's block, and retire for a few months. But they always come back. Even when it gets hard, they cannot stop thinking about the infinite possibilities offered by empty space and syllables. They return for the love of words, good sentences, and stories. They can't help themselves, and neither can I.
It's why I keep coming back, 7:00 AM on the dot, rain or shine, blank pages be damned.
-Ryan Diaz
Recent Publications & Interviews
A Cynic’s Rehab (Art & Faith Conversations)
The Christian Act in the Face of Reckless Hate
Recommended Reading
The Life You Save May Be Your Own, Paul Ellie: A brilliant biography that covers the literary & spiritual lives of Flannery O’ Connor, Thomas Merton, Dorothy Day, and Walker Percy.
Writing Updates
I will be submiting my final round of edits for my second poetry collection, Skipping Stones, on May 1st. In preperation for the book’s lauch later this year I am looking for people who might be interested in joining the book’s launch team. If you’re interested please feel free to DM me via Instagram (@ryan.diaz) .