Blog 82 - Stop The World!

Blog 82 - Stop The World!

October 2025

Ever had one of those days where the classic phrase "Stop the world, I want to get off!" feels less like a dramatic plea and more like a perfectly rational career move? Yeah, me too.
Let’s get honest for a second, shall we? As writers, we pour our hearts, souls, blood, sweat, (and probably a few tears) into the worlds we build. We meticulously craft characters, weave intricate plots, and agonize over every comma placement. We spend hours, days, weeks, months, and sometimes even years breathing life into fictional beings and situations. And then, when we finally emerge, blinking into the harsh light of reality, we look around and ask, "Did… did anyone even notice?".
Just recently, I have begun to have an increasingly worrying habit of finding the worlds I create, far more appealing than the world I actually inhabit. In my imagination a struggling writer can become anything, a revered author of a multi-award-winning novel, a sought after talk show guest, even the star of the film adaptation of his own book. In the real world, he’d be lucky if he got a 'like' from a social media outlet.
Believe me, I feel his pain. Editors, agents and publishers seem to actively ignore my work, and my reader numbers couldn’t get any lower if they dug a hole and climbed in. It’s frustrating to say the least. I know this may sound a little self-glorifying, but I genuinely believe every word I put down – whether it's a sprawling novel, a bite-sized short story, a thought-provoking play, or even this very blog – is worth reading, worth being noticed, worth being applauded. But I'm starting to get the distinct impression that I might be the only one holding that opinion. It's like I'm screaming into a beautifully designed, literary void.
On one hand, I wholeheartedly believe in the value of what I create. I’ve nurtured these stories, these characters, these ideas from tiny seeds of inspiration into fully formed narratives. They are extensions of myself, polished and presented with the hope that they’ll resonate with someone, anyone, beyond the confines of my own brain. But then the world outside my writing room chimes in with its own, often much quieter, opinion. And it’s a voice that can be surprisingly dismissive. The algorithm doesn't care about my poignant metaphor. The busy commuters scrolling through their smart phones don't have time for my nuanced character arc. The only solace I have is that there's a certain comfort in knowing that in at least one universe, my words resonate. In one universe, my efforts are not just appreciated but revered. It's the ultimate creative escape, a personal triumph that happens entirely within the confines of my own mind. Out here, If I am to remain in any way sane, I have to constantly remind myself that the sheer volume of content being produced daily means that even the most brilliant spark can get lost in the inferno.
It’s in these moments that the urge to shout, "Stop the world, I want to get off!" becomes almost overwhelming. I want to hit the pause button on the relentless march of everyday life and step back into the controlled environments of my imagination. There, I’m the architect, the god, the benevolent dictator of a world where effort is recognized, talent is rewarded, and a good story always wins.
Is it healthy to prefer the company of your fictional characters to, say, actual human beings? Probably not. Am I losing my grip on reality? Perhaps. However, these are the questions that haunt the quiet corners of my writing den. Because let’s face it, the appreciation for my literary endeavors can sometimes feel… a bit, well, a bit one-sided.
Maybe the real world isn't that bad after all. Maybe it's just… different. Maybe it requires a different kind of appreciation, a slower burn, a deeper dive. Perhaps the struggle, the uncertainty, the occasional deafening silence is what makes the moments of genuine connection, the rare but precious instances when someone does get it so incredibly, beautifully rewarding. Or maybe, just maybe, I need to keep building my own worlds, one word, one brushstroke, one chord at a time. And who knows? One day, they might just spill over into this one. Until then, you can find me diligently avoiding real life and instead saving the world... on page 37.