Joel Osteen's infinity pool

Being special as a writer

Clarence Kerr Chatterton, “Circus Scene,” 1917.

I love writing, but sometimes it makes me miserable.

I give and give and give and get a lot of rejection in return.

Pitches and queries and proposals.

Articles and pieces and books.

Imprecatory prayers are not meant for influencers with book deals they don’t deserve, but I sometimes really wish they were. Platform, if I had my way, would drown in Joel Osteen’s infinity pool. It’s a lot easier to build a platform when you have a social media guy and a personal assistant and a ghost writer and “Generative AI,” whatever that is.

I’m not expecting some bougie Westside apartment overlooking the Swiss Alps or anything, but maybe something tangible? A Chrysler?

I love writing. I love it. I really do love it.

I love it, right?

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Last week I randomly got invited to attend a lecture by Arthur C. Brooks. He writes a lot—and I mean, a lot—about happiness. What is it? Who has it? How do we get it?¹

For his research on happiness, he interviewed one hotshot on Wall Street who told him she was miserable. She said she was merely roommates with her husband, was acquaintances with her children, and was drinking too much.

He asked her why she did all that when she knew it made her miserable.

Her response? “I’ve spent too much time wanting to be special instead of happy.”

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I was steeped—to perfection—in Millennial exceptionalism. I could do anything and accomplish everything and kick names and take butts and open the oyster of my world to find whatever treasure I dreamt.

White picket fences and apple pies and 2.5 bright shining Colgate-teethed children. And all of it paid for by the bestsellers I would produce. Books all about living the perfect life for God—bestsellers about discernment and tithing and hearing God’s voice in the wilderness (never shaking or challenging my suburban readership). I would be just masculine enough without being too Mark Driscoll-y about it. God and I would walk together in the sand, and he would look down and see only one pair of footprints and it would be mine, carrying him up the New York Times bestseller list with all my quips and truisms and fake hair.

Oh the crowds would cheer. And I would raise money for wells in Africa and people would look at my life and say, “My, my, what an example of a Godly man.” And I would be rich and living in some bougie Westside apartment overlooking the Swiss Alps, serving the Lord.

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I’m feeling feisty.

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Why do I write? Really, why do I write?

Alexis De Weese

asked this question the other day in her newsletter,

“Somewhere along the line, you were your own dope in love with the act of writing. And someone told you you could write a book one day if you kept at it and that was so encouraging! So you kept at it until you figured it was time to work toward publishing the book, so you looked into it and discovered that to get published, you need a platform.

So you started a blog. You made that public social media account. You rejoiced when the first person who wasn’t your friend or mom started following along.

You were doing it! You were building a platform! One down…1,000 to go. Or was it 10,000? Or did that agent on that writing podcast really say 50,000?!

And so more of the energy used to make your imaginative work was now being used to build a small empire in the hope that someone might pay you to write.

Friend: what do you actually want?

The attention that comes from having written? Or the writing itself?”

Friend—Drew—what do you actually want?

I want to be special.

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I’ve been writing online now since the fall of 2011. In dog years, that’s like an eternity. I’ve written a lot of words I don’t want anyone to ever read again, and I’ve written a few that God has used to make people feel seen and known and loved.

And I’m proud of those words. I’m glad I wrote them.

More than anything, I am closer to this man Jesus than I would have ever been had I not written. I know what I believe because I have written it in front of an audience. I have placed words together that shouldn’t be together. I have erased words and beliefs and things that did not bring me closer to Jesus. I have apologized and offended and wrestled, wrestled, wrestled.

And all those words, if I could add them up, would far outweigh any monetary gains I could make. Don’t get me wrong, I want success. And I think I want to be special, but I am trying to constantly give that desire of specialness to God.

I am not asked to produce the next New York Times bestseller. I will (most likely) not have a bougie Westside apartment.

I am asked to simply write.

As frustrating and as beautiful as that is.

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I’m grateful and honored to write in front of an audience.

I am grateful for you.

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If you’re also writing, please know we can do it together. Let me know how you keep going.

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You know you want to come…

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1. He also wrote a book with Oprah, so that’s something I guess.