From the following suppose you decide:
Can you imagine being a writer and saying: “These things of mine, they seem quite mysterious, almost to have been given to me. Perhaps then I owe it to them and to other people to do what I can to get them published.”?
Or else of saying this: “I am a professional writer, I live by my work and that is my dignity. The proof of my work’s value is that it makes me a living and so enables me to work some more. If my work isn’t published it has failed.”?
Or else this: “A human-being is a social animal. For him the act of making something is unfinished until the fact and the need of its existence have been confirmed by another human’s response. Until my work is published as far as I am concerned it does not exist."?
Or this: “If I don’t get myself published then neighbours think I’m just a layabout. But if I do get it published then they sort of respect me—and they’re keen to have me at their parties. Not that they read my books.”?
Or even this: “My writing is a private celebration of my being alive. I write, and as well as I can, because that’s what being alive means to me. Publication? It’s neither here nor there.”?
(Quoted from page 79 of The Way to Write, by John Fairfax and John Moat. St. Martin’s Press, 1981.)