If No One Reads My Story, Does It Even Exist?

Jamie D Stacey
May 24, 2023
4 min read

You write a story. No-one reads it. Does it, like the proverbial tree falling in the woods, even make a sound and exist — do you, as the writer, even exist?

Sometimes we feel like we don't. Well, we do. And it’s all down to why we write and how we define success.

Why do we write?

As writers, we often talk about writing for others, for an audience. And as social animals, the stories we tell are a sort of social glue, words are our voice (as well as our currency). We can’t survive 3 minutes without breathing, 3 days without water, 3 weeks without food — and, I argue, we can’t survive in the long run without stories. Stories connect us. Make us.

There are many reasons people write. Maybe we want to entertain or enthral — give me jokes, give me friendship, give me romance. Maybe we want to convey a message or moral — fiction can be more truthful than reality. Or maybe, as I now see myself, seek to tell stories that empathise, encourage, and empower — stories that take people through a journey of hardship and offers them some hope and heart in the end. Or maybe all of the above.

We can write for ourselves. We can write for others. But, ultimately, the stories we write we do so as to connect to someone — whether a past or future self, or some other soul, we yearn for connection of some sort.

And to be left unread, or unheard, is to feel like a tree falling in the woods and not making a sound. With no one to hear us, we simply cease to exist.

What is writing success?

Let’s consider another angle of our existence as a writer: success. What do we mean by success, as a writer? I’m going to be honest here. I see two pillars of success:

1/ Numbers

We are defined, as a writer and as a human, by numbers. Much in the same way that a person can be defined by their age (32!), their GCSE/GPA scores and their income (or their debt!), so too can a writer be defined by how many books they sell (need to put food on the table and a roof over our heads), how many 4 and 5 star reviews they get, and how many literary awards they receive (status and prestige).

This sounds awfully crude. As writers (as anyone), we don’t want to be reduced to a number. And if that number is close to 0, well, do we even exist? If I write a story and no one reads it,

I’ve earned nothing. I can’t eat.

But more than that: I might feel I don’t exist.

My debut novel has just been published, with not a single review yet on Amazon (yes, I keep checking; yes, I checked just before writing this). You wouldn’t even know it existed. In my lowest of moments (and this post-publication few weeks has been full of self-doubt), I do get the feeling that no-one will ever read it. And if they don’t read the novel — this culmination of my time, my efforts, my emotional energy into crafting what I hope is an empathetic and powerful journey about men and isolation— then does it even exist?

And I wonder: did I ever make a sound?

2/ Humanity

Numbers, happily, are not everything. Of course, I would love — and still strive for — great sales, great reviews, and a plaque or two with my name on it. I’m just painfully human and need (at least some) external validation. But there’s also something else. A single word: humanity.

In a 2017 roundtable of noble laureates, the Nobel laureate in physics, Barry Barish, demonstrated how when a story is read by someone else, it becomes another story. In his example, he discusses how:

‘If you write a novel and it’s read by a hundred thousand readers, you’re really writing a hundred thousand novels’.

A hundred thousand people reading a single book are actually reading a hundred thousand books. Wow.

But what if only one other person read our stories?

When I write and publish a story, then it is no longer mine. For every reader, with their unique experiences, personalities, and sensibilities, that story becomes something slightly new, some other brilliance. Maybe a character is seen in a new light. Or there’s a different emphasis on the setting. Or the overall message is interpreted in new and exciting ways. And that — whether it is one person or a million — is utterly beautiful.

And here it is:

If just one person reads my novel — or reads your article, your poem, your story — and they are so profoundly moved by it that for one small page in their life they become utterly absorbed in its soul so as to share in it, then that story would have achieved exactly what a story should — to connect two humans, in the most intimate of spaces: their imagination.

A simple conclusion: You exist

Someone has read your story.

First, you have read your story.

And that’s important. Stories (whether a blog, a poem, or a novel), in a real sense, are conversations within ourselves. They can have a therapeutic quality, offer moments of meditation, and provide personal insight. Stories can also help us hone our craft — we can learn to write better stories next time, stories that will reach others and share with them the same enthusiasm we have for the stories we tell.

Second — I promise !— others have read your story.

Whether you publish on blogs, or in magazines, or in what feels like obscure literary journals; or whether you write graffiti on walls, scratch a message into the stone of a prison cell, or leave messages in a bottle to be found and born again 95 years later, someone has/will read your story. You, in a simple yet powerful and intimate way, are connected with someone in a most human and beautiful space.

Do you even exist, dear writer? Sometimes we can feel utterly disheartened, looking at our numbers. I do sometimes, looking at my numbers on my blog posts or on Amazon. Until I remember that I write, I make a sound, you and I exist.

Keep writing, dear writer.

Originally published in New Writers Welcome, Medium

Do you have an underrated story to share? Do you have a message of hope and resilience in a story you thought no one would read? I really love hearing from others so let me know in the comments!

Jamie D. Stacey