Seen or Safe? The Creative’s Tug-of-War
By Travis I. Sivart
Tags: #WritingLife #IndieAuthor #CreativeStruggles #VisibilityVsVulnerability #AuthorThoughts
I want my books to be seen.
There. I said it.
I want people to read them, talk about them, recommend them, argue over them, and maybe—just maybe—tattoo a quote from one onto their forearm in a fit of literary passion. (A guy can dream.)
But here's the gut-punch truth: Being seen also means being exposed. Not just to the readers who get you, but to the ones who are just scrolling for something to hate. The kind of folks who treat online outrage like an Olympic sport, and who think nuance is a dirty word.
And that’s the creative’s eternal tug-of-war.
The Lure of the Light
Creating in silence has its charm—no critics, no second-guessing, no one dissecting your metaphors like they’re prepping for a literary autopsy. But it’s also a bit like shouting into a canyon and pretending the echo is applause.
Stories are meant to be shared. That’s the deal. We don’t write just to write—we write to connect. To say, “Here. This is how I see the world. Do you see it too?”
So yes, I want my books to be read. I want the weirdos, the wanderers, the deep thinkers, and the chaos gremlins to find their way to my pages and say, “Damn. This one’s for me.”
But in chasing that, I know I’m also painting a target on my back.
The Cost of Being Visible
The louder you get, the more ears you reach. But not all those ears are attached to brains that are listening in good faith.
Some folks scroll the internet like it’s an open buffet of drama, just waiting to pounce on whatever they can twist into offense. Say something funny? You’re too flippant. Say something serious? Now you’re preachy. Write a morally gray character? Clearly, you’re promoting crime, anarchy, and probably tax evasion.
Apparently, writing a story about a snarky cat burglar means I personally condone cybercrime, sarcasm, and wearing leather in July.
Sometimes the noise is just loud. Not deep. Not even real. Just…loud. And that alone can make a creator want to shrink back into the shadows and keep the words to themselves.
How to Keep Showing Up Anyway
So how do we keep going? How do we step into the light without getting singed?
By remembering who we’re writing for.
Not the trolls. Not the angry randos. Not the self-appointed gatekeepers of “acceptable fiction.” We’re writing for the reader who needed this story. For the kid who finds the courage to be weird because your characters are too. For the stranger who sends a message saying, “This book got me through something.”
And we set boundaries. We don’t read every comment. We don’t argue with people who already decided they hate us. We don’t hand the mic to folks who just want to scream.
If you invite everyone to your tavern, don’t be surprised when a few bar brawlers stumble in. The trick is learning who to pour a drink for—and who to toss out the damn door.
The Choice We Keep Making
Visibility comes with risk. So does vulnerability. But invisibility? That comes with regret.
Every time I sit down at the keyboard, I make the choice again. To share the work. To open the door. To risk being seen.
Because in the end, I’d rather take the hits than hide the heart of what I do.
Because the work is worth it. The stories are worth it. You’re worth it.
So yeah, some folks are loud just to be loud.
But I’ve got something louder: my voice, my stories, and a whole lot of sarcasm laced with soul.
And I’m not shutting up anytime soon.
