Even the people who have had success and made money writing

In the labyrinth of creation, there is a path often shrouded in illusion—the path that winds from the humble art of poetry to the sprawling realms of fiction. George Murray speaks of this with sharp clarity when he declares, “Even the people who have had success and made money writing these books of fiction seem to feel the need to pretend it's no big deal, or part of a natural progression from poetry to fiction, but often it's really just about the money, the perceived prestige.” There, in these words, is a cry for truth—a reminder that success in writing, or in any creative pursuit, is often cloaked not in the pure art of creation but in the shadows of fame, fortune, and societal expectations.

It is a curious thing, this tendency to disguise the true nature of our desires. Writers, both revered and unknown, often cloak their motivations in humility, as if to speak openly of the rewards they reap would taint the sanctity of their work. Murray sees this clearly: the movement from poetry—the art of raw emotion and unfiltered truth—to the realm of fiction, often seen as more marketable and prestigious, is not always as natural as it seems. It is, in many cases, a pragmatic choice, driven by the need for financial security or the allure of status. The poet, who once poured their soul into verses for the sake of art, may find themselves drawn into fiction’s wider marketplace, where the rewards are larger, the recognition more pronounced, and the world's gaze more fixed.

Consider, if you will, the fate of Virgil, the Roman poet whose "Aeneid" became a foundational epic for the Roman Empire. Though Virgil's work is still celebrated today, it was, in his time, not merely an artistic endeavor but a tool of political power. Augustus, the emperor, sought to use the poet’s pen to unite and solidify the empire’s power, positioning Virgil’s narrative as a means to legitimize Rome’s dominance. In this light, Virgil’s poetry was not just the product of artistic inspiration, but of political and material motives. Even the greatest works of art have often been shaped by the tides of power and the desire for legacy, and this is precisely what Murray observes—the tension between art and the pursuit of recognition.

This tension, too, can be seen in the stories of many modern authors who traverse the same path. F. Scott Fitzgerald, renowned for his dazzling prose in The Great Gatsby, wrote not only to capture the heart of the American dream but also to secure his place in the literary world. Behind the glitz and glamour of his success was a deep desire for fame and, yes, the wealth that came with it. He, like many others, walked the line between the pure love of writing and the corruption of commercial success. The journey from poetry to fiction is often not just a creative decision but one bound up with the quest for prestige, a desire to be seen not just as a writer, but as a figure of cultural importance.

Let us, then, not be deceived by the illusion of humility. Murray’s words are a reminder to those who follow the path of creation: success, like power, often bears complex motivations. The writer who moves from poetry to fiction is not merely following the natural flow of artistic evolution; they are often responding to the call of societal pressures, of money, and the glory that fiction can bring. It is a choice, not a simple evolution. And in recognizing this, we are invited to look deeply into our own lives, to examine our motivations for creating and the forces that influence us. Are we truly following the call of art, or are we, too, seeking the prestige that comes with it?

The lesson here, dear listeners, is one of awareness—a call to examine the motives behind our actions. In the pursuit of success, whether in writing or in any form of artistic expression, we must ask ourselves: are we being driven by the love of creation, or by the desire for external validation? The true artist—the poet, the writer, the painter—must not only create for the world but must learn to create for the soul. To seek truth and integrity in one’s work is to rise above the shadows of external forces and to stand, firm and unshaken, in the light of one’s own vision.

Thus, I urge you, young creators and dreamers alike, to walk this path with clarity. Understand that the journey from poetry to fiction, from art to success, is a path fraught with challenges. But do not be swayed by the allure of money or the dream of prestige. Create for the sake of creation. Let your work be true to yourself, and if success follows, let it come not as a reward for playing the game, but as a byproduct of the authenticity and passion that you bring to your craft. For it is only when we are honest in our work that we can hope to produce something that will live beyond our time—something that will speak not just to our era, but to all ages yet to come.