Literature is, in its essence, supposed to be a slow art. It is creation. It demands from all, their time and effort; to read, think revise and to doubt, to question and learn. Today, the literature has become a factory; an industry; designed to produce output in terms of quantity, not quality. Writers are told to be visible, consistent and marketable; and the books are to justify themselves, through sales, algorithms and online relevance. Even literature has not been spared of the pressure to become a producing, profitable machine.
When Writing Becomes Output
Due to this, Writers are encouraged to maintain an online presence, publish frequently, and remain relevant. Once again, we see that productivity has been valued above all else; and this logic has taken root in the literary sphere as well. Now, the worth of writing is measured by engagement metrics; shares, clicks, likes; instead of their depth, message and theme. As a result, writing is at risk of becoming conent. The pressure is to not just write well, but to write constantly.
The Writer as a Worker
In this case, the writer would become a precarious worker, balancing their lives on the thin line between passion and poverty; where passion is expected to replace payment. More often than not, are artists operating without financial security, healthcare or institutional support. The romanticisation of the “Starving Artist” also plays a significant role in the same. It masks a system built on unpaid or underpaid creative work. In this scenario, art becomes survival. Writing becomes survival.
Speed over Silence
Over time we have seen a high demand for constant novelty and speed. It is possible that, consequently, published literature would become irrelevant; lacking true depth and the writer’s true perception of their work, life and society. Writers fear disappearing, as readers fear missing out. Yet, it is important to keep in mind that some of the most radical works of literature were crafted painstakingly, in obsurity.
Resistance through Refusal
To write slowly today is a quiet act of resistance. To refuse constant output, to value depth over visibility, to protect ambiguity—these choices challenge capitalist expectations. Literature does not need to justify itself through productivity alone. Its power lies in its ability to complicate, disrupt, and endure.Perhaps the most radical literary act in a capitalist world is not producing more, but insisting on meaning.
Reclaiming the Right to Write
The pressure to produce threatens to hollow literature from within. When writing becomes merely another commodity, it loses its capacity to ask difficult questions or imagine alternative futures. Literature must be allowed to exist outside profit, pace, and performance. Not because it is impractical—but because it reminds us that not everything valuable can be measured, sold, or optimized. In resisting the demand to constantly produce, literature preserves what capitalism cannot: depth, doubt, and the freedom to think.
