I want to be a writer.
No, I am a writer. What I would very much like is to be a writer who is paid. Not being at that point, and trying to reach that point, is often frustrating.
Mind you, I’m not striving for unimagined wealth. I’m not looking to be one of the richest writers around. What I would like is for writing to cover my bare sustenance. Short of that, I have difficulties.
It is that problem which could be compared to the old question, “Which comes first, the chicken or the egg?” My equivalent is, “Should I earn money so that I can write, or should I write so that I can earn money?” That might not make a lot of sense, so let me say it this way: When you are a freelance (independent, self-employed, whatever) writer there is no guarantee that what you write will earn money. It is always possible–that dreadful nightmare–that several pieces of writing could be bought, and then nobody would be interested again. It is also very common that a writer can sell some writing, but not enough to earn a living. The alternative is to earn the required money at an outside job and write part time, on the side, or in the few minutes one can scrounge up. The problem with this is that it lessens writing time from anywhere from some to almost non-existent. With less time to write, there is less chance that writing will be able to pay the bills and so less chance that one will ever be able to write for a living.
Thus the self-perpetuating cycle.
The fairy-tale solution is to one day get up in the morning and say, “That’s it. I’m done going to work. From now on I am going to make my living by writing.” This person then sits down and begins writing very hard for weeks on end, lives off savings until money is almost exhausted and then–at the last moment–they make it and earn everything back on their writing.
The most irksome thing about these fairy-tales is that there is a little nugget of truth. There are those few who have gone this route and succeeded. But we all know most have failed and had to go back to the old life, crushed, humiliated. Still, the idea gnaws at the back of the mind, tempting. Whether making the big plunge, or going slowly, every writer that goes full time had to make the final step sometime. The real question isn’t in the grand abstraction, it is in the ever-present “Is this the time for me? Should I tell everyone I’m packing up and moving on to greener pastures, or am I just an impatient and deluded fool?” On the one side tugs caution with all sorts of arguments for the danger. On the other side tugs the impetuous desire which says no one succeeds without trying.
As each year passes, the question of when I should give up outside sources of income grows ever larger. From the day when I was fifteen and decided that what I really wanted to do was write for my living, I’ve wanted the goal realized immediately. From the beginning I recognized that self-sustaining writing couldn’t begin immediately, but in those early youthful years I always dreamed it was much closer than reality has shown. Back then (oh, way back then) I fantasized that I would just waltz through my first novel, send it off to a publisher and that would be it . . . success . . . career started . . . no hard choices.
Life is not as I imagined it at fifteen. Now I am scared to imagine or dream, as if anything I envision must always be too optimistic, and if I say in two years it will be five, and in five years it will then stretch to ten–a dream never realized, always in the future. Naivete has become impatience. Don’t wait for it to happen–make it happen! Thus the whispered thought to just drop every source of income and just write, write, write until the world finally falls onto its knees and gives up in acquiescence to my desire.
I complain because it is easy to do, but I am also almost painfully aware of how easy and pleasant my current situation is in comparison to many others. I am not slaving away in a job that I hate. I’m not burdened down with massive responsibilities or of failing health. I’m not reduced to writing up in a stuffy attic at the middle of the night. Compared to all that I’m living on pleasant street. But I use this very fact as my primary argument for dumping things as they are and striking out. I say to myself, “Things won’t always be this easy and simple in your life. Better to act now, when you still have the option.”
Back in my teen years it was all a joke. Not that I saw it that way then, but looking back it seems that way. Now there is the ever present awareness that the years are slipping by and when will I have anything to show for it? Will I just tread water until something comes and squashes my dreams? Accomplishments in life aren’t instantaneous, but the world, and life, doesn’t just sit around waiting, either. Better, I think, to give it all I’ve got now. If I fail, well then, I’ve failed. Better to fail young. I can pick up the pieces and go on to something else. If I don’t give everything I have now, I might not have the chance later and then it might be with regret that I look back and wonder why I didn’t at least try.
I can give myself all sorts of appealing reasons for proverbially handing in my keys–after all isn’t that what I want to do–but I am not so near-sighted that I don’t realize that there is another side, and another way of looking at the matter. The prime argument that I use for cutting loose is that I may never have another chance like this, but there are other motivations. It does feel like I am approaching the time in my life where I can’t straddle every road. It’s fine to dabble when you’re just growing up, but at some point you have to pick a road and walk it. But is now really that time? Or should I exercise patience for two years? I can make all sorts of reasoned arguments (however reasonable they may be) for saying “enough is enough,” but I also realize that at least part of what is motivating me is pure impatience. I’ve been writing for seven years and have written two novels. At this point part of me simply feels I deserve it. And another part of me is sick of the polite looks people give when I say I am trying to be a writer. When they ask what I’m writing or if I’ve published anything I want to be able to slap a book in their hands and say, “See! I have published something. It is actually a job, you know. It isn’t just a game. It isn’t just a dream!” And, of course, in that same way I want to prove it to myself as well. Have I spent seven years dreaming the dreams of a deluded fool? I don’t think so. Oh no, I don’t think so. Yet . . . there are plenty of crazy people, people out of their minds who do meaningless things and think they are important. Couldn’t I in my own small way be like that?
Frustration goads one to prove it. Yes, we think. We’ll settle this issue once and for all. Clear the decks. No more halfway. I’ll write until I succeed or until I fail. But no more feeding myself along. This monster will have to feed itself.
But neither frustration, impatience, or pride is a good reason. They are facts of life that I will have to struggle with anywhere along the path of writing.
And so I sit here, wondering, and pondering. The idea tantalizes because it is possible to try, if I am willing to make the sacrifices. Am I willing? Could I give up all the other things that I do, and effectively lock myself up in front of my keyboard for those many hours? Work is, indeed, hard work and sacrifices are required.
Sometimes I wonder if I am playing false to myself. The grass is always greener on the other side, they say. In reality would I really prefer that other side, or am I just finding excuses to complain about my current situation? I don’t hate the work that I do for pay. I would rather write than do that work, but there are other things that take up my time that I’m not strictly required to do, but I prefer to see them done. I lead an eclectic life . . . am I willing to give that up?
Perhaps. Perhaps not. But amidst all of the self-doubt there is one thing that I realize is true. In my current path I am earning very little money. For my present and very unique situation that is sufficient but any change in my situation and I will be required to change my money-earning habits. The question is, do I continue on as things stands until events force me to change, or do I change now?
To that I still don’t have an answer. Sooner rather than later is as far as I’ve come today. Not too hasty, I say. Today I say I will work through this summer and then consider the matter. Time will show how my thoughts change as the summer progresses.
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