For as long as I can remember being able to write, I have been a writer. The highlight of my young writing career came in middle school. I wrote a (tremendously bad) novella at the age of about 12, which I published in my very own publishing company (a la the micro-society-based magnet school I attended). I did fairly well with it, earning enough Mogans (the school currency) to achieve rank as the richest student in the school. In the end, I spent my cash on a Care Bear in an auction, but that’s a whole other tale.
Once I hit high school, my creative energy disappated. In other words, I developed an inner critic who told me my writing was… crap. As it turns out, even my inner critic was at a loss for words. I stopped my creative writing, with the exception of a collection of sappy, fantastically juvenile poems, and focused instead on journalling.
My mid-twenties arrived and I grew past the angst that drove me to my journals. I didn’t stop writing, but instead poured my energy into school work and, finally, a string of odd workplace tasks that included an HR handbook (when I’d never worked full-time for a company with even one HR person), a training curriculum for AmeriCorps members, and several federal grants (even landed a couple). My last full-time job used a lot of those skills, so at least it felt like I had built towards something.
And now I am actually fortunate enough to make my living (or my subsidized living, anyway) as a writer. It strikes me that it’s not something I ever aspired to. I wanted to be published, but I think the dream was to write some great novel in my spare time, not to become a Writer. At this point, I like what I’m doing. I never could get the hang of dialogue and I was awful at taking a story past the introduction. Too bad there is no market for the first few pages of books… I think I’d make a mint.
Are you wondering why I’m going on about my writing history? I read a forum post today where someone asked how people could afford to take on freelance writing projects that paid the equivalent of a low hourly rate. Several people answered her, but she still keep pushing that it would be better to work at McDonald’s. I don’t have anything morally against McDonald’s. I even eat there occasionally. But I simply don’t understand the idea of writing solely as a J.O.B. Sure, many of us write in order to keep food on the table. We don’t always have the luxury of taking on low-paying gigs just because they look fun. On the other hand, there are certainly plenty of other people who write for the joy of writing and who don’t necessarily need an income.
Most of all what I wanted to say to this person was, “Who cares?” Why do you care if other people either need or want to take on low-paying projects? Yes, if no one would work for lower-pay gigs, they might be forced to raise their rates. Then again, they may be forced to do the writing without help. Either way, “Who cares?” (it bears repeating). Let’s all just get back to the task of writing.
I think I will.
Recent Comments