“There’s a fundamental contradiction in being determined to wrench out a living by writing alone, and being unwilling to do certain not terribly entertaining but adequately remunerative writing jobs. I have no right to complain about money when I choose not to do some of the things that would make money but would be unpleasant– or humiliating– to do.”
That’s a quote from The Writing Trade: A year in the life of a writer, by John Jerome, one of my favorite writing books. It’s not a reference book, but a book about the daily life, the ins and outs, the somewhat mundane details of a writer’s life. There’s so much I learn each time I read it, even though on the surface, it’s just one of those books that’s about one writer, one process, one year.
Jerome’s book truly captures accurately, if not my life, my feelings about writing, in many ways. He talks about wanting to write books and books only for a living, but the topics that interest him are the ones that are least likely to bring in the money. He talks about writing magazine pieces, but the way his editors want to do them conflict with the way his heart tells him to do them.
He can either find the creative freedom and live poorly, or he can find the money and live less creatively. It’s a constant battle.
Sound familiar?
I don’t really have any answers to that question. I’ve struggled with the for-love and for-money question so many times, it’s almost become boring.
The battle-axe of the economy came down on me much harder and much quicker than for most writers. I started losing my clients back in 2008, when everyone seemed to be doing okay. I couldn’t understand why I was losing the jobs, and while a lot of it was because I was moving around frequently, several of the publications I wrote for were either cutting budgets or plain and simple going out of business. 2008 was not a good year, financially.
Then 2009 arrived. I’d decided to change focus and take on that for-money work that would pay my bills. I was ready to take on the how-to and reference work that I’d worked so hard to avoid.
But this is what surprised me: editors repeatedly responded to my e-mails and resume with assignments for exactly the kind of work I wanted. They could tell immediately that I was not a general-interest writer, but someone who had passion for a few particular topics.
When it came down to it, I didn’t have to tell them what kind of work I wanted to do. My previous clips and samples were enough for them to make that discovery on their own. And I’ve found, at least for now, that I’m not having to do any work that I’m not really interested in.
Every assignment on my desk right now is something that I’m really looking forward to doing, and is something that’s right up my alley.
In the book, Jerome says, “To be a writer is to be a shuttlecock in a badminton game, one racquet of which is naive optimism and the other a cynical despair.”
Today, I’m choosing naive optimism. Tomorrow, time will tell.