Writers and Working

I am a writer. I love writing. I’m well aware of the challenging parts of it. It can be really hard, especially for a rather undisciplined mind like mine. Actually, it can be excruciating. I’ve been writing for almost an hour this morning, and all I’ve got to show right now is a couple of lines that’ll prolly get changed and moved around. But, I am a writer, so it is what it is. With any other job, I would bitch and moan about it. But not this one. This work is worth the effort. I’m proud of it, and it matters to me. I’m happy to endure some pain to make something I really value. My complaint about being a writer is not how hard it is, but how hard it is to find the time to do it well.

I feel stuck. I want to spend so much time writing. I see how complex and far-reaching the craft is, and I realize that to truly flow in it, I must devote serious time (This is true of most of the arts). Unlike with most things, I actually want to take the time. I don’t really know why I am so hungry for this, but I am a much better version of myself when I write more. I like to carry around miniature notebooks so I can scribble down passing thoughts before I forget them. I like getting lost in a rough draft and writing stuff that I’ll never publish. I like working on multiple projects that are so different from each other. I even like spending hours just trying to find the perfect way to write one line of poetry. 

But I am a person. I’m a renter. I’m a boyfriend. I’m a fisherman. I’m a bowler when the alley does discounts. All the other masks and faces I wear cost money. Food costs money, rent costs money, lures cost money, gas costs money, and taxes would suggest that trying to make money costs a whole shitload of money. Unfortunately, writing doesn’t make me a lot of money right now (It does make me some, and for that I am incredibly grateful).

 I know there are things I can do and am trying to do so that writing work can be a larger part of my income, but there doesn’t seem to be a clear path. It’s not like a trade, where I could go to school for a couple years, or do an apprenticeship, and come out making enough money to get by while I build my career. I understand that poems don’t help build houses the way that lumber or wiring does, but I think that art is valuable enough that artists should be able to pursue their creative desires without starving. 

I could sleep in my car and use all the lead from every friend’s pencil while I live like a little hippie writer bum down by the river, waiting for my big break to happen or not.  As much as the aesthetic is kinda appealing, I'm not gonna do that. I like having a roof over my head, and I want to save up money so I can move with my honey to somewhere tropical, where the ocean will tell me more stories. This is really why I want to make my money from writing. Not because it will feed my ego or make me feel like a “real writer.” Those aren’t the reasons I write. I want my income to come from writing because of the practicality of it. To spend that much time with a pencil, it’s gotta pay some bills, because working a normal job at the same time has been kicking my ass.

I recently wrapped up a full time seasonal job (never doing seasonal retail again), and I’m currently in that lovely cycle of applications and interviews and watching all the money I just made disappear. Indeed and LinkedIn have seen more of my writing than anyone else lately, considering the gross amount of applications I have filled out. And soon, if I am “successful” in my job hunt, I will get enough hours working for the man, that I can pay my bills and, God willing, even buy some beer. I’ll get enough hours to save money over a period of time and move to the ocean.

 Enough hours that I won't have the time or capacity to do the one thing I’ve ever felt any confidence that God has for me to do on earth. I will try to do both, and I will get stressed. I’ll get anxious and tired, and I will feel shut down creatively as I struggle to just stay sane. I will barely write, and my dream will be as far as ever. I’ll feel guilty about not writing enough, but at least I'll be doing the responsible thing and making money. This is the cycle that I have felt so stuck in. How I would love for this to not be the dam cycle. I feel foolish to think it will be different this time. I am determined though, to write through it. Maybe I just won’t sleep. I’ll figure it out, because I’m realizing there will probably never be an ideal time to push through and write more. 

 I don’t know how to spend 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, doing something that I rarely don’t hate. So many people have figured out how to work full time jobs that they don’t like while they live a life they are happy about. Sometimes I really wish I could. Sometimes I wonder if something is wrong with me, and that’s why I can't do it. I assume that people will think me lazy, dumb, or just weak for this. 

I don’t think I am so special that I deserve special treatment to avoid working hard for a wage. But it feels like I'm forced to choose between the good parts of life, and the one work that I find I truly love. I don’t always love doing it, but I love it. It’s the one work I am proud to say I do. Admittedly, I have not written enough up to this point, and I have much to learn while I develop. I am not doing anything with my words on paper that makes the world shake. But I am trying to stay consistent, no matter my schedule or circumstance. If you’re working a normal job and putting serious time into your art, I commend you. Keep it up. 

I try to stay thankful, but I am tired of being thankful for something I don't want. I hope that's not bad to say… I am tired of being thankful for things that I didn’t ask for. I want to be thankful for what I want. I want to be thankful for an average income in exchange for hard work with ink and paper. Words don’t order themselves, and pages can’t fill themselves up. You can't trick me into thinking that everyone, or even most people, are gifted to do what I can. This is how the world works. He that can’t write like me, can do a hundred things I can't. I hope he gets paid well to add his talents to the world. And I hope I get paid well to add mine.