As of today, I have been writing for 24 years. The most I’ve put it off is for a couple of months or so–otherwise, I’ve been consistently writing, rewriting, plotting, planning, researching, learning, and turning the mechanics of writing over and over in my head like there’s no tomorrow. I repeatedly discuss stories with people until they want to punch me in the throat to stop me from ruining a movie or show that they’re enjoying. I did this once in a movie theatre, with the movie being Eragon, and people being all the strangers around me.
Last week, I made about 50 cents from my book.
I dare you to find me another trade that has this much of an uphill apprenticeship with this little return. No, I think as it goes, creative writers take the brunt force of everything. Yet without writers, there would be no books, no movies, no TV shows, no video games (except maybe stuff like Pong)…
We write for very little in return because we would do it anyway. That is the self-defeating nature of this industry. I think that if all writers suddenly stopped writing, not budging unless the industry offered us better deals, it would be a lot better for us. But it doesn’t quite work out that way.
To be a successful creative writer (which in my book simply means you’ve been writing for a significant amount of time without killing yourself), you have to be a lot in love with what you do.
I read an article the other day about someone bemoaning how they didn’t make money after their first book but they couldn’t write their second book without money to calm them down. Their first book made a lot of sales. About 60 times more than mine, if you don’t count that the majority of people purchased my book as a 99-cent or free deal, and the ones who didn’t are either related to, friends with, or sleeping with me. (Actually, I think my husband waited to download the book for free, the bastard.)
Thing is, though, is that right now I’ve been writing for 24 years, I’m not making any money, and yet…I’m strangely content.
Maybe content isn’t the word. There’s still a lot of things I want to do and still a lot I have to learn when it comes to this craft and the industry around it. But I don’t feel discouraged. I think this is in part because of my relationship with my craft. I’ll take happiness with what I’m producing over a shiny new car or a fancy cruise any day.
This is the truth, as far as I can see it: me and my work, that is it. That is all it should be about. Everything else is an added bonus, or inconvenience, however way you look at it. But it is always going to have to be about me and my work. This is the only way I can keep trudging forward, even when outside conditions become less than ideal. I would rather produce a powerful scene than have a nice steak dinner. I would rather figure out how to correlate a plot point to a story’s theme than have a shopping spree at the mall. Life’s become a lot simpler since I’ve learned to admit this to myself.
The words are my paycheque. The effort I put into my work is rewarded by my own love of language, the process, and the end result.
…but it would still be nice if you went over and gave The Agartes Epilogues a look…
Reblogged this on The Quirks of Quen.