It’s A Job

Writing, that is. It’s not a hobby. It can be a hobby. But it’s not mine. I already have plenty of hobbies; dancing, hiking, gardening, sewing, music, shopping, reading. Even painting, despite having illustrated my own stories and books, I would relegate to a hobby, as I have never been paid to do so. Early on I exhibited and sold paintings, which told me I needed to pick between being a professional writer or artist. I picked writing.

So. It’s a job. And where do you have to start at any job? At the bottom. For those of us who have already had a successful career this can be hard. We’re used to “street cred.” A good salary. We may have forgotten what at the bottom means because it’s been so long.

Here’s what it means as a new author. You start out writing short stories for very little money. Sometimes a “sale” simply means being published for the recognition. You graduate to novels. More bucks but basically the same principle. Gradually you build your readership base and sell more. At some point you obtain an agent and hopefully you can progress quicker.

The beginner’s cash flow (or lack of) I was prepared for. The street cred is another story, by which I mean one becomes used to a certain amount of recognition as far as work value goes. You don’t have to justify what you do. People know you are doing something. They know you get paid for that something. They might not understand the nuts and bolts, but they nod sagely when you state your profession. You have a real job. You are not lazy. You contribute to society.

And then you start at the bottom again. And the questions begin. What are you doing today, someone will inquire. Writing, say I. Long pause. How’s that going?, they finally ask. Ok, say I, considering I’m really just starting out. Another long pause. I’m glad your, er, happy. It must be nice to sit around all day long.

This used to bother me a lot. I’d seethe and then justify. I AM working, I’m NOT sitting around all day eating bon bons, and I AM progressing with my writing career, thank you very much. Huff huff. I have to admit it does still irritate me a bit, but mostly now I can let this pass by. Some people will never understand why I would switch careers just when my earning power was at its peak. Or why I would do something so “flighty.”

But that’s OK. Writing is something that called to me. The muse sunk her teeth deep and wouldn’t let go. Many of my friends do understand. A few have even called me courageous. I don’t know about that. But I do know that responding to your soul’s longing isn’t always cupcakes and flowers. In a way, I think it’s Ms. Muse’s way of saying hey…are you sure you want to do this?

I’m sure.

Now I believe I will eat a giant bon bon. Or perhaps in honor of my Malaysian book I’m working on, I’ll have an ABC…a mixture of agar, (A) bean curd (B), coconut milk (C), ice, seeds, noodles, syrup, and sugar.

I think I’ll take the bon bon.

Green Writing

Green is a popular word these days. I even saw a commercial last night for “green” mouthwash. Heh? In all seriousness, I think going green is good. For those of us who grew up in the hippie era, it’s great to see the masses finally embrace the concept, with corporate America panting hot and heavy on those collective rubber heels.

Along with the greening of America has come the notion of helping more. Paying it forward is a common expression heard nowadays. This too is a hopeful sign for society. I’d hate to think we were devoting more attention to plastic than to people.

Unfortunately, along with this heightened social consciousness has come a bit of what I would call “holier than thou” lecturing. My green is better than your green. Heaps of green “shoulding.” Carrying around a plastic water bottle while hiking is almost as bad as wearing fur at a PETA convention.

Do I recycle? Do I try and keep my “footprint” small? Yes. Yes. Could I do more? Yeah, me and everyone else. I’m trying, OK? But what I dislike even more than an environmental or activism goading is the dig against not helping people enough. I suppose I get this admonishment because I worked as a psychologist. People have called me selfish for chucking this “noble” profession and writing fiction. Don’t I care, they’ve asked. Really. They have.

I could argue that I’ve done my time. Being a shrink is draining. I could say that I still do help people. Gratis. More importantly, I could add that it’s very important for me to have some sort of positive message in my fiction, albeit non lecturing. I don’t want to be Ayn Rand. Love her books, get tired of the political posturing.

I could say all of that. (I guess I just did.) But besides wanting to get it off my chest, I don’t have to justify. Because even if my fiction didn’t have a message, even if I didn’t help people, even if I never recycled another freakin’ plastic bottle, I’m providing entertainment for people.

Entertainment is very important. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read a dog eared book, watched an old TV show, or shoved in a favorite movie to feel better. I believe one reason we place movie stars on such high pedestals is because of our recognition of how much we value distraction in our daily lives.

So. If you’re a writer the next time someone calls your profession “frivolous” look them straight in them eye and ask them what was the last book they read, TV show they watched, movie, whatever. Somebody wrote, or wrote for, all of those options.

And hey, if you buy books electronically you can even read green.

Peace.