Category: Life

So, my New Year’s Resolution was that this would be my best writing year yet…or something of the sort. I think I was rather exhausted after a drama-filled fall and didn’t put a lot of effort into creating a gleaming vision for 2018.

I used to believe in New Year’s Resolutions. There was a streak of about three or four years, that I made one solid resolution each year, and amazingly enough, I kept it, and came out better and stronger the next year. Then, I got cocky and started making too many, or making them too ambitious and the magic failed me, and my resolutions stopped working.

So, then I got discouraged and made my resolutions vague and half-hearted. Now, my only resolution this year was that I would try as hard as I could with my writing, with the afterthought that it would be my best writing year yet.

So far this year, my novel was rejected by yet another publisher, and the web company I was writing for folded and laid me off. It’s only February and already I’m off to a great a start on my best writing year yet.

As I scan the want ads for yet another writing job, I had this sinking feeling in my gut. What if I’m still doing this when I’m 50? Already my 20’s are gone in a flurry of college, temping and failed freelancing. What if this–blogging, writing novels that don’t sell, and chasing an endless chain of short-lived staff-writer jobs—is all my writing will ever be? i’ve sworn deep in my heart, that I will make it as a writer or die trying. What if that’s what happens? What if I die trying to make it as a writer?

There’s the cliche, “Find the joy in the journey.” I am enjoying the journey. But, what if the journey is all I’ll ever have? What if I never arrive? Will it have been worth it?

I guess every artist has to ask themselves that question. If I never “make it,” will it have all been worth it? I don’t have an answer. But, it’s an intriguing question.

…And I have to believe in my heart, that is this is that liberating crossroads, one must come to, right before that “big break.” Because I don’t think I could handle any other answer.

I think I chose a bad profession. There’s just not a lot of room in our world for writers. That is–unless you go into scriptwriting, which is all plot and dialogue and leaves little room for playing with the beauty of language–my favorite part of writing.

But, writing is the talent God has given me, and I’ve at times felt he was rather adamant about it…in a tender, beautiful sort of way. There is nothing more touching in the world to feel the Almighty God demands you do the one thing in the world that makes you the happiest. I hope every one of you gets to know that feeling. It’s exquisitely, heartbreakingly beautiful and freeing.

So, God gave me this passion, but in our world, there is little lucrative use for it. So the pattern my writing career has followed thus far, goes something like this. I get a job as a staff writer somewhere, usually working from home. I work at it for a while, bursting out of my skin because I actually get paid to write. Then, eventually, the powers that be realize that having writers on staff is a waste of money, because writing just flat out doesn’t sell. Then, the job gets “restructured,” or the company folds, yada yada yada…I’m out of a job.

So, then I do the only other thing I know how to do–work retail. I get some even lower paying retail gig for a few months, until I can find another low-paying writer job that pays a little more than the last one, leading me to believe that I am climbing some sort of ladder. So goes my professional life.

I am aware of this cycle, and I have often wondered if I should go back to school and be retrained to use my talent in a new way. Perhaps my undergraduate education is outdated, and I need new, updated skills to survive in this market. Then I scoff. That might be true if I were in a technology field. But, in English? I doubt sitting around in stuffy classrooms, analyzing Charles Dickens would do much for my professional marketability.

My only other option would be to do something radically different, like move to the Cayman Islands and teach Scuba Diving or something. Given that I have a debilitating fear of fish in their natural habitat, I guess I have to make it as a writer.

So, this week I finish out another cycle of the retail phase. I spent two months at Office Depot (Want a printer, anyone?)–and now I will start another full-time writing job. I am optimistic about this one, I’m making more than I’ve ever made, and the company seems to be a good one, a lot of good energy. So, I’m happy. But, I really would like to break free of this pattern. This sort of “in-between.”

A couple years back, I met with a business consultant about my writing career. He said my writing was all over the place, and I needed to focus my vision to build a consistent brand. I know he’s right.

But, whenever I start thinking about all of that business stuff, my head starts to hurt, and I feel like that guy in Jerry Maguire. He was the top draft pick, and all the agents were fighting over him, and he picked up his hotel phone to another sales pitch, and he interrupts them and says, “I just want to play football,” and hands the phone to someone else. I relate to that guy sometimes.