I dreamed about the ideal writing life more resolutely when I was younger and prone to overdraft fees. My current dreams are somewhat different.
The dream: I write novels as inspiration and impetus dictate, and I am paid well enough for these novels to travel the world and observe, explore, and dwell in natural systems that awaken my nervous system in new ways.
I wake up each day to simple decisions: tea, comfy clothes, which yoga sequence to practice, which cafe to visit for lunch? Then I make a nourishing breakfast and sit outside or in a room with vast windows so that I can look out at an ever-changing natural landscape as I mine memories and imagination for the next sentence and the one after that.
I write for a few hours in a perfectly ergonomic situation, stretch, then meet friends for lunch or attend a workshop, where I can indulge a bottomless thirst for knowledge about so many things, such as writing techniques to strengthen my craft, mythology, philosophy, art lessons, wellness seminars, beading, upcycling projects … it goes on.
I walk and return for a bit of revision before dinner, then relax with a book or movie or show—something fun or provocative—which I watch with my husband and our dogs, then the two of us walk and talk to wind down our minds before a restful night’s sleep.
The travel would feed the writing and life experiences needed for new memories, and the classes would nourish my mind. I would easily be able to adjust my schedule to see family for holidays and always have the appropriate amount of energy to pursue new challenges and opportunities alike. I’d also occasionally speak about my projects or teach workshops on some of the more interesting techniques.
“The creative adult is the child who has survived.” —Ursula K. Le Guin
Most days lately, I have more trouble convincing myself that this is what it's really like to make a living from writing. Where are the grants for writers going? Why do we have to beg for subscribers? Are there not other people to answer to even if we do get a huge investment? Publishers, editors, agents, publicists, and “target” readers? Are there not the same expectations of any job, only these external expectations dictate to a writer’s creative spirit?
I’ve been reading a lot of blogs that speak to a desire to live as a full-time writer, and I, too, have this dream. However, like any dream or expectation, the reality that lives on the other side of the glass is not so simplistic.
There are certain freedoms we trade for turning something we love into work we rely on to make ends meet. These freedoms are often the ones that allow us to experiment, and while I suppose we can be successful enough that our name alone can carry any experiment, there are also times when the creative must compromise if our work is part of an investor’s business plan.
To fantasize about a writer’s life is beautiful. It’s to sing out Virginia Woolf’s words: “A woman must have money and a room of her own ...” The call for basic freedoms was alive in this quote, with which I wholeheartedly agree, but it is also open to interpretation. Must we live in that room? Who is supplying the money? Can we move the room if we get antsy?
Unlike many, I do not write “on the clock,” and I do not have endless free time. I never will, even if I hit it big. I’m busy living, and my room is very small. My house is small. The walls are thin. For these reasons, I choose to travel or seek support for time and space, but I make my trades with caution.
Maintaining the freedom of being a writer doing my thing in the world, with the hope it’ll resonate, is more important than living as a writer worried over market trends.
When I was younger, I thought I wanted the acclaim money above all else. I thought these two things equaled freedom. Now, what I want is connection and/or conversation, and I understand currency exchanges.
Genuine connection doesn’t come from market trends or grinding out words to hit a count. It comes, in my world anyway, from genuine curiosity and love of the material. It comes from questions about the world, adoration of the world.
“My work is loving the world.” —Mary Oliver
If someone can tease out a way to live the fantasy above without layering on the pressures of production goals and publicity tradeoffs, miscommunications, and artistic negotiations, I’m there. Where do I sign up?
The call for artists to be paid like bankers is valid; we work, and there is always a game of profit and loss. But the greatest joy of writing is the writing itself, and if we lose that, no matter how much we’re paid, we lose the spirit. Of course, I only speak for myself when I say that the less I worry about the monetary currencies attached, the better the creative current flows.
YES! Pay writers for their offerings. Why not? The process is one we love, one we also pay for, in turn, with time, carpal tunnel, critiques of our ideas, beliefs, and even typos. I love the idea of the patron, the kind person donating to support someone truly unable to stay away from the painstaking yet incredible process of writing.
I would love more compensation, and I appreciate anyone who supports my work (more than you know), but the highest success is my ability to bring something authentic to the page. That’s always, always the goal. And currently, that is what drives my dreams. To stay authentic in an artificial world. To live the messiness and capture beauty on the page. To connect subversively and powerfully through printed words that are mine and not generated by algorithms and trends.
The balance between financial ease and artistic ease is a tricky thing. I’d love your thoughts.
Prompt: Write about YOUR perfect writing [or other] life. What’s different than your current life, if anything at all?
Beautifully said, Jen. I feel every word—exponentially with the weight of other writers expectations weighing on me as well. Where does the money come from? How do we find someone to read our books? Does anyone have time anymore? My ideal writing life looks a lot like you described reading and writing in the morning with my cats and dogs. A really productive day sees me chasing ideas all the way to lunch… 6 hours if I get up early. And in the afternoon I would speak to the world… answering emails and such, walking, gardening. And to be fair my routine is a lot like that, but with a handful of other people’s books in progress on my desk. The emails scream for attention and ever the good girl who doesn’t want to disappoint anyone, I answer those first. They keep coming all day and I don’t ever get to dip into my imagination.