Four Conclusions
I applied to two part-time jobs recently; both offered decent part-time salaries, one in particular spoke to my skill-set, and neither worked out. I felt excited about interviewing for the last job that just, as of last night, (and completely unrelated to my resume or me--it was due to budget concerns) fell through.
But then, I must admit, it is a relief that neither worked out, because both jobs would have put a strain on our family and one job in particular I just could not be excited about. This morning I am left with a Word: Go back and work on your writing. Throw yourself into it and work seriously and earnestly, as if this is your legitimate job. Finish your book, for heaven's sakes, buckle down, and be unafraid to fail.
Problem? MONEY.
I ask myself if I would have applied for either job if they hadn't paid a wage. Nope.
Don't you (*sigh*) hate money?
But the car is in the shop and yet another one of my teeth need a crown. I bring in a relative pittance and, to make matters worse, do the finances every month. I want to buy a house. I want to go on vacation without suspecting it means that I'll be counting out every penny for the next six months.
Last night Martin and I had a long discussion. We came to several conclusions. (1) We have never been the sorts of people who place financial security above vocation. If this were the case, we wouldn't both be. . .um, writers. Those of you who think writing is going to bring you fortune and fame, keep looking.
(2) We both perennially worry about money, and this is just plain wrong and faithless. Just when we were finally building some momentum back in the ole homestead in PA, the bottom fell out and we were swimming in intoxicating, rather rough waters. At thirty-four and thirty-six with three kids, we started over again. We sold almost everything at a loss and footed the bill for a trip across the country.
But that brings me to (3) We are rich; we are perennially ungrateful for our wealth.
From an American point of view, you might not guess it. But from a world point of view, we are absolutely rolling in wealth. We have never worried about feeding our children. We are both educated. We have a roof over our heads. We are warm in winter and cool in summer. We can actually afford choices. (Let's pack up and move thousands of miles away. Who can do that?)
To be a writer, and now to be a writer who is not currently getting paid much for her work in a time where we could use the money, requires faith. But I've got this Word now, and it is telling me to quit fumbling around in the anxious darkness and throw myself back into what I've dreamed of doing since I was a girl, and back into a profession I've been building, tiny brick by brick, for the past thirteen years. Here they are, you dingbat, I think the Word is telling me: Free mornings to wade into the waters of writing as vocation again. Take them--they are worth more than gold!
(Still, to supplement, I'm taking on tutoring clients. If any of you want a writing mentor or a more prosaic writing tutor, I'm your girl. I do long-distance though I prefer to see your face. Here's my website: www.redhousewriters.com. If you're interested, click on Tutoring. There's even a whole drop-down menu! Woo-hoo.)
Oh, there's one more conclusion Martin and I came to: NUMERO QUATRO.
This is our story. The dips and eddies, the cascades, free-falls, and peaceful, reflective pools: our story. We wouldn't change it. We claim it as ours and we are grateful for it.
But then, I must admit, it is a relief that neither worked out, because both jobs would have put a strain on our family and one job in particular I just could not be excited about. This morning I am left with a Word: Go back and work on your writing. Throw yourself into it and work seriously and earnestly, as if this is your legitimate job. Finish your book, for heaven's sakes, buckle down, and be unafraid to fail.
Problem? MONEY.
I ask myself if I would have applied for either job if they hadn't paid a wage. Nope.
Don't you (*sigh*) hate money?
But the car is in the shop and yet another one of my teeth need a crown. I bring in a relative pittance and, to make matters worse, do the finances every month. I want to buy a house. I want to go on vacation without suspecting it means that I'll be counting out every penny for the next six months.
Last night Martin and I had a long discussion. We came to several conclusions. (1) We have never been the sorts of people who place financial security above vocation. If this were the case, we wouldn't both be. . .um, writers. Those of you who think writing is going to bring you fortune and fame, keep looking.
(2) We both perennially worry about money, and this is just plain wrong and faithless. Just when we were finally building some momentum back in the ole homestead in PA, the bottom fell out and we were swimming in intoxicating, rather rough waters. At thirty-four and thirty-six with three kids, we started over again. We sold almost everything at a loss and footed the bill for a trip across the country.
But that brings me to (3) We are rich; we are perennially ungrateful for our wealth.
From an American point of view, you might not guess it. But from a world point of view, we are absolutely rolling in wealth. We have never worried about feeding our children. We are both educated. We have a roof over our heads. We are warm in winter and cool in summer. We can actually afford choices. (Let's pack up and move thousands of miles away. Who can do that?)
To be a writer, and now to be a writer who is not currently getting paid much for her work in a time where we could use the money, requires faith. But I've got this Word now, and it is telling me to quit fumbling around in the anxious darkness and throw myself back into what I've dreamed of doing since I was a girl, and back into a profession I've been building, tiny brick by brick, for the past thirteen years. Here they are, you dingbat, I think the Word is telling me: Free mornings to wade into the waters of writing as vocation again. Take them--they are worth more than gold!
(Still, to supplement, I'm taking on tutoring clients. If any of you want a writing mentor or a more prosaic writing tutor, I'm your girl. I do long-distance though I prefer to see your face. Here's my website: www.redhousewriters.com. If you're interested, click on Tutoring. There's even a whole drop-down menu! Woo-hoo.)
Oh, there's one more conclusion Martin and I came to: NUMERO QUATRO.
This is our story. The dips and eddies, the cascades, free-falls, and peaceful, reflective pools: our story. We wouldn't change it. We claim it as ours and we are grateful for it.
Comments
If you need some inspiration in your endeavor, buy this book: http://www.npr.org/2013/05/14/183950906/author-neil-gaiman-on-making-good-art. I found it downright inspiring.
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