I earn money writing. I do. It's not a sin and it's not wrong. Yes, writing is an art form. And yes, we artists can sometimes look down on those who "sell out" or create their art "for the money."
But, let's get real. The paycheck is a nice little bonus when we are finished creating and send it out to sell...
I'm not getting rich. I'm not even making a living with writing...yet. But I will. And it will be fairly soon, the way things are going now. That is also a good thing.
Here's the part that a lot of people may know think about while they are pursuing their dreams of being a writer. Sometimes...in fact, a lot of the time...it really is about a lot more than the money. Sometimes it really is about creating art. Sometimes it is really about putting your words on paper for the purity of the story.
And sometimes the rewards are far more important than money.
I wrote a middle grade novel that is in its final transformation and available on Amazon.com. It is a story about bigotry and prejudice in a small town. After I wrote each chapter, three of my children would pile on my bed and demand that I read it aloud to them. They were absolutely enraptured. I would read and watch them react to the highs and lows of the story. They would beg me to hurry and write the next chapter so that we could snuggle and read it together. Way more important than money.
Some of my poetry was given as gifts. I even shared dozens of poems I had written about my first love with my first love...years later. His reaction was way better than money.
I wrote an article for the anniversary of Hemingway's birthday. It was the story of his trip to Wisconsin Dells with his wife shortly before his suicide. He rented a tour boat for the day and they were the only passengers. I interviewed the boat pilot from that day. He recalled Hemingway's defeated manner, how he stared at his feet and did not look up at the beautiful sandstone scenery of the Wisconsin River. He told how Mary, his wife, told them they had just been to the Mayo Clinic and things were not good. The suicide happened shortly thereafter. The interview was an opening for me to draw closer to the boat pilot, who was also a teacher of English...who taught Hemingway's "The Old Man and The Sea." The boat pilot was my father. The interview bonded us in our love for literature and that beautiful, redemptive novel. So much more important than money.
I wrote a play, based on true stories once on commission. I didn't get paid. That was ok. I loved writing and directing the show. One story was about a girl who never recovered from having an abortion. She bravely faced the press, her picture labeled with "Had an abortion at 16." Her family didn't know. They do now. Another mother saw the article and brought her 16-year-old daughter to my show. The girl was pregnant and had scheduled an abortion...not because she wanted to terminate the pregnancy so much as she was afraid of what others would do or say. She met the woman whose story was being told (she was now an adult with two sons). Months later I was in the same church where the play had been. The girl approached me. ME. She placed a baby in my arms and told me he was alive because of me. She told me that I saved his life...and hers.
Because of me. My writing saved a life.
I have a picture of the girl and her son, Christian, on my writing room wall. A reminder that sometimes what we write is far more important than the money.
But, let's get real. The paycheck is a nice little bonus when we are finished creating and send it out to sell...
I'm not getting rich. I'm not even making a living with writing...yet. But I will. And it will be fairly soon, the way things are going now. That is also a good thing.
Here's the part that a lot of people may know think about while they are pursuing their dreams of being a writer. Sometimes...in fact, a lot of the time...it really is about a lot more than the money. Sometimes it really is about creating art. Sometimes it is really about putting your words on paper for the purity of the story.
And sometimes the rewards are far more important than money.
I wrote a middle grade novel that is in its final transformation and available on Amazon.com. It is a story about bigotry and prejudice in a small town. After I wrote each chapter, three of my children would pile on my bed and demand that I read it aloud to them. They were absolutely enraptured. I would read and watch them react to the highs and lows of the story. They would beg me to hurry and write the next chapter so that we could snuggle and read it together. Way more important than money.
Some of my poetry was given as gifts. I even shared dozens of poems I had written about my first love with my first love...years later. His reaction was way better than money.
I wrote an article for the anniversary of Hemingway's birthday. It was the story of his trip to Wisconsin Dells with his wife shortly before his suicide. He rented a tour boat for the day and they were the only passengers. I interviewed the boat pilot from that day. He recalled Hemingway's defeated manner, how he stared at his feet and did not look up at the beautiful sandstone scenery of the Wisconsin River. He told how Mary, his wife, told them they had just been to the Mayo Clinic and things were not good. The suicide happened shortly thereafter. The interview was an opening for me to draw closer to the boat pilot, who was also a teacher of English...who taught Hemingway's "The Old Man and The Sea." The boat pilot was my father. The interview bonded us in our love for literature and that beautiful, redemptive novel. So much more important than money.
I wrote a play, based on true stories once on commission. I didn't get paid. That was ok. I loved writing and directing the show. One story was about a girl who never recovered from having an abortion. She bravely faced the press, her picture labeled with "Had an abortion at 16." Her family didn't know. They do now. Another mother saw the article and brought her 16-year-old daughter to my show. The girl was pregnant and had scheduled an abortion...not because she wanted to terminate the pregnancy so much as she was afraid of what others would do or say. She met the woman whose story was being told (she was now an adult with two sons). Months later I was in the same church where the play had been. The girl approached me. ME. She placed a baby in my arms and told me he was alive because of me. She told me that I saved his life...and hers.
Because of me. My writing saved a life.
I have a picture of the girl and her son, Christian, on my writing room wall. A reminder that sometimes what we write is far more important than the money.