write on, a status report

A realization struck me yesterday: for the past year, for better or worse, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, I supported myself with my writing. One complete year now, I’ve been a writer. I’m a bit stunned, actually.

To be skeletal honest, most of my paid writing isn’t the writing I’d like to be doing. I am not, for example, being paid to be a columnist, a job I’d dearly love. No great media giant like Condé Nast is doling out my happy yearly salary in great dripping gobs. I don’t get much groovy gratis stuff such as hot-and-cold-running tickets to rock shows (like my friend Sasha Frere-Jones) or tickets to plays (like my friend Terry Teachout) or cruises with 90’s bands and trips to Sasquatch seminars (like my friend Eric Spitznagel). I don’t have a book contract. I didn’t get my piece published in the Times, sadly. I don’t even have agents falling over themselves to court me, as I once did. But I do pay my bills by the fruits of my linguistic labors.

Most of what I write falls under the broadly defined rubric of “copy.” The term brings to mind packing excelsior: stuff that’s made to fill other stuff so that yet more stuff doesn’t rattle around and break from stress, entropy, or gravitational force. The copy I write sells things. It seems I’m fairly adept at writing stuff that sells things. I also ghostwrite, and it seems I’m also fairly adept at ghostwriting, that practice that seems more ventriloquist than apparitional, for when you write as a ghost, you’re transmitting someone else’s voice through your body of work. I sometimes write for magazines, though not often and not the ones I want to write for. I had three sexytime stories published in three separate anthologies last year. I’m writing for a sexytime website (which writing I actually do enjoy). But what I want to write for money mostly isn’t what I’m getting paid to write, not yet anyway.

I have hope. I have guidance. I have ideas. I have talent. And—enter the weirdness—I also apparently have diligence, devotion and discipline. It has been four years since I waywardly began my journey into this writing life, and though I’ve not quite stumbled onto my perfect path, I don’t veer off the trail, to run a metaphor into the dark, loamy ground. I doubt myself with soul-keening acuity, but I do so less frequently. This is a good sign. I also feel as if my writing is getting stronger, more structural; it’s losing its wisteria. Don’t get me wrong: I like wisteria; it’s pretty and it smells good. But wisteria in all its purple glory hides its roots that tear up foundations and leave buildings hollow rubble. It needs to be pruned. Prose is the same way.

I may not yet be paid to write what I want, and I may not yet be paid enough with the kind of consistency to keep me thoroughly solvent, but I am getting closer. Most importantly, none of it would be possible without this blog. This blog started me writing consistently. Having it made me write honestly, bravely and dangerously. I am not a person who can write without an audience. If there’s no one reading, I don’t want to write.

Like the generous support that makes the fine programming at PBS possible, my freelancing year was made possible by this blog, and by extension those people who read it. Because not only did my blog kick my writing ass, and not only did it provide me with my much loved and very necessary audience, but it also brought me almost every single opportunity I’ve had to write. With the exception of one magazine gig, the paid projects I’ve received have come to me through people who read my pretty dumb things: the copywriting, the ghostwriting, the Penthouse and other magazine pieces, the public relations copy, the erotic stories, the sexytime website—all of it.

One thing I’ve learned about blogging: you never know who is reading. It’s a risk to choose to write, but it’s deadening to choose not to. I’d rather be alive and reckless than inert and reckful.

All of which is to say thank you. I write as much because of you as because I must. I don’t know most of you, but you’ve made an indelible, positive mark on my life, like a collective big check in the plus column. I’ve only yet realized an imperfect version of my dream, but I’ve found some lurking eldritch confidence that I’m edging closer to what I want. Slowly, slowly, I’m getting there. Thank you for pushing me.

Comments

[alphagirl]

every time I read what you write - I know you will get what you want. You inspire me to write for myself - everyday. So...be confident. Go forward into the sun - feel it on your face and KNOW that you can find what YOU want...without caving into what they think you should write...be true. To yourself. Always.

alphagirl

[Pete]

CG,
Those of us who have encouraged you over the years are having our hopes for you come true, it is nice to see somebody do something they love. Keep it up, you have the talent!
Pete

[Jen]

Thank you for writing.

[Svasti]

You know what I like best about this post? That you're acknowledging you've done something that's worth celebrating.

Sure, you're not doing everything you want yet with your writing, but to be a paid writer is a dream for many, and not everyone gets to live that out. So, yay you!

And that your blog has been the source of much of this paid work is awesome, too. I can't tell you how glad I was when you decided to start writing here again.

(I'm following you on Twitter, BTW @yogachicky)

[Portlandgirl]

Please keep up the writing! Here, there, and everywhere. Thanks!

[G]

"One thing I’ve learned about blogging: you never know who is reading. It’s a risk to choose to write, but it’s deadening to choose not to. I’d rather be alive and reckless than inert and reckful."

I wholeheartedly agree. Troop on, sister! I have faith in you.

[minstrel hussain boy]

there was a time when i was, yet again, being excoriated by one of the "pure" tribe of musicians for my ignoble sellout into the jingle game.

i finally stared him down and said:

"in our musician's union, over 90% of the membership makes less than $12,000 per year playing music. i bought this house cash. no mortgage. on any given day, another 90% of the membership of our union is unemployed. my agent turns work down. selling out? you bet i sold out. big. time. for big ass money too. do you know how to get a stupid guitar player off your porch? pay. for. the pizza."

by supporting yourself with your writing alone you have passed a huge milestone that most writers never even begin to approach. they are too busy trying to book their next teaching gig, or cadge some time in the berkshires at one of those genius camps, or, worse, sitting at home in the morning waiting for a call to come in so that they can substitute at a junior high.

i applaud your diligence and your work ethic. i remain dazzled by your talent.

us lunch pail types are the back bone of our art. let them call us artisans. faugh sez i. i play for a living. that puts me in the 98th percentile of artists.

[m.]

Congratulations! That's a wonderful milestone. I'm sure you'll get where you want to. Still, it must feel wonderful to just be on your way.

[Teresa Jusino]

Very often, stuff comes into your life exactly when you need it. And so it is with this post! :) A friend of mine sent me the link, knowing this is exactly what I needed to see. After pursuing several other careers, I decided at the end of 2007 that writing, my first love, was where my full attention needed to go. Haven't looked back since. I'm not getting paid yet, but I have a book proposal that's being seriously looked at, a website I write for regularly (PinkRaygun.com), another one I've just started writing for that has an even larger readership, and several projects I'm collaborating on with friends. I've had the opportunity to meet and interview celebrities whose work I enjoy, I've gotten freebies.... :) I may not get paid, but my life now is significantly cooler than my life then.

Thank you for posting this, and I wish you all the success your diligence and talent will surely get you! May we hobnob tipsily at the same writerly functions one day! :)