|
||||||||||
|
Subscribe to the Absolute Write Newsletter and get the Agents! Agents! Agents! report free! Click here.
|
Win a 1-year subscription to Writer's Digest by subscribing to Absolute Markets-- all paying markets for your writing. Click here. |
|
| |||||||||||||
|
|
The Prodigal Writer By Sharon Wren
Every freelance writer has those times when it's tempting to throw in the towel and get a job in the "real world." If it hasn't happened to you yet, you're either very lucky (go buy a lottery ticket) or you haven't been doing this very long. It happened to me last year-- a couple markets dried up, the rejections came in faster than the acceptances and I was so burned out I regularly set off the smoke alarm. Being around little kids with almost no adult interaction day after day had me going bananas. And frankly, my usual uniform of sweats and T-shirts was wearing thin (figuratively and literally). I wanted to be where I could wear nice clothes, everybody was potty trained and the Diet Dew never ran out, as long as you had enough change. One day I said those dreaded words-- "Forget writing, I want a steady job!"
Having been out of the workforce for more than three years, I figured my best chance for getting a job would be to go back to the temp agency I had worked for a few years earlier. After a quick assessment of my skills (70 wpm, all that writing paid off), I was quickly placed at a company that was rewriting its computer tech manuals. They needed a proofer. YES! A steady paycheck was on its way.
There were, of course, a few problems. The last time I'd worn a suit was a couple of kids earlier, so of course nothing fit. The company dress code was "dress casual," whatever the heck that was. I knew it didn't mean sweats and bunny slippers, so I did what any respectable new working mom did-- I hit Payless Shoes' buy one, get one half off sale, and dug through the racks at Goodwill. Somebody somewhere must have taken pity on me because I found a bunch of suits from Talbot's, in my size, for $5 each.
I wasn't as lucky with daycare. One neighbor watched the kids for a couple months, until her husband got a third shift job. Trying to sleep with his own three small kids and my two running amok wasn't working, so I asked another neighbor to take over. She was a new mom and going from one newborn who slept a lot to three kids, two of whom liked to clobber each other at the baby's naptime, was too much. I finally found a daycare center that had openings and wasn't staffed by lunatics; it only cost about half my paycheck.
I had hoped to land a permanent job in a writing related field but nothing came up. "That's okay," I thought, "I can always write on the side." Except there never was a "side." As soon as I got up in the morning, I had to get dressed, pack my lunch, get the kids ready for daycare, drop them off, and fight morning traffic to get to work on time. After a long day at work (and what seemed like an endless commute), I came home to a family who wanted to eat, laundry that was multiplying faster than the federal deficit, dishes, homework, baths. There was never enough time for my brain to unwind enough to write. I squeezed in a little on the weekends and told myself that was enough.
I got a job in the business office of a college and thought I had found a "home." The hours were good and the people were incredible, although it was still a temp job. I got to wear nice clothes, work out on my lunch hour and hang out with grownups (although some staffers would bristle at other staffers being called that). I dealt with more numbers than words in my job but I told myself that was okay.
Then I rediscovered a nasty part of the business world that I had forgotten-- office politics. Even though I got along with all my coworkers and my supervisor regularly sang my praises, the department head took a dislike to me. It's still unclear why, but speculation suggests that my lack of being terrified of her and not engaging in booty kissing was to blame. The stress levels increased at work, which increased the stress levels at home. My old friend caffeine began doing a number on my stomach. I developed an eye twitch and began hitting the office chocolate supply several times a day.
The turning point came when the price of gas reached $2.50 per gallon. I crunched the numbers and discovered that after paying for daycare and gas, I was working for $10 a day for a full day's work. That's just over $2 per hour. Even when I was getting rejected faster than Rush Limbaugh in a gay bar, I made more than that from writing. It wasn't worth the hassle of rushing the kids out the door in the morning and fighting traffic. It was time to go home.
Of course, the gang at work was sad. They were happy for me, but they would miss me. E-mail addresses and phone numbers were exchanged, tears were shed, and I made a couple last trips to my favorite sandwich shop. And then I went home. How did those first days being a stay at home writer go? I wrote a beginner reader book, sent out several queries, and wrote columns, including this one. The eye twitch disappeared and I can once again drink Diet Dew without tossing my cookies. The laundry is almost caught up and I read an entire book for the first time in months (ok, it was a biography of Erma Bombeck, but it had very few pictures).
I learned my lesson. I can't stop writing any more than I can stop breathing. It's too much a part of who I am. I will never again say, "Forget writing, I want a real job." This prodigal writer is back where she belongs.
|
Sponsored links 
Make a Real Living as a Freelance Writer! How to find a book publisher |
Text on this site Copyright © 1998-2007
Absolute Write, all rights reserved.
|
