I have this T-shirt that reads “Will Write For Food.” Ironic? Not so much. At least not in the beginning. When I was a struggling freelance writer back in the Iron Age of my career, I often submitted to periodicals that paid by the word. Back then it was anywhere from a nickel to a quarter a word. I lived for the slim white envelopes that occasionally surfaced in the sea of rejection slips. Checks that were often in the double digits but that put meat in my grocery basket that week.
These days I can afford to buy meat, though I rarely go for the red now that I’m of any age where heart health is an issue (speaking of irony). Still, I, like many authors, struggle with unmet expectations. Failure, the evil twin of success, lurks around every corner. Royalty statements don’t always deliver. And Amazon rankings can be cause to commit hari-kari. It’s a constant battle to keep the creative well from being poisoned by negative thoughts and/or negative on-line comments. Yet we bravely continue on. We write for the most basic reason of all: Because we must.
They should make a T-shirt that says “Will Write For the Hell of It.” I would proudly wear it.
