There is a funny phenomenon (and I will be surprised if there is not some official name for it) where the task you have to do magically fills the space you have allotted for said task.

So if I give myself six months to write a first draft and Trust Fund Tammy simply says her novel will be done “when it’s done” chances are I’m going to be finished first. I had a lot of first hand experience with this when I was writing my first novel — I’d get more done on my lunch break at work and the half hour before dinner than I did during all of my Saturday off. When you only have an hour to write, the coffee pot somehow seems less attractive.

Honestly, I don’t think I am disciplined enough to be Trust Fund Tammy.

Personally, I get most frustrated with people who bitch and moan about a living wage for the job title “novelist.” I have no time for the self-absorbed wannabes who think the world owes them a certain level of compensation for having written a novel. They approach publishing from a “here’s what it me took to write it, so you must pay me this much” perspective, which is backwards.

I, like you, did my research. I concluded that I like having a certain lifestyle (such as being able to feed my children and pay my mortgage), so dropping my very good day job to write full time would be a phenomenally stupid choice. (As it is, I “sponsor” my wife’s part time teaching career in the way that Bauer’s husband “sponsors” her writing career.) I chose what fits me, and you chose what fits you. We are both fortunate to be able to choose. (And aside to Merry: I have incredible respect for the courageous choice YOU made, and what you’ve been able to accomplish!)

My problem lies with people who think they shouldn’t have to make any choices. The internet is littered with their droppings. “I should be able to live a comfortable life as a novelist!” they cry. But those of us who write while working to support a family, and those of us who are sponsored by someone else’s labor, and those of us who cut back in order to have the career we really want–for all of us, I resent those people’s attitude. Writing is a very hard career, and I think being sponsored makes it easier. Doesn’t make it EASY, mind you. (And, I imagine there’s a certain emotional cost to being “sponsored”: it must create its own pressure to succeed and prove the “sponsorship” isn’t wasted. Especially when the family has to make sacrifices to enable it.)

I don’t think I articulated that well at all.

PS: Shout-out to Wendy for the link to this post.

This was awesome. The salon piece rubbed me the wrong way for most of the same reasons. The same reasons A Room Of One’s Own annoys the hell out of me.

I think a lot of writers hit a point where they’re a bit more cynical or maybe a little jaded. The road can be long and hard and unfair and then we see reality stars get 6 figure book deals at age 15 and we kind of want to beat people about the head and ears.

I’ve always been a huge cheerleader for other writers’ success. I don’t feel like they’re competition so much as colleagues. So when I read things like this, that are almost geared to paint writing success as an impossibility without financial security or pedigree, it’s annoying. There’s a grain of truth in that everything is easier with financial security and certainly someone with a network of publishing contacts is ahead of the unwashed masses.

Still, the article seemed to be aimed at inspiring jealousy rather than painting an accurate picture… and an accurate picture in this case would still be anecdotal.

Loved your take.