What went before: So, I wrote some new words today, which was Such a Relief, after feeling like I’ve been mired in quicksand for the last two weeks. The WIP entire now stands at +/-42,700.
I wasted some time this afternoon on a panic attack when I realized (as I do from time to time) that I’m going to be old and broke, and sick and alone, and I don’t have anything worthwhile to $ell, and &c &c.
I mean, Steve and I knew we were living a grasshopper existence, which is, take note, a much more amusing pose when you’re young and strong. And, really, I thought that the end part would be too quick to be scary — summer one day, snowstorm the next, quick-frozen grasshopper, so sad.
Well.
Tomorrow, I have an appointment with the chiropractor, mid-morning, and the rest of the day to work.
Tali and Rook are at the moment having a game of tag. I need to water the roses, and — I do believe I’ll have a glass, or two, of wine.
Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.
Monday. Sunny and already hot.
Breakfast was the last of the lettuce, the last of the tomato, the last of the cottage cheese, and a piece of toast. Lunch will be the leftover pork chop and beans.
I detect a theme.
Leaving in a few to see the chiropractor. I’ll hit the post office and the grocery before I come home.
We here in Central Maine are still Awaiting tomorrow’s arrival of Extreme Heat. The excursion to the hot shop in Belfast is being reconsidered, with the hope that we can move it to another, somewhat cooler, day later in the week.
The following is for those who wonder how writers make money, sparked by a mention in comments regarding a “living wage.”
It ought to surprise no one to learn that writers make money by writing. How much money they make and if they receive what they are owed are variables, the discussion of which is outside of the purview of this paper.
The other thing to remember is that there is a long and impecunious apprentice period for most writers (cue joke: Q: Oh! You’re a writer? Have you sold anything? A: Well, so far, I’ve sold my sewing machine, my kayak, and my car.). Most of us have day-jobs, though (I speak for myself) not the demanding sorts of day-jobs that may come with retirement benefits, because those sorts of jobs impinge on one’s writing time. Even those of us who “make it,” for some definition thereof, do so later in life, and if we don’t necessarily have college loans to pay off, we have other debt incurred while we learned our craft.
So!
The greater percentage of writers make LESS — even FAR LESS — than a “living wage” from their writing.
Those who do make a “living wage” are equal parts lucky and too stubborn to die — Lee-and-Miller stand in this category as an example, and perhaps a warning.
Very few achieve Literary Superstar, which is of course the standard to which all writers are held because societies that measure success in terms of money have no soul.
To continue.
Irregardless of the variables mentioned above, when writers stop writing, they stop getting paid. This is a calamity, because, even those of us who managed to achieve that “living wage” do not typically have Large Sums of Money invested against sickness or old age. They may have a few months’ living expenses squirreled away. Maybe.
Now, yes, some of us — Lee-and-Miller are twice fortunate — have significant extra fan support in the style of Patreon, Ko-fi, and so on. Those things, like all donation systems — such as the local food bank, or Meals-on-Wheels — depend on the economic health of the donor pool. When the economy tanks, people very wisely cut their donations, in the interest of feeding themselves and their families.
Speaking, again, for myself: I have three books under contract — again, and that’s three times fortunate — and even should stop writing after I turn in the last, cash should continue to flow, in lessening rivulets, for a couple years. And I can of course continue to write and publish independently. Assuming that I keep my health and my head.
Anyhow! This has gotten long, and I need to get on the road.
How’s everybody doing today?
Some time later: Back from errands, which also included putting gas in the car. I couldn’t figure out why I needed gas, then I remembered that I’d driven back and forth to Bath last Monday.
It’s shaping up to be a nasty ol’ day out there. The City of Waterville has hit the citizen phone tree to remind us that the Cooling Center on Front Street will be open tomorrow from 10 to 6.
I bought a strawberry shortcake cup at the grocery store and ate it before lunch, in true grasshopper fashion. I tried to share my whipped cream with the overlords — Rookie was enthusiastic, Firefly was curious, Tali thought I was Up To Something, and Trooper had just finished his chicken smoothie and was too full for dessert.
I will be updating the blog, performing my duty to the cats, and then seeing about lunch before sitting down with the WIP.
Today’s blog post title brought to you by The Cars, “Magic”
Oh. I was late getting into work today, and Supervisor Firefly noticed.
