For the past few years I’ve been considering whether to find a job. And yes, years is a long time to be mulling over such a decision, particularly when most people don’t have the luxury of waiting that long. The truth is, we could certainly use the additional income. Paying the bills with a schoolteacher’s salary is a challenge rather like treading water in a storm at sea. A number of factors limit our options. The primary issue, our son’s special needs, is both the reason we live in a high-cost state — we’ve never had to directly pay for any of his services; he attends an excellent specialized school that’s tied to public school funding — and the reason I can’t just apply for a full-time 9-5 job. My care for him isn’t necessarily constant so much as on-call. If he needs me, I have to drop everything and go.
Other factors include my lack of work experience, having spent these past twenty years on the rigors of mothering him and his two younger siblings (who are currently 16 and 18, still working their way toward independent adulthood). And our cars have a tendency of being unreliable thanks to the horrid spiraling factors of poverty (if I had a better car I would have more job options and more money to buy a better car, etc etc etc). I’ve looked into remote work and felt both over- and under-qualified for everything. It’s exhausting. Why is job searching more intensive work than any actual job? And then we come to another factor: I don’t want any of this.
You see, I already know my ideal job. It’s my husband’s ideal job too, and probably our daughter’s as well. Professional novelist. Work from home, travel to book signings and conferences and other paid events, do what I already love and want to do and get paid for it. A lovely dream. I’ve even already figured out the “writing novels” part of it. It’s the “getting paid” that remains elusive. Alas.
While I continue to trudge through job options, well-aware that even professional novelists are rarely rich enough to forgo any other income sources, I’ve attempted to create a sort of framework of responsibilities associated with my as-yet hypothetical writing career. To be “my own boss,” as those cringeworthy MLMs might claim. Obviously the most important task is the writing itself. Every weekday I aim for at least a thousand words. If I’m not working on a new novel, then I edit at least two chapters in a revised draft. I give myself a little leeway on this, because creativity can’t be entirely forced, but it can be rigorously fostered and encouraged. If I sit down and make myself write, something useful will almost always come out eventually.
Then there’s the research. Some writers are really big on researching for their books; that necessity comes up now and then for me, during the process of writing. But my main research is twofold — what sort of books are in my preferred genres, and what agents are most likely to represent my kind of books? I read as much sci-fi and fantasy as I can, study what works in their writing choices, peruse their acknowledgement pages for names of literary agents and other resources and — perhaps most importantly — enjoy myself. I don’t want to make reading such a part of my writerly duties that it becomes a chore for me. Immersing myself in someone’s imaginary realms has always been a joy for me, and creating my own imaginary realms brings me joy as well. I want to increase that joy, not diminish it.
This search for “writers who write what I want to write” has unsurprisingly led me to discover some new favorite authors in recent years, who had been published for decades but escaped my notice till now. Right in the midst of the COVID quarantine and all its related stress, I came across books by Martha Wells and then Lois McMaster Bujold and proceeded to devour just about everything they’d both written. Isn’t there something so comforting yet invigorating about a writer who clicks with you, like an old friend you’ve just met? I collect piles and piles of pretty books on Goodreads and purr over my shelves like a dragon with its hoard of treasure. And dream of seeing my own book covers there someday.
In addition, my local library just happened to start up a sci-fi/fantasy book club last summer, and I’ve been happily attending each month. The book choices are dependent on a few factors: being short enough for even the slowest reader to complete in time, as well as having multiple copies available in the interlibrary system. I haven’t loved every choice, but it’s been quite engaging to pick up a few books I might not have otherwise tried, and then hear alternate perspectives from other readers. The library in general has been a great source for borrowing books so I don’t wear out our limited income (although a few books still sneak onto our shelves…and windowsills…)
The other research is not a joy for me. I doubt any writer delights in the process of agent-hunting. It is, however, an absolute necessity. There is an ocean of literary agencies out there, and you have to narrow it down to the applicable ones. One by one I search through manuscript wish lists, agent bios and long long databases of genre type. Agents are naturally just as motivated to find prospective clients in their areas of expertise, so they’ll usually provide a list of the genres they represent along with other guidelines for submission. Once I’ve compiled a decent collection of agents for one of my manuscripts, I start sending queries. I’ve created a spreadsheet to keep track of every query, and make sure to note when I get a response. After querying many many novels, I have quite a collection of rejections. A few requests as well, happily, though none have yet resulted in an offer of representation. I’m noticing a parallel between this and other job searches. Hours of labor, but no resulting paycheck.
Yet I have to believe that it’s worth it. Certainly I’ll never stop writing and reading, whether or not it becomes profitable. I won’t let my discouragement affect my joy. I’ll never consider it a waste of time. And the querying? Well, it’s a small sacrifice of time and effort, surely worth it if it ultimately lands me an agent. If it doesn’t…it’s still better than not trying at all. If I stopped trying, it would mean I had stopped believing. And how can you create stories if you’ve lost the ability to believe?
cynthiaailshie 