By Laura Spinella
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| My Cheez Whiz colored ARCs |
A few weeks ago, we entertained some out of town guests. Eventually,
probably because the Fed-Ex guy dropped off my PERFECT TIMING ARCs during
before dinner drinks, the conversation turned to my work as a published author.
Notice I didn’t say job. While outsiders
define writer in any number of ways, including hobby, passion, excuse to drink
in excess, and that thing I do with pretend people, referring to writing as work does
not cross their minds. But they did think to remark, not so subtly, that I
should be raking in the dough with book two on the way.
At this point in our
exchange, I did what all uber-successful authors do. I told them to hang on for a minute--I plumb forgot!
I was supposed to call my accountant that
afternoon, so we could rework my portfolio of assets based on my previous book
earnings. The accountant line was worth the look on their faces as I left them
there, slack-jawed, drinks turning watery. I escaped to the kitchen. If I
really did need to call my accountant, the question would have gone more like
this: Did I want the nickels to go directly in the piggy bank this time, and just roll
the dimes into those little paper cylinders? Once safely in the kitchen, I
stuck my head in the oven and screamed. It’s fine. This is the same group of
people who couldn’t understand why I didn’t pass out signed copies of BEAUTIFUL DISASTER as Christmas gifts. No matter what basic economic analogy I employed,
they couldn’t grasp that aside from a few promotional copies, I had to buy my
own books. And, frankly, I wasn’t giving a single copy to any one of them.
We all know that novel writing, for most of us,
is not about the money. It’s about the thing that compels us to write. And I
think we’d all agree that said compulsion is another blog entirely. For some authors,
their day-job is as far away from the process of novel writing as one can get. Although,
does the inner process of writing ever really stop? We’re always absorbing bits and pieces of
other peoples’ mannerisms, features, wardrobe, conversations, and life events, with the
subliminal idea that they may resurface as part of a character, plot, or passing quirk in a
novel to be named later. In that regard, I have to
be careful with my day job,
which is the result of happenstance. I work for a web designer, whose area of
expertise happens to be authors’ websites. While the job comes with plenty of
perks, including people who really do make a living—and a damn good one—writing,
it can be counterintuitive. It can make
you feel like your glass is half empty. But I’ve also learned that even the
upper echelon of writers feels this way at one point or another. If we’re
talking about money, the satisfaction of being monetarily rewarded for what you
do never loses its luster. It’s only where you land on the food chain that
differs. It’s merely circumstance that determines whether you’re dining at the
Ritz or just squirting Cheez Whiz on yours. So yes, there are days when that
glass feels bone dry. But eventually the fledgling novelist wanders in and
pours you a drink. This is someone who views a traditionally published author
as a success story. Things like money, multiple
printings, or ARCs on a dining room table don’t make a difference to them. In
their eyes, you’ve succeeded. It’s most
likely a fact that a “real job” will always earn me the greater paycheck. There
are only so many lottery ticket books and careers to go around. And at the end
of the book, or the day, that’s okay, because it’s never occurred to me to write
a book with the goal of cashing in.
Laura Spinella is the author of the award-winning Beautiful Disaster and upcoming novel, Perfect Timing. Come visit her at lauraspinella.net.
