I just hit 3,967 words on the new essay that will accompany the Winged, With Sharp Teeth re-release. More importantly, I’ve hit the point where I can see the shape of the essay itself: the arguments I’m making; the points serving as way stations along the way; the lesson I want readers to take away.
Currently referenced over the course of the essay:
- Baby Sitters Club books.
- Zoe York’s Romancing Your Goals.
- This 2015 Tweet by Kathleen Jennings.
- Neil Gaiman’s The Sweeper Of Dreams.
- George Orwell’s Why I Write
- Tom Bissell’s Magic Hours.
I’m forcibly restraining myself from adding some of the theory from my PhD there, because it’ll turn this into a monster that’s longer than the short story it’s written about.
And a little proof of progress sample:
I’m forty-five now, which means I’ve had thirty-eight years of strangers helpfully telling me what success looks like for writers. These suggestions are rarely overt, but hdie in the subtext every aspiring writer gets asked when they reveal their ambition to new acquaintances:
Can you make any money doing that?
Have you written anything I might have heard of?
Can I get your book in a bookstore?
You should write something like Harry Potter, yeah? Make a lot of money?
Very rarely, someone would ask about collaborating on work, or hiring me to take on a writing job they want done. In these instances, I quote them my going rate for freelance — based off the Australian Society of Authors recommended rates — and resulting sticker shock usually triggers a response somewhere between, “wait, how much?” and “oh, fuck off.”[i]
I’m hardly unique in this; any aspiring writer will run their own gauntlet of responses when they start discussing literary ambitions, let alone have the temerity to call themselves ‘a writer’. Art sits at an interesting nexus point in the collective psyche of western nations, a pursuit that should be done for love instead of money, but success is measured by monetary rewards and the financial investment of a publishing company willing to distribute your book to the four corners of the globe.
What does success look like in the eyes of those outside of writing? Money, a vast readership, and the kind of acclaim that makes you notable even if someone doesn’t read your genre. The kind of extreme, outlier success that is notable enough to attract news attention and make writers into celebrities, whether that comes on a mass scale[ii] or simple notoriety within a small, cult genre.[iii]