I had no idea that the traditional publishing world has less and less room (and use?) for a working author. Instead I found a carnival of conferences, social media personalities, Middle-school-style blog fights, and popularity contests. That’s what I had in mind: hard work, a career that used my talents and abilities, and a paycheck at the end of the week. I imagined my dad working long days as a plumber, often taking me on estimates in the evenings or going in for half or full days on Saturdays. I just wanted to write and get paid for it. I never wanted to be the headliner at conferences, the go-to guy for hot takes on cable news, or a social media rock star. When I started out as an author, I had the modest goal of writing for a respectable, sustainable audience. This perception is grounded in an unnecessary reality that has unfortunately become all too normal. Unfortunately, many writers today are stuck in a kind of limbo between a perception that writing for a sustainable income means writing in order to get famous. In fact, the latter distinction has been essential for me. That also isn’t the same thing as writing in order to get famous. That isn’t the same thing as being annoying about promotion or selling out for a paycheck. Writers should never be ashamed of creating high quality creative work or professional business pieces for a fair wage. I started out with writing with the simple hope of earning a sustainable living. This was going to be the time when I finally linked a career with my actual identity. I thought that I was finally becoming the kind of adult who made some sense out of that kid who would wander in the woods all day or who would fill up notebooks with stories. I just knew that it was my last shot at some kind of a career. When I finally started listening to that voice to write, I had no idea how to make a living as a writer. When I turned to a job in the nonprofit sector, I still felt like an imposter, and that voice in the back of my mind grew louder: you could write on the side… I continued to hear it as I earned a degree for a career I wouldn’t pursue. In the back of my mind, I kept hearing a little voice whispering: You could write on the side. It was the least-worst least-right thing. I couldn’t even trace a clear path between that little kid who filled up piles of notebooks with stories and the young adult who set off for seminary for a career in ministry that never felt right. I replied to my wife, “Maybe if they had a major called ‘Professional F – – k ups’?” The English and Bible majors weren’t good fits, and in the presence of both camps I felt like an imposter. I have creative inclinations that drew me toward writing and reading, but I also had more interpersonal, pastoral inclinations that drew me toward ministry. My wife once said to me, “I can’t even imagine what kind of major you should have been in college.” I believed that words were just part of my childhood and that part of me needed to die in the service of finding a career. I honestly didn’t even know there were people called “copy writers” or “business writers” who got paid a living wage to work with words. Writing wasn’t even close to being on the radar. When my friend and I started thinking about a fun thing to do after school, we started writing a book together.īy the time I got to college, I’d heard all about finding a job that is respectable, like a lawyer or a doctor, and I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. When my teacher gave me a notebook that I could use for anything, anything at all, I filled it up with stories and drawings. I was one of those kids who could wander off into the woods and spend the better part of a day on a project.
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