Why I Sometimes Don’t Want to Tell People I’m a Writer
Imagine this scenario:
“Hi, I’m Rachel.”
“Hi, Rachel. I’m John. What do you do?”
“I’m a receptionist.”
“So you just sit around talking on the phone all day?”
“It’s a bit more involved than that.”
“Where do you work?”
“At a small family company.”
“Oh. That’s a shame. Any chance you might be able to move on to a big corporate?”
“I’m happy where I am.”
“Are you a good receptionist?”
“I haven’t been asked to do it differently so I guess I am.”
“How many calls do you take a day?”
“Um, well, I’m not sure…”
“How much do you earn?”
“That’s not really any of your business.”
“But how will I know for sure if you’re a good receptionist?”
“Call the main switch and I’ll make sure I transfer you to the right person.”
“But that won’t tell me if others think you’re a good receptionist.”
“I like what I do. I don’t really care if others think I’m a good receptionist. And I really don’t care what you think.”
“That’s a pretty poor attitude for a receptionist to have.”
“Stop talking to me.”
Okay, so it seems like John is a special kind of asshat. But imagine now an almost identical conversation with just a couple of small changes:
“Hi, I’m Rachel.”
“Hi, Rachel. I’m John. What do you do?”
“I’m a writer.”
“So you just sit around surfing the internet all day?”
“Sometimes. It’s called research. But it’s a bit more involved than that.”
“Where are you published?”
“Through a small independent company.”
“Oh. That’s a shame. Any chance you might be able to move on to a big publisher?”
“I’m happy where I am.”
“Are you a good writer?”
“I haven’t been asked to do it differently so I guess I am.”
“How many books have you sold?”
“Um, well, I’m not sure…”
“How much in royalties have you earned?”
“That’s not really any of your business.”
“But how will I know for sure if you’re a good writer?”
“Read one of my books or articles and you can make up your own mind.”
“But that won’t tell me if others think you’re a good writer.”
“I like what I do. I don’t really care if others think I’m a good writer. And I really don’t care what you think.”
“That’s a pretty poor attitude for a writer to have.”
“I’m sorry you think so. If you do end up buying one of my books, I’ll be happy to sign it for you. Nice to meet you, John.”
In the second scenario, John is still an asshat. The difference is that Rachel the receptionist can tell him to take a hike while Rachel the writer has to be nice to her potential reading public no matter how horrible they are. And, of course, Rachel the receptionist would never be questioned about her career choice in this way. Rachel the writer deals with this line of questioning from almost everyone who discovers she’s a writer.
I know I have. And that’s why I sometimes don’t want to tell people I’m a writer. I’ve had a few other jobs (receptionist, admin assistant, editor, bid manager) but I’ve never been asked to justify my career choice more since I decided to become a full-time writer.
“It’s not stable,” people protest. “Neither is acting,” I reply.
“It doesn’t pay well unless you’re at the top,” they point out. “Neither does working at McDonald’s,” I say.
“It’s isolating,” they continue. “Hardly. I have to interact with more people than ever.”
“Eventually, you’ll need to get a real job,” they snark. “Writing is a real job. Content development is a multi-billion dollar industry in Australia alone,” I respond.
“It’s a huge amount of work for little reward,” they say. “Being able to do what you love is the reward!” (I’ve listened to plenty of people talk about how much they hate what they do for a living. Apparently, the fact that I’m passionate about what I do is so much worse.)
I’ve come to realise it’s just easier not to tell everyone what I do. I also justify it by telling myself that the majority of my readers are people I’ve never met in real life, so it’s not like I’m doing myself out of a sale. And anyone who has more than a passing interest can easily Google my name to discover exactly what I’m doing (when you have a blog that gets posted to twice a week or more and multiple books available for sale, it’s pretty obvious).
If anyone wants to talk to me about writing without judging me for choosing it as a career, then that would be great. After all, if there’s anything I love almost as much as writing, it’s helping newcomers to begin their own writing journeys and helping emerging or established writers to get better. (What self-respecting writer who is also a trained editor would feel any other way?)
For everyone else, you can just keep your opinions to yourself. All I know is this: on my death bed, I’m not going to resent a single second of my writing career. Are you going to be able to say the same about the jobs you did just to pay the bills? I highly doubt it.
