Hard Work

This is from a facebook discussion with Joe Lansdale and Adam-Troy Castro (among others) about how hard is it to write, compared to working in factory, and how hard should one work at writing. I haven't reprinted other people's comments, because I don't have permission.

I think I made more than $5,000 in a year once, and that was more than 20 years ago. I'm a slow writer, I take a lot of time off from writing, and my novels sell badly. Because I can't make a living writing, I have had to work day jobs. I liked them, but they left little energy for writing. I'm writing more now that I'm retired. But it took three years for me to get back in the habit of writing and to enjoy it again. Could I have made a living from writing if I had worked at it harder? I doubt it. My novels sell badly. I don't even get the small, intense cult following from people that make you nervous.

I think Joe is right about the way to make a living from writing. Do it. And Adam is right that people vary. I am horrified by people who give up writing or don't pay adequate attention to writing, because they don't care enough. But that's my response. I figure a writer writes.

I've never had a really hard physical job, though I unloaded boxes of blue jeans once or twice for a friend who was a truck driver and sick. I went along as the lumper, the technical term. Blue jeans are heavy. I enjoyed it, because it was new and different. And I did a few years working in warehouses, but it was light warehousing, and I mostly liked it. Eight hours of light exercise, for which I got paid. It solved the problem of how to stay fit. And I met interesting people. Most of the time, I worked in offices. At the end of my work life, I did accounting for small nonprofits, which meant waking up in the middle of the night worrying about how I was going to make payroll, and the people who needed to get paid were friends. That is another kind of hard. Writing is easier, and I am better at writing. In the end, I was not a world class warehouse worker or accountant. I was merely okay. It feels good to do something for which I have actual ability and skill.