There are only so many hours in the day. The large portion of that–for most of us—is taken up by our day job. I know, I know…you don’t want to hear that publishing writers have day jobs. We’d all like to think that the demand for good stories means the writers you read are making a living wage writing novels.
Sad truth: not these days.
But don’t get bummed. Let me tell you why.
Not being a working writer means I write what I want, in the way my brain tells me, in the way my fingers find a keyboard. I don’t worry about marketing, or demand, or frankly, publishers. Don’t get me wrong, I follow the threads for Indie writers. Which means I know what sells. Let me just say, if I wrote about zombies or paranormal romance I’d probably be bringing in a few more shillings than I am currently. But you know what? Without the pressure of the market, I write what I want. That’s called freedom.
Currently I write political thrillers that involve a spy who is smart and gritty. I dig her and want to color her in. The stories I tell also sway toward a liberal bent. You know what? I’m not sure that’s what the market would dictate for me and I’m glad I don’t follow the market.
Maybe someday you’ll follow the market, you admonish? My response: Maybe.
I’ll tell you why I’m luke warm on being famous. Having the freedom to write what my brain spins out, in the way my fingers fly across the keyboard, well, that’s a pleasure. A tangible, real pleasure. I can’t imagine it–the alarm pinging at 5 am, getting up, putting on the coffee, turning on the monitor, clearing my eyes, peering out into the dark outside the window–for what the market demands. No. I can’t imagine doing that for the money. That kind of early morning commitment comes from the heart, from a mind that doesn’t rest and that has finally found it’s release.