Girls and Goals

I asked a classroom of adult women writers what their writing goals were. They all said, more or less, "I'd like to publish a book one day."

"Great," I said. "Why do you want to publish? To make money? For fame? To leave a mark on the world?"

"Just for my own personal satisfaction," was the response, and everyone nodded. "Just to know that someone else, one publisher, thought my writing was good."

"Just one book?" I needled them. "No plans for another? Or for a series?"

They said, "I can't envision my next project until I'm finished with the current one." "Just one book would make me happy." "I've spent years writing my book, and don't plan on writing more." "I'm just starting out."

"But still, you could dream big,"I pleaded. "Just picture yourself--"

Then I realized their ambitions were modest and their dreams very small because they were women.

This was a job for SuperAdjunct.

I said, "No male writer would ever say what you just said. Men dream big, think big, and go after what they want. Even the crummiest male writer foresees himself writing tons of books, shaking hands in New York, and raking in money. It starts with dreaming big."

And we're going to practice doing just that and shedding our quiet modesty, a virtue not appreciated in the publishing business.

Paid at Last

Is it a coincidence that the same day the blog below appeared, complaining of an account gone 12 weeks unpaid, that I received an email from the account in question, saying sorry for the delay but the check was on its way? It arrived in the next day's mail. All settled now.

This teaches me: Don't give up!

Stiffed at Last

Since 2000 people have asked me to edit their manuscripts, both people I knew and those I didn't, and unless it was clearly a long and massive job, I did not bother to ask for money up front.

Then I was asked to spend half an hour on a manuscript sample I found so sorely in need of editing, formatting, and fact-checking that correcting the first two and a half pages took up the whole thirty minutes. I returned the heavily annotated manuscript with with an invoice for half an hour's work. I have now billed the author every week for 12 weeks, adding, "It is not too late to pay me." It is the first time I've been stiffed, fortunately for only a small amount, but there's the principle of the thing. (The manuscript was about principles, and how "these are the times that try men's souls.")

New rule: Strangers pay up front for a minimum of one hour's work. Make that your rule too!

You Never Know...

When the money or spirit gets low I begin to lose my trust in the universe or whatever gave me the desire to write and some talent. I know it does not give these things and then fail to support you. But things bottomed out about a week ago: Unpleasant bills and notices arrived. My Internet was down for four days. Doctor visits left my arms tracked up like a junkie's. I was draggin' my wagon (and people would have said to me, "Why the long face?" had I bothered to raise my eyes from the pavement). And then in the space of a few days almost everything changed:

• More work -- four almost simultaneous requests -- came my way!
• Internet connection repaired!
  
• Awesome financial news!
• Good health report!
  
• Pushcart Prize nomination (my first, I heard about it yesterday) for a poem to appear in November in the annual Kansas City Voices
• Gift of bagful of pears direct from a tree!
  

O me of little faith!

Reaching a Balance

As writers, our work can go on all day, all night. Always something to revise, send out, work on, create, prepare, organize. Always the research, meetings, workshops, deadlines. I have a great work ethic. And this is work I like to do.

This summer my mind rebelled. It wanted to see friends, have a glass of wine, go fishing, cook an elaborate recipe, watch stupid TV, shop, go on a date.

I said to it, Oh, no -- YOU are supposed to be working! Every minute counts! No glass of wine for you! No time off for you!

That was a good way to get my whole being to go on strike and acquire a cough, an infection, an injury, hayfever, depression. No appetite, no energy. Too much trouble even to read a novel. (I felt obliged to read this novel.) Energy only to play the video game "Jewels" on my droid.

Last week I was out doing errands and had no choice but to take myself to lunch; either that or I wouldn't get any food until after 10 p.m. Wow, I had a sandwich and coffee, wasting my time and money (I should have brought a bag lunch to eat in a park!!) -- and how great that felt! This week I took 24 hours to drive downstate seeking beauty (even though I actually brought work along!). Felt much better.

Is It the Readings, Or Is It Me?

Went to a reading, enjoyed parts of it and have analyzed what I enjoyed. I liked a well-told story, which let me ride a rollercoaster of emotions, such as tension, pity, triumph, and "oh no, not that," all in various shades and tints. If there was a story, I dug it. If there was humor, I dug it. If it was a descriptive passage or a scene instead of a full story, or was emotionally monotoned, or if it was beautifully written and only that, I liked it less. Meeting and chatting with the people there was pure pleasure.

Reluctance to attend readings might be a phase I'm going through. Maybe the trouble isn't with the readings, or the book promotions (why should bookselling ever bother me, of all people?!!?). It might not even be trouble. It might just be that getting older I feel more strongly the very distracting snap, crackle and pop of passing time. Or I have saddled myself with too much to do, and going to readings feels like just another obligation, and because I must sprint to the car and get to the next thing I must do, the readings don't refresh and inspire me as they used to.

An Alternative to "Readings," Anyone?

I remember a "reading" at a glittering hall rented for the occasion, set with 150 chairs. $35 per person included the distinguished writer's new book, and cocktails, and shrimp on ice. There were 20 attendees. We circled through the echoing hall, all embarrassed for the distinguished writer (a personal friend) and trying to be more people than we were.

Where did it go wrong, the "reading"? Laypeople love the sign "Free Poetry" the way they love "Free Pregnant Cat." And increasingly only the readers, or their close friends, attend. (True friends are those who will attend your reading, your opening, or your slam performance. Your "fans" don't care to see you more often than every two years.) It's not that art these days is bad or irrelevant; it isn't. There's a lot more of it to delight in, and audiences for the fine arts have always been sort of small, and now more specialized. But no writer goes anymore to an "open mike" night just to listen. It's to network, scout the place, to be seen or counted, buy the book and get off the hook; and enjoyment, including surprises, has taken a back seat.

The "reading" is now pretty much a setup to promote oneself or one's book or club. There is room for book "launches," but each book needs only one launch. It is nice to have another chance to sell or buy a new book, meet the artist, hope he will buy our new book. But if the audience is largely those who feel obliged to show up, no wonder we become exhausted by the very idea, unless we are scheduled to read. Attempts to give readings a service orientation, as fundraisers for good causes, never brought in anyone who wouldn't normally be there, except for some of the readers. And in the end the experience differed only in where our money went.

The "reading" is moribund. What should we do instead?

Degrade Yourself at Odesk.com

Speaking of mental health, did I ever go nuts when Odesk.com emailed to ask why I hadn't worked for them. Odesk.com features calls for articles and other material by freelance writers; you bid on the jobs. You get paid -- maybe -- and if so Odesk gets a 10 percent commission. Like everyone else I could use some more work, and registered. Lots of contract jobs were available: write someone's resume, write ad copy, ghost somebody's little handbook on vitamins, write series of 750-word articles on auto care, and so on.

What sent me reeling is the compensation offered -- and accepted. Check these out:

I need 50 articles to be rewritten on Halloween niche. Each article has be 450 words and at least 80% unique. I will pay $1 per rewritten article. Please bid with a sample. Thanks

High end copywriting requiring high quality work; Must be english BA or MA graduates; Must attach short word files of writing files or will be disqualified immediately; Individuals only, no company affiliation. If affiliated, will be disqualified immediately. -Candidates for this job so far have bid a titanic $3.34 an hour.

The series of articles on auto care had a total budget of $70.

Not all of the posts are quite this extreme, but a lot of them come pretty close.

So, why haven't I worked for Odesk? The "O" must be short for "online sweatshop" -- and it's not the only one. An underclass of writers. That's just what we need....