I had an epiphany last night around 3 a.m. while binge-watching The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.
First, it’s a great show – very funny. Second, I’m not a fictional wealthy Jewish divorcee, circa the late ’50s, with a knack for stand-up, but I took inspiration from her story.
Third, okay, that show has nothing to do with my writing career but after binging on it, I felt compelled to express my opinion. Blogged about it on Medium. I’ll send you the link but you have to share it with your colleagues. You see, by interacting with my post, it earns money. Money which fuels my noble purpose. Our noble purpose, actually, since we’re in this together.
But, let’s put the concept of money aside for a minute, or a while, and talk about process.
It’s true that I haven’t gotten much published, if anything, over the last two years but I’m on a path. Quitting my job to has been difficult for us – mainly me, but I believe my journey as an artisan of words is necessary to enhance the broader human conversation.
Every writer’s journey starts somewhere and right now I am a fledgling among the ranks of great writers like Dan Brown, Stephanie Meyer, or, modesty be damned, Steven King!
Sure those first two authors are considered horrible by Google, and one of them gave us sparkling vampires for some inexplicable reason, but all three of them inspired at least one generation of readers. They’re also wildly successful. Financially successful. That’s big.
Is it “Stephen” with a “ph?” It is, isn’t it? Either way, they’re my community. Colleagues, really.
Right now, it only looks like I spend all day watching YouTube documentaries of Moon landing conspiracies, Serengeti lions hunting antelope, and Dr. Sandra Lee popping pimples. She’s great; disgusting, but so satisfying.
We writers often spend days, weeks, or years immersing ourselves in a topic, or multiple unrelated topics, before a flurry of writing. To the untrained eye, all this procrastinating totally looks like fucking off but trust me, it isn’t. It’s our sacred duty to keep our finger on the pulse of society, a pulse that feeds our creativity. And our fingers? They bring those nutrients to our minds. That’s a metaphor.
For me, it just so happens that the pulse I’m fingering is YouTube. Netflix and Amazon Prime, too. It’s research. I’m fingering research.
Oh, and we might have to get Hulu again but we’re going to have to use your login and credit card this time. I don’t have any money in my account.
Also, I used our joint credit card to order Batman and Batman Returns, along with the first two Ghostbusters. While having a few drinks in the middle of the afternoon last Tuesday, I entered a deep well of nostalgia and needed to access some childhood memories through those specific cult classics. Time well-spent, if you ask me. Time well spent doing research.
It’s that inspirational research makes the magic happen.
For me, that magic occurs between 9-5. Often after midnight, too, which is why it’s important for me to sleep in. I need a full night’s rest so that my brain is optimal. Occasionally that means I can’t do the dishes, the laundry, or frankly any chores. The distractions really throw off my focus.
Without focus I can’t come up with the next sparkling vampire. Think of the untold millions of teenage girls who paid money to read about sparkling vampires and then paid more money to watch them frolic on the big screen.
Or write a cult classic derived from a mashup of Lovecraftian horror and America’s unconscious fear of clowns. Who knew that exploiting Jungian archetypes would be such a moneymaker – TWICE!
That’s power over the imagination you can’t buy.
Power over people’s imagination, though, comes with great responsibility. And a price. I must be committed to the role I’ve taken on. Fully committed. So committed that even taking on a part-time job will not only subtract precious time from my craft but totally suck out the creative juices.
Plus, I can’t make my spoken word TikToks while sitting in a cubicle.
That being said, I promise not to repeat last month when I locked myself in our bedroom for two weeks after posting my new poem, “The Words. They Just! Won’t Write/Them…selves” on Medium. I readily admit that starting an Instagram and Twitter handle for promotion purposes sort of backfired. Instead of promoting my work, I got stuck in a fourteen-day loop of watching videos of cats, celebrity hot takes, and epic fails.
Then there was the whole day I spent arguing with @BigCokBrad2a, among others, about why being an unemployed writer does not make me a beta cuck. That’s why I missed your mom’s birthday party. I needed to decompress after all the negativity and recharge my creative battery.
Look, it was a rookie mistake. Lesson learned. Real pros never engage.
The good news is that I’ve received a whopping $.93 from Medium with hardly any promotion. Won’t break the bank, yet, but it’s a whole lot more than the $.06 my last eleven Medium pieces made! That’s an almost 176% increase. For both of us!
Look, many artists toil for years in obscurity. Some only become famous posthumously, but I fully intend to become famous AND lucrative thumously.
Yes, “thumously.” It’s not a word used often in the common vernacular, or at all, but I think it’s neat. We writers call it “wordsmithing.”
No, I’m not drunk.
