There’s something about writing
Reading through my online subscriptions this morning, I came across a YouGov survey reported in the Guardian which found that more people from the UK aspired to being an author than a sports personality, pilot, and in fact, any other job.
Why’s there such a widespread appeal in authorship, I wonder. The article goes on to suggest that the job’s popularity might be something to do with the success of JK Rowling in recent years. And sure, we’ve all heard the story of the struggles and the rejections before the million pound income, but that’s unlikely to be a reality for all authors (or even most).
There’s the idea of creating something that other people will consume. But don’t artists do that as well? Film-makers? Television producers? And I’m told that a lot more people watch films and television. Perhaps, then, it’s that books stay around longer. Antique books do have a certain appeal, after all. The classics of the book variety have been read for hundreds of years. But surely I’m not the only one to be less than enchanted with a 10 year old paperback, one where the paper has turned yellow and the pages are falling out.
I guess when I was young and dreaming of being a writer, it did seem to be somewhat of an easy job. I imagined the days disappearing as I tapped away on my keyboard, the words flowing effortlessly. Then I learnt about writer’s block, and word counts, and the edits that need to be done. And marketing, and talking about your writing, and all that scary stuff.
And yet, I still want to write. I’d still be in that 10% who’d rather be a writer than a sports personality or event organiser, and it’d great if one day I could call ‘novelist’ my day job. There’s just something about writing, I guess.
For anyone else out there who writes, or would like to, what is it for you?
Comment by Rebecca Laffar-Smith
October 5, 2007 @ 12:38 pm
*ponders* I don’t know what it is for me but it often seems like writers epitomise a dream life. Sitting back, your yacht docked on your personal jetty, gazing out the window of a pristine mansion or beach cottage as story develops inside your mind, sipping a glass of good red then setting to with the clang of the typewriter (your best friend) as your million dollar novels fall onto the page in a matter of hours. Then kicking back having six months holiday while you wait for the next million dollar idea to land in your lap. Sounds like the life.
But of course, those of us who truly chase the career learn swiftly that reality is NEVER that dream. While millions of people might ‘think’ about being a writer or think a writing career would be the best job we’re facing the day to day truth. The challenges, the anguish, the hardship, and scrapping left over baked beans out of the only can that hasn’t yet gathered a thick layer of mould in the fridge whose door hangs limply from broken hinges, wedged up by a pile of laundry the size of dinosaur droppings. (Um… My fridge isn’t falling apart, I don’t leave open cans in my fridge and my laundry is in two half-dino-dropping piles.)
As for why I do it? I never thought there could be anything else. I was born a writer, and it’s all I’ve ever done. I scanned groceries and packed shopping bags and stacked shelves. I became a mother and a wife. Even doing these mundane ‘jobs’ I was just a writer, making ends meet and life revolve in any way I could.