Thought of the Week: When Can I Call Myself a Writer?

There’s a man named Joe doing work in our new house today. He doing some stuff like sanding the floors and fixing the walls and stuff; things I don’t do. Now see, I know what he does for a living because he’s doing it right now. But what about when he asks me?

“So what do you do?” asks Joe.

“I…um…I…” says I.

“I see you have a lot of computer stuff. Are you into computers?”

“Yes, yes that’s it. I’m a computer technician.”

“What are you writing?”

“Oh, this? Nothing really, just a novel.”

“Is it published?”

Well, I digress here. Joe didn’t actually ask me if it’s published – it wouldn’t make much sense, given that I’m still writing it (duh). But he could have.

Anyway, the key point here is, when someone asks what I do, what do I tell them? Am I a computer technician? I suppose I am. It’s what I’ve been doing for over ten years; you could say it’s my career.

But then what’s all this business with putting together strings of words? Is that just for fun?

Well, not really: in only a couple of weeks, something I wrote will actually be purchasable from, what did they say? Thirty-eight thousand online book retailers? That’s some crazy-ass shit. Of course, being purchasable is not the same as being purchased, I’m well aware. But hey – the potential’s there.

Does that make me a writer, instead? Was I a writer when I was writing for fun? What about when I started to get the thought that I could actually finish a novel and possibly make it available for other people? Will I be a writer when I’ve sold my first copy? It’s pretty likely that the first few dozen copies are going to go to friends and family – people who would’ve bought the book anyway, even if they’re not going to read it. Am I writer when someone posts a scathing review?

Or am I only a writer when I make my monthly rent based solely on book sales? When I can actually call it a living? When the federal government starts getting interested in the pennies I’m raking in with every copy sold?

I know it’s a tired old question, but it throws me when someone asks me what I do. I write. I’ve written for a long time, longer than anything else I’ve ever done in my life (that’s not exaggeration). But am I really a writer?

 

Featured image from http://clancytales.blogspot.com/2010/06/power-of-pen.html.

Satis Logo 2014

Thought of the Week: Commitment

Hello readers!

Just a short post this week: in the midst of the furore of moving house, I sent back the approval form for the cover for The Redemption of Erâth: Consolation. What does this mean? The book has an official cover!

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This is based on the fire image I supplied to the publishers instead of the image they had used to begin with:

My own roaring fire.

 

I had actually sent them my own mock-up of the cover, and they essentially replicated it, so in a way, that’s my own design up there! In fairness to them, though, they chose the font, layout, coloring, etc.

It’s funny, because there’s a part of me that feels like I’m rushing into this—that I’m not giving this enough thought. There’s a separate part of me that just wants it done and over with, that just wants to hold the damn book in my hands, and I think it’s this part that won out. I’m terrible with commitment—terrible at making permanent decisions. Yet somehow the decision to go forward with this cover came easily. Without a second thought, I signed the sign-off form and sent it back, only ten minutes ago. The decision is made.

Will I regret it? Who knows. I held a vote at work for two different cover options, and the above cover did not win. Yet when I spoke with people, the best feedback I got was based on the ‘fire’ cover; that it seemed to hold a deeper meaning for the story (the fact the Brandyé’s parents die in a fire, that he learns of the world through his grandfather’s fireside tales, that he ends up branded with the mark of darkness), and a stronger allure, a stronger pull. The other cover (below for comparison) apparently just ‘looked pretty’.

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There’s still a part of me that’s torn; I do like the symbolism of the dark clouds descending over a final sunset, the tree (an important setting in the book) and the fierund’s face peering through the clouds, but there’s something cozy, dark and mysterious about the fire that attracts me, as well.

The good news is this means that the interior and cover of the book are approved (by me—eek!), and it’s just about time to ramp the book into production. I’m not entirely certain what the next step is, but I’m excited to think that soon—soon—I might have an actual release date for the book! Won’t that be something?

Satis Logo 2014

Thought of the Week: Progress

Something is happening today that I’ve been dreading for months. To be fair, I haven’t been dreading it so much as simply not thinking about it, but it’s one of those things that ultimately can’t be avoided once the plan is set in motion. I really didn’t see how I was going to cope with it, yet here I am in the middle of it, not only not cowering in a corner but actually making time to write about it.

Can’t guess? That’s okay: we’re moving house.

Mrs. Satis got a new job, and we’re moving half an hour further south to accommodate (I’ll still be keeping my existing job (that is to say, the job that isn’t writing)). For someone who finds it difficult to get out of bed on most days, this is kind of a big deal. I knew it was coming, of course, ever since she accepted her new position, but nonetheless I did my utmost to put it out of my mind, because frankly moving house is way too big of a thing for me to contemplate.

It’s a question of being overwhelmed, ultimately. Social interactions are taxing for me at best, so having to deal with four strange men in my house all day long, making pleasantries and offering them coffee and lunch and all that, is enough to make me want to run screaming. (Hence why I’m hiding upstairs writing about it, rather than actually doing anything.) The packers/movers are nice enough, of course, but just the thought of having to go downstairs and say, “This goes, this stays, this we should never have had in the first place,” fills me with dread.

Then there’s the stress of knowing that every single item in the house has to go into a box. What if they pack something we need? What if they forget something? What if they try to pack my computer while I’m typing on it (yes, these things cross my mind)? All I really want to do is crawl into bed and hide under the covers.

What if they pack me?

Yet here I am, sitting up and awake, sweating (because it’s hot), drinking coffee (because I don’t care that it’s hot) and managing, internally at least, to not completely freak out. This is disastrous; it’s upheaval, it’s everything I know torn to pieces and shoved into boxes. My home is no more! I don’t deal well with change, in case you couldn’t tell. Yet somehow I’m coping.

Is this progress? I’m still taking most of my medications, though I need to visit the psychiatrist to get a refill on some of them. I’m still seeing my therapist once/twice a week. But everything leading up to this point suggested I ought to be a blubbering mess on the floor right now. Somehow I’m not.

It isn’t strength – I certainly don’t have any of that. I think perhaps it’s just that this is an unavoidable event; the movers were going to show up today whether I stayed in bed or not. They were going to pack around me, regardless of where I was in the house. It was preordained. And like anything unavoidable (going to work, shots, itches where you can’t scratch), you pretty much just have to deal with it when it happens.

I wonder if there’s a lesson here. For all the things I just can’t do, what if there was a way to just make them happen? What if I could convince myself that the dishes every night were unavoidable? That the laundry just had to get done? That my book simply must be written?

It’s a thought to consider, and consider it I will. For now I’d better go – they’re taking away my internet!