My, is this thing ever dusty! The problem with dual identities is that they’re, well, dual. The working writer has to make a living. Making a living interferes with being a writer.
It’s no secret that I write under a pseudonym. In certain professions writing is discouraged. The only way I can get away with writing the fiction I do is by saying “It’s not me!” I know I’m in good company here. The average person can’t identify Samuel Clemens.
No, I don’t mind the nom de guerre per se, but I resent a work life that doesn’t value the writer. It’s not just editors, either. There was a guy in my company who wasn’t an editor. He quit to become a writer and the general attitude to his leaving was a smirk.
Yes, it’s difficult to make a living as a writer. Unless you get an agent you won’t make much in royalties. You can’t quit your day job. And aside from the many hours sapped from your life-force by work, some jobs declare that you shouldn’t write. It might be mistaken for the voice of the company.
While I’ve been engaged in two non-fiction books, my fiction has been suffering. The ideas bubble up rather consistently, but the energy it takes to find publishers is draining. You know how it is—you find a perfect fit for your story, but the editor of the journal doesn’t agree. They’ll be glad to take your money, though.
I was recently reading about Mark Twain. He had trouble getting published. Even had to do what we call “vanity publishing” these days. Now he’s considered an American original. My guess is that he wasn’t an editor for a jealous press. Otherwise nobody would’ve ever heard of him.
Now that a new year has dawned, I’m redoubling my efforts at fiction. I still have a non-fiction book under contract, but that won’t bring in any royalties. Time to get down to business. Time to dust this thing off.
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