Tag Archives: Attitudes

My hobby happens to be gardening, for which I don’t expect to be paid.

Today I saw a show that sickened me so much that I walked out. I’ve never done that before – or at least, not for that reason. I’ve walked out of plenty of shows because they were bad and I could think of better things to be doing with my time. Anyway, the point is that I am a wee bit scunnered and feel like writing something that isn’t Fringe related.

While wandering about on Twitter I found this article: http://hwala.horror.org/wp/?page_id=158. It was written by Lisa Morton, who is something to do with the Horror Writers’ Association. Apparently she loves “all kinds of writers”, except the ones who claim to be professionals when they are, in fact, hobbyists.

I call myself a professional writer. Want to know why? Because I write stuff and people pay me for it. I don’t get paid for everything I write – this blog, for example, is written for the sheer giddy hell of it. Most of my plays are written because I need to get them out of my system, in the vague hope that at some point someone would like to produce them and maybe give me some money (which sometimes happens). No-one pays me to shoot my mouth off on Facebook and Twitter, that’s just what I do for fun. But there’s all that other writing (most of which you’ll never find because it’s not under my name) that serves to keep the HellCat in Felix.

However, my criterion is a little too unsophisticated for Ms Morton, it seems. She has provided a handy quiz with which one can establish whether one is or is not a professional writer. The aim is to answer “yes” to all of these, but you can just about squeak by with a score of 80%. Score less than that and you are nothing but a “hobbyist”.

Let’s do this thing!
1. Is your home/work place messy because that time you’d put into cleaning it is better spent writing?

I’m a chaotic, messy person and I hate cleaning. The time I would put into cleaning is better spent doing anything else. So I suppose my answer is technically “yes”, but I don’t think it’s what Ms Morton meant.

2. Do you routinely turn down evenings out with friends because you need to be home writing instead?

No, I routinely turn down evenings out with friends because I’m feeling antisocial and don’t feel like leaving the house. Deadlines are a great cover story, though.

3. Do you turn off the television in order to write?

Hahaha no. The TV (or music) keeps me company while I write. Please don’t leave me alone with the characters in my head.

4. Would you rather receive useful criticism than praise?

This is a silly question. On the one hand, I know that constructive criticism is better for me and will aid my development as an artist. But I’d rather hear that my work is awesome and needs no improvement (it would be even better if it were ever true). This is like asking whether I would rather have broccoli or Jaffa Cakes. So, er… no?

5. Do you plan vacations around writing opportunites [sic] (either research or networking potential)?

Do I plan what? I went on honeymoon once, does that count? I sure as hell didn’t plan that round research or networking, so that’s a no.

6. Would you rather be chatting about the business of writing with another writer than exchanging small talk with a good friend?

When I talk to other writers we spend a lot more time talking nonsense than discussing “the business” of writing. I’ve got a ton of ghostwriting anecdotes that I dine out on (a handful of them are even true), but they work better on a non-writing audience. So… no.

7. Have you ever taken a day job that paid less money because it would give you more time/energy/material to write?

Ghostwriting is my day job. I’m also a tour guide, but that’s my second job and I do it because it forces me to unchain myself from the keyboard from time to time, brings in a wee bit of extra cash and ghost stories are fun. So no.

8. Are you willing to give up the nice home you know you could have if you devoted that time you spend writing to a more lucrative career?

We’ve got a lovely home, thanks. So no.

9. Have you done all these things for at least five years?

Some of them yes, some of them no. I haven’t been paying my bills with writing for that long.

10. Are you willing to live knowing that you will likely never meet your ambitions, but you hold to those ambitions nonetheless?

I specialise in clinging to ambitions that are completely impossible to realise. It’s part of being emotionally masochistic. I don’t know whether it’s anything to do with being a writer. I think it’s just about being a little bit melodramatic. So yes, but again, not really in the sense that Ms Morton seems to mean.

 

So here’s my score:

YES: 2 and a half. 

NO: 7 and a half. 

RESULT: Hobbyist! 

 

Ah well. That’s me told. But you know what? I think I’m just going to go right on letting people pay me to write for them and see how long I can keep it up for. I’ll start by writing my latest reviews (unpaid) and the outline for the next novel (paid) while I watch Quantum Leap and wonder how many manuscripts written by “professionals” who could get 10/10 on this quiz have been given to me and my fellow “hobbyist” ghosts to rewrite…

 

P.S. My hobby is not actually gardening, but well done if you placed the line. 


Being the Squeaky Wheel

I’m not going to assume that everyone knows the expression “the squeaky wheel gets  the grease”, since I actually got through the first 20 years of my life without encountering it. It’s a phrase used to encapsulate the idea that the people who make the most noise are the ones who get what they want.

This idea is completely opposed to what I was taught growing up. Over and over again I was told that you don’t get what you want by shouting or demanding or even just being politely explicit. You get what you want by working for it quietly (and methodically, which was the bit I always struggled with) and if what you do has sufficient merit you will get what you want. You don’t kick up a fuss about why you’re more deserving than anyone who might want the same thing, you just trust that if you’ve done what you need to do, you’ll get out what you put in.

Realising that life is not like that has been an ongoing process for the past 30 years, but it’s such a deeply-held belief of mine that I feel I am constantly locking horns with life because of it. Surely life should be like that? It should be possible? I can’t quite let go of that idea, even though I’ve been shown time and again that life actually favours the squeaky wheels. (Surely when you can see clearly that something you believe is wrong it should be possible to discard or even just adjust that belief? That would be the rational thing to do, and I get very frustrated when I can see the rational path before me and can’t allow myself to take it. I also get frustrated that I can never type the word ‘frustrated’ accurately on the first attempt.)

I see it to a certain extent in my professional life, but it’s a necessary evil there. It really isn’t enough for a writer, director or actor simply to do their work well and honestly and hope their merits will be recognised, because there are countless others out there who are just as meritorious and there aren’t enough opportunities to go round. In addition to having merit, you must also be good at publicising yourself (unless you’re born very well-connected or you get a particularly lucky break, in which case count your blessings). It’s a pretty common frustration, since few of us seem to like doing self-publicity and everyone seems to think that everyone else is better at it than they are.

However, at the moment it’s more of an issue in my domestic life than my professional one. I dread things going wrong around the house, because if it’s anything that necessitates dealing with insurance companies I know I’m going to have to be the squeaky wheel. Yesterday, while I was still in my pyjamas and considering going back to bed with a splitting headache, our downstairs neighbour came to let us know that there was a leak from our flat coming through his ceiling. A bit of searching revealed that the leak was coming from our combi boiler. We have insurance through Shield, so I called them and asked for an engineer.

Getting on for 5pm, I called again to ask where the engineer was. I know they have call-outs until 11pm, but I’ve also been through this often enough to know that if you don’t have the engineer on site before 6pm your chances of getting things fixed that day decrease considerably. I’m also still in a bad mood with Shield since the engineer they sent out to do a routine service last November told us we had a carbon monoxide leak and left us without heat or hot water for three days, only for a second engineer to come out to finish the job and tell us that there hadn’t actually been a leak in the first place and that the first engineer had misread his monitor. At least this time we can see there’s a leak, but I’m still not thrilled by having our heating and hot water cut off in January. I have spinal problems that cause me a lot of muscle tension and I rely on hot water to keep the pain under control, so the cold water thing gets old fast.

So the engineer comes out, does his thing, says that he has to order parts and will be back in the morning. He orders all the parts he could possibly need. His supervisor refuses to authorise the more expensive parts. I make it clear that I am not going to be happy if those turn out to be the parts we needed. This morning comes. No engineer. I phone up to find out what is happening. I’m told that the job isn’t booked in for today but they’ll try and get someone out this evening.

This is the difficult bit. On the one hand, this is completely unacceptable. We pay for this insurance – by the logic I grew up with, we have quietly and regularly fulfilled our end of the bargain. What should happen next is that Shield fulfils theirs, quickly and with minimum fuss, and this should require no more from me than calling the problem in. We certainly shouldn’t be facing another indefinite period without heat a mere two months after the last time, especially as the boiler was fine until we had it serviced and has been nothing but trouble ever since. Since I am obviously going to have to be the squeaky wheel, I would prefer not to do do it by halves. A nuclear loss of temper would be really, really satisfying.

On the other hand, I’m on the phone to some poor girl who is not being paid enough to deal with me raging at her. It is also not her fault. She’s just telling me what comes up on her screen. Losing my temper with her would hardly be fair. But what she is telling me is that this problem cannot be resolved quickly and without us spending days huddled round the halogen heater, and as long as I remain calm this is what she continues to tell me. Honey is not working. It is only when I become somewhat vinegary that she agrees to put me through to her manager. When I speak to the manager my tone is emphatic, not impolite but obviously angry. Suddenly it becomes possible to get an engineer out today.

By 16.30 we had heating and hot water again. I’m pleased about that. However, we only have it because I got angry and won an argument. I’m quite good at winning these arguments, but I don’t like myself afterwards. Getting angry is a loss of control and I’m not a fan of those. I’m not sure to what extent my frustration grows from disappointment in myself for letting myself give in to the rage and to what extent it comes from having to do this in order to obtain a service I’ve already paid for. If I hadn’t argued so vehemently we would still be waiting for the initial appointment, never mind having the boiler fixed. The squeaky wheel did indeed get the grease – but damn it, it shouldn’t be this way and I don’t know how to let go of that. Perhaps more on that way of thinking in a future post. Perhaps not. We’ll see. I’m exhausted and drained and not committing myself to anything I might later regret…

At least I can say this much – as miserable as the experience was, it was a hell of a lot easier going through it with my husband than on my own. We raged together, then later we laughed together and rejoiced in being able to have showers and baths again. Now we’re blowing off a bit of steam, in his case killing video game monsters and in my case telling the interwebs all about it. Time for tea, chocolate brownies and then bed, in the hope that tomorrow will be better than the last two days. This particular wheel has done enough squeaking for now.