So, recently they published my salary in the newspaper. They did this, I guess, so that, in the interest of transparency, all of the citizens of New Mexico can know my name and later check to be sure that I am giving them their due, since they are currently shelling out $10,588 a year for my labor as a reading instructional assistant. I won't say a whole lot more about that. I could, but I won't.
My husband works for local government. In all honesty, we are both lucky to have stable work and live in a great community. Also, I truly love my job. It gives me something I am accountable for–somewhere I am known as a reliable, competent person and it makes me feel happy and worthwhile. I enjoy the kids I work with, and I go to sleep every night knowing that I make a difference. It's better than crack, actually. Well, truth be told, I have never used crack, but I am supposing it's better.
Truly, Mike and I are blessed in many, many ways. However, we have crappy stuff.
Truly, Mike and I are blessed in many, many ways. However, we have crappy stuff.
Our thirteen year-old minivan has a big stupid crack across the windshield that was caused by one tiny pebble many years ago. We have never shelled out the $300 to replace it. Things have been falling off of the van for years–weather stripping, the passenger side visor, various knobs. The side mirror is cracked and we stuck a new mirror with an adhesive back on top of the old, cracked one. The heating and cooling system periodically makes so much noise that it sounds as if a dead body is rattling around in the dash. One has to decide how important it really is to be cool, when weighed against the assault on one's senses. Our small house is filled with areas of duct tape over glass, chipped porcelain, uncovered insulation, and un-patched sheet rock. Our carpet looks like it has been used to wipe down a muddy pig, which is not too far from the truth. We are the people of the broken things.
Because of all this, I would not necessarily be opposed to making money for some of the fifteen to twenty hours a week I spend writing, even though I also do this because I love it and I want to. Consequently, I realize I should submit some of my writing for publication. This, however, is a bit overwhelming to someone as mentally scattered as myself. Below are some thoughts I wrote on this earlier this month to my friend Tangled Lou:
I was looking through Writer's Market this A.M, trying to find a target for either a re-worked version of my What is not Simple piece or a piece on the decision to home school, explored from a personal, non-polarizing angle, and what I find is that mostly the expectation if you are a writer is that you should work your ass off for free, carefully acquaint yourself with each publication's last six months of offerings, and do everything but offer blow jobs for the privilege of being published. Of course, I will happily follow all of these rules and submit my blood, sweat and tear-covered writing for rejection, in the faint hope that someone will publish it, so that I can say to myself, with conviction the words: "I am a writer."
I will keep trying. One of you probably needs to sponsor me, perhaps call me every day and give me specific task items that I can complete in this area. Right now, Submitting Written Work lives in the category of Things That Fill Me With Terror, along with Blog Design, Blog Promotion and Networking. So, I think I need to keep thinking of other things that might make me some money. What I'd really like is to be discovered in a "Wow! You're great. Let me pay you lots of money to do just what you're doing!" sort of way, but I fear this may never happen.
I would be willing to run ads, if I liked the ads. I hate paper towels, so I don't want them on my site. I also don't like packaged snacks or disposable diapers. I would be willing to advertise treatment facilities of good repute or wildlife centers or progressive think tanks. And these are always looking to run ads on small blogs with a monthly readership just under 3,000 page views a month, so I'm pretty much just waiting on a call there. I wouldn't mind running ads for other bloggers, artists, wonderful non-profits...
In fact, during this thought process, I have gotten so inspired in realizing that I could use my blog as a pulpit to promote the people and organizations I care about, that I am all ready to offer ad space for free as a public service...and this is why I suck running a business. If I was a hooker, I'd probably just start giving away sex to poor homeless guys who couldn't afford it on general principle. I'm that good at this.
I think I'll just go back to my socialist phonemic awareness curriculum. In the meantime, please send checks. Make them out to "Hopelessly Deluded Ninny."
I completely feel your pain. I have actually BEEN published somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty times (no blow jobs necessary, though I might have gotten better paychecks had I given them--or so I hope), but I haven't submitted anything in so long I feel like I'm starting from scratch and it seems OVERWHELMING.
ReplyDeleteOn a side note--are you familiar with Brain, Child magazine? It's worth checking out--as a market AND as a great read. It's quarterly so six months of issues is only two. ;)
MM - you are my writing mentor (whether you realize it or not) and I am a teeny bit comforted to know that you are finding this overwhelming, too. We should compare notes sometime. I think my scatter shot method of submission is not the soundest tactic.
DeleteI read Brain, Child way back when it was new. I think it was new. I loved it. That will be first on my list. Thanks for the inspiration. :)
DeleteThis is why I'm a socialist, Tara. Dying laughing. Bad hooker, no tricks!
ReplyDeleteI guess, from now on, when somebody accuses me of being a socialist, I should just say "Guilty." I basically feel that I should do what I am good at and what I can to help others and that, in return, I should get to replace my windshield without giving up groceries. I think that is written into the Communist Manifesto.
DeleteI think you're right. It's right after the section about how I should be able to make just enough to drink really good coffee and not that swill that comes in a jumbo can.
DeleteNice post. As someone interested in words, I thought you might like to look into the word play in cryptic crosswords (if you aren't already into them). I have been doing a series of posts about cryptic clues and how to solve them. This is the first one in the series:
ReplyDeletehttp://caroleschatter.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/cryptic-crosswords-solving-hints-1.html
Enjoy.
Thanks much. My mom, who is the crossword lover, will dig this.
DeleteGo for it - do whatever you can, throw your net wide - you'll catch something.
ReplyDeleteI think that implies I should actually submit something, Julie. If you send me your address, I could start by mailing stuff to you and you could tape it up in your windows. Voila! Published.
DeleteThis just about summed up my entire existence. I really wonder sometimes if my blog will be the equivalent of the 1940's starlet discovered by Mr. Big Shot as it sits at the malt shop sipping a cherry soda.
ReplyDeleteThat's my plan, your plan and everyone's else's plan, cherry soda and all. But sometimes I wonder why Mr. Big Shot is going to pay me to do anything since I keep filling up the internet with writing for free. I think the smartest bloggers may have the financial hopes pinned on something else? ;)
DeleteI do adore you. I wrote some free stuff in the very beginning--a few guest columns for a good sized family of community newspapers. I got lucky in that reader response was really good and I was offered a regular spot. That went from once a week to a daily and the paper grew to cover over 20 suburbs. I was gloriously happy. Then the paper folded. Just. Like. That. Had blowjobs been an option to keep it up and running...
ReplyDeleteNo, that's just wrong. Right?
Wow! Now you are even MORE my hero than you already were, which is saying a lot! For two or three years, I got paid five cents a word to write a community column about my town for a local paper in California. People liked it, but no one offered me a Pulitzer. (?) I quit because I was overwhelmed and wanted to stop attending community meetings. I am a genius at strategy. Now I don't want to write for my local paper because my town and I have nothing in common. Pi Day is a THING here. Pi. Day. Like 3.14$%#...With pirates. WHATEVER.
DeleteIt seems everyone is in the same boat here. Too bad we are so scattered otherwise we could do something together, pooling our talents and resources. I think part of my issue with trying to 'be a writer' is relinquishing control. If you KNOW what you've written is good, why do we need someone else's approval? Lovely post that got me thinking...
ReplyDelete" Too bad we are so scattered otherwise we could do something together, pooling our talents and resources."...like a WRITER'S COMMUNE! I'm so there. Alas, how long do you think it would take us before we all got peevish wanting to get away from the social hub-bub and write? I wonder–would we start fighting over the good material? For instance, if the commune cat did one funny thing at the group breakfast would we all look at each other and say: "That's MINE." Control, indeed. :)
DeleteYour blog is brilliant, on good days! You have a book- a diary. If you haven't go back to day one and save all the best bits, or all of it if you have time, onto paper, stone, USB sticks, rubbing sticks, pick up sticks, under fridge magnets, etc. etc. Then when you need the money for a new van, or a duck doctor you have a near ready made book. There are millions of blogs, but only one Faith in Ambiguity. I'm sure others have told you this, but then you don't actually listen to everyone- do you.
ReplyDeleteThat's pretty high praise coming from you, Richard. I'm sort of blushing. I haven't done that. Sounds like a nice summer break project for me, actually. I especially like the idea of using under fridge magnets for this purpose. Just one thing–what makes you think I don't listen to everyone? ;) Strange to be pegged by people I have never even met...
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