November 14: Something Else, Jobs, Piece of Mind

"Stop swearing.  All right, name something else.  Name something you'd like to be.  Like a scientist.  Or a lawyer or something."

Phoebe's trying to force Holden to think about growing up.  She wants him to name something he wants to be when he grows up.  It's a question everyone has to answer eventually.  Kids have pretty standard responses to it:  a police officer, a firefighter, the President of the United States, the Headmaster at Hogwarts.  When you're young, anything seems possible.

When I was Holden's age, I wanted to be a writer.  Now that I'm (censored) years old, I still want to be a writer.  It's been my life-long dream.  I want to go to a library or bookstore and see my books on the shelves.  I want people to read and care about what I say.  That's why I write this blog.  To connect through language with people I don't know, to find what's universal in me and my life.

Of course, I am a published poet.  I have written/published a book.  I'm the senior poetry editor at a prestigious literary magazine.  In some ways, I've accomplished my life goal.  I am a writer.

However, I'm also a part-time medical records clerk, church organist, and college professor.  When I dreamed about being a writer as a ten-year-old, I didn't envision any of these other jobs.  I was going to be William Faulkner (without the alcoholism) or Robert Frost (without the chickens) or Stephen King (without the bad beard and haircut).


It turns out all of those guys did have other jobs.  Frost and King were school teachers.  Faulkner tried his hand at being a postmaster.  That's reality.  That's the difference between having a dream and accomplishing that dream.  You have to read the dream fine print, and it goes something like this:

You may have to work two or three or four other jobs, all with shitty salaries.  You may also alienate your wife and kids, miss family get-togethers.  Out of all the stories or poems or novels you write, only one or two will actually be published.  If you're lucky.  Or you may never get a single word in print, and you will die a frustrated, bitter person.

That pretty much sums up the whole job description for a writer.  Part-time work, low wages, and zero recognition.  I could never resist such an irresistible job description.

And that's a piece of Saint Marty's mind.

 

This guy's working on his first novel