Of course, very few writers are able to write full-time. Most combine their writing with other, often better paid, work. Some are able to take employment that chimes with and complements the writing life: lecturing and teaching creative writing, copywriting, editorial services, working in bookshops (or even running one, in the case of Evie Wyld).
For the emerging writer, or the complete novice – the writer putting the finishing touches to her query letter to agents, the writer sending off his competition entry with crossed fingers – writing is a brain-sapping passion that happens in amongst the flotsam and jetsam of everyday life: the job(s), the household chores, the friends, the family. The thought of committing to a writing MA or jacking in the day job is not only a distant dream, it’s downright impossible.
Philip Larkin was well known for his employment at a library. (Image Creative Commons, but credited to Quite Adept)
Penned in the margins
But my experience so far – writing two non-fiction books and preparing a collection of short stories alongside a full time, busy job in a creative agency – has been a good one. My dream position of ‘full time authoress’ is receding: even if I was to land that dream scenario of tangible, we-can-live-on-this chunky advance, I now know that I’d spend a good proportion of my time in employment of some kind.
There’s a few reasons for that: some writing-related, some personal.
Firstly, I write better when I have a deadline, a goal, an aim. If there’s a competition deadline looming, or a ticking time bomb I’ve imposed on myself – I told myself to write ten short stories by the end of 2016 – then I’m prolific. I carve out time in the most unexpected places. I get the words down at night, during my commute, while I’m doing other things. So if my writing is restricted to evenings, weekends and holidays, I look forward to it during my working day, put on my invisible out-of-office and get to it. If I had all the time in the world, I have a feeling my productivity would go out the window – quite literally, as staring out of the window in a daze seems my procrastination habit of choice, these days.
Thinking about writing is as necessary to the job as getting words down on the page, as is reading widely, and both of these things can still happen in and around my day job, for which I’m very grateful. I tend to do these things when actual physical writing can’t take place – when I’m squashed into a particularly unpleasant commuter train, for example. Working full time, and all its accoutrements, also aids writing in terms of subject matter: observations, colleague anecdotes, real life.
After all, writers solely writing about writers writing can be pretty unsatisfactory. (She says, in the formation of a blog post about writing).
Honing, skilling, developing
My working life has had a profound effect on me as a person, aside from the obvious benefits: regular salary, skills development. As an easily-anxious, often-unconfident graduate, my job of leading and managing both projects and people, and dealing with individuals, sectors and industries quite out of my knowledge range, has helped me sharpen up and assert myself. In my early thirties, I feel very different to the wavering-but-well-intentioned person I was in my early twenties. Of course, some of that is down to the ageing process and ‘finding my feet’, but much is thanks to my job.
And this impacts my writing life, too. I can lead a community writing group, I invite and give constructive criticism, I accept rejections well, I prioritise and can focus on my priorities, I can sell myself and my work.
I realise I am in the fortunate position of being in a day job I enjoy, with a passion I can pursue relatively freely outside working hours – which, of course, is not the situation enjoyed by all writers on the quest for publication. If I was to start a family, for example, I have a feeling my words would disappear out of the very window I once stared from.
But for now, I’m treasuring my situation.