The Writing Life

by Beth Lane

Often young aspiring writers ask me, "Beth, what's it like to be a writer? Isn't it difficult to come up with ideas? How DO you find the time?"

OK. I made that up. Nobody has ever asked me those questions.

If someone DID, however, I would be happy to answer them. (I will tell the truth this time—I swear.)

Yes, the writer's life is the glamorous, rewarding and profitable existence you imagine it to be. At least I imagine it is. I'll let you know if I ever find out.

Oh, it may appear to be nothing but a whirlwind of talk shows, book signings and stalker fans but it is also a life of deep commitment and personal sacrifice.

Sacrifice you ask? Am I speaking of the blood and sweat? The baring of one's soul to be placed on public display, open to the scrutiny of the masses?

Nah.

I'm talking about REAL sacrifice.

"What does she mean?" you are asking yourselves. Ok. Maybe you're not, but I'm going to explain anyway if you will kindly stop interrupting me.

I'm speaking of the kind of commitment to your craft that leads you to spend endless hours alone, developing a severe case of "computer neck" and "mouse shoulder", listening to talk radio and drinking infinite cups of coffee.

I'm talking about having the guts—NO, THE MOXEY—to take the final step that will propel you past the mere "dabblers" into the world of the serious artist.

Give up your clothes.

No, I'm not talking nudist, try to stick with me folks.

They say Einstein had seven of the exact same suits in order to keep his brilliant mind free of mundane tasks such as having to decide what to wear in the morning. We're working with the same principle here.

In order to become a writer of great caliber, sitting in front of your computer all day in flannel pants and a T-shirt is not an option. It's MANDATORY. The bathrobe is optional depending on temperature and weather conditions, but the pajamas are absolutely essential.

This is where the sacrifice comes in.

Even a high-powered writer has a life beyond the muse, however limited it may be. The writer soon discovers that no matter how rich or famous you become, you still need to go to the DMV.

Only a true artist is willing to show up at the bank, their child's parent teacher conferences and even cub scout pack meetings, in the proud uniform of the professional writer.

To become a "real" writer you must be prepared to spend years answering the question: "Do you have the flu or something?" So be proud. Be strong. Puff out your chest, stand up tall and loudly declare to the world, "I am not a bag lady. I AM A WRITER!"

Eventually people will stop asking and you can get back to enjoying the "writing lifestyle" you have come to accept as your, er, Destiny.

And remember future writers, it is NOT illegal to drive while wearing bunny slippers.

I checked.

Copyright © Beth Lane 2003