There is something therapeutic about a doctor’s office, in any form. Sitting in the waiting room of the career service office today, I thought about what I wanted to be when I grow up. Later, in the doctor’s office, we finally pinpointed the source of my injury—The problem wasn’t that I didn’t know what I wanted to be. The problem was that I didn’t want to acknowledge what I want to be. The only sure fire thing I knew I want to do in five years is to write.
“But there is no shame in being the starving writer.” The doctor consoles me. “Some people think you’re not a writer unless you are published, but the truth is, and every writer will confirm this, the writer is the one who writes.” She says. “Treat writing like a job. Your job is to write. Your job is to write for a minimum of two hours every day.” She says.
Such odd advice for a career counselor. I was expecting to hear how to get a job working for some company that will pay the bills. But she is right, because in reality, that is the short term. Paying the bills: that is where all writers begin. The true job, the true career, however, is writing. I remember R.L. Stein saying the same thing: Write like it’s a job. Same time, every day, don’t be late or you’re fired.
Few modern writers I know of write for the bills. Some literature may pay the bills, Harry Potter, but these are rarely the end-goal. I am glad. It is a sign that today’s literature comes from the heart, baked in sweat and tears over the author’s nightly desk. It is crafted with drooping eyes and aching fingers. In theory, this should ensure the greatest quality of literature. In theory it ensures that only the best is created by and worth that amount of sacrifice. While the degree and the money and some sort of certificate helps, the true professional writer is he who writes for a living.
