ON BEING A WRITER AND EARNING ENOUGH DOUGH TO KEEP MYSELF ALIVE
from butch dalisay's blog:
"There are actually many jobs for writers out there—our bulletin board at the department is peppered with wanted ads—but they require technical rather than creative writers, and it takes a certain mindset (not to mention a skills set) to switch between the two. Time was when creative writers thought of themselves as God’s own children, when even journalism was looked down upon as an unworthy alternative. Nothing burns me up more than this attitude; having worked myself as a journalist for the pre-martial law Herald and Taliba, and as an occasional contributor to and editor for newsmagazines, I value the discipline, the commitment, and the attention to detail that journalism demands of the writer. I remind my students that they have only to look to Nick Joaquin for the finest example of a writer who saw no contradiction and only complementation between creative writing and journalism (which he, echoing Matthew Arnold, called “literature in a hurry”).
Sadly if curiously, the transition from one mode to the other isn’t an easy one to make. While creative writers used to producing one short story or a handful of poems a year may find the journalist’s daily deadlines punishing, journalists—those whom I’ve had as students in graduate class—typically find it difficult to switch off their “fact” buttons and let the logic of plot and character—not “what really happened”—drive the narrative. I may advise them in that case to specialize in creative nonfiction, something of a hybrid between journalistic reportage and the personal essay, but even then some journalists still find it difficult to insinuate themselves as characters into the unfolding story.
There’s just as much resistance in some young creative writers to the idea of writing for money—or rather, let me qualify that: not to money itself, which everyone needs to pay the bills and buy the iPod, but to compromising one’s cherished beliefs to sell a bar of soap or that hardest of sells, a politician. My response to these anguished cries is a form of tough love (and an old cliché): if you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen. Advertising and PR (whether corporate or government) require a strong constitution and a stomach made of boilerplate steel..."
and that, my friends, is the reason why i can't write fiction anymore. 1) it's hard to switch off my "journalistic" writing mode; and 2) fiction writing saps the spirit out of me because i have to dig deeper for emotions. EMOTIONS. in writing news articles 4 times daily, i have to be "emotionless" to temper the tone or balance my writing...thus i've become numb.
it has been two years since i wrote a short story, my entry for the palanca awards. obviously it was not chosen as among the best that year.
"...There’s just as much resistance in some young creative writers to the idea of writing for money..."
AND that notion is held by spoiled rich artistes and who have not experienced what is like to be in the real world.
"Advertising and PR (whether corporate or government) require a strong constitution and a stomach made of boilerplate steel..."
AMEN to that. been a ghost writer for a politician (and that i remained a ghost for this politician for quite a while) to help out Other Half and i had been a writer for a government office also -- all i can say is it's really hard but what can i do? it brings food on the table.
it's hard to be an english language writer in this country where only a small portion of the population can buy books for leisure. you will not be able to lead a comfortable life for yourself (lang ha. wala pang pamilya yan) if you rely solely on your creative writing pursuits for a living.
actually being a writer is a blessing and a curse at the same time. writing can free you since you can express whatever crap you have inside. one time my mother told me she envied me because i could put into words whatever thought and emotions i have bottled up inside.
it's a curse because being a writer means having this eternal inexplicable hunger deep inside that gnaws at your very soul if you choose another road where the grass is greener.
and these thoughts do enter my head once a week when the battles inside my head rage on whether or not i would or could stay in this business for another one and a half years.
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