My friend John, whom I recently visited in Colorado, has found one solution to the creative dilemma that all artists and writers face: How to devote yourself to your art, make a living, and not make crap.
He taught at a university for 23 years, planning all that time to use his retirement money so he could devote himself to his art. He and his wife Mary are both sculptors. Real artists. Fine artists. They don't make crap. Never have, never will.
One of my worst fears has always been that I would have to write crap to make money. You know, bestsellers. Genre mysteries or thrillers. Most of those are unbearable crap.
In my life, I have held down different kinds of day jobs: journalism, teaching, freelance PR. Over the years, I have had more than 40 jobs, last time I counted.
One of the best was being assistant manager in a country club, where I mopped the dining room floor in the morning, waited tables at lunch, and was a bartender in the evening.
I worked from 7:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. (often midnight), seven days a week. Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep, since we'd go out drinking sometimes after work. In spite of those hours, I didn't make much money. I think it was $1 an hour or maybe $1.25. My boss said, in that sincere BS way business people have, "Don't worry about your pay now. If we make money, you'll make money."
Ha. That day never came.
I had a friend who was an opera singer and worked for an insurance service, where he collected mundane information on people who had applied for policies. It was deadly dull and boring. And the pay was low.
My ex-wife, who was a ceramicist early in life and a very talented writer, once had a job cleaning glass bottles in a dairy. She wore heavy rubber gloves and had to jam heavy, slippery milk bottles down on thick brushes swirling in hot water. Sometimes the bottles would break. It was hot, steamy and horrible.
Not very creative, to say the least.
I had a talented writing student years ago who started a furniture factory. His goal was to get the business going well enough so that he could take time to write. I don't know if he ever succeeded.
Most creative people have a hell of time making a living and also making art. The opera singer was an advertising copy writer the last time I saw him. He was also a vocal coach on the side, finally making a decent living. But I don't think he was singing in the opera any more.
His ex-wife, a talented and dedicated painter, worked for an art gallery, where she kept track of the paintings, sculptures and other art work around the world, like a book keeper or librarian. A deadening job.
For me, nothing has ever really been satisfactory. All I ever wanted to do was write, creatively, honestly. And nothing else. Simple, huh? Easier said than done.
I have always loved teaching, but there is a lot of BS in education. Most school systems are not set up to help the kids learn or to help the teachers teach. They are set up for other reasons, to satisfy all kinds of legal demands that may not make sense. And to help the administrators make money. The first goal of any bureaucracy is to preserve and expand itself, like a fat man stealing your food when you aren't looking.
I always wanted to be a real writer, to create literature. No cliches. No BS. So I kept leaving whatever jobs I had, so I would have time to write.
I saved up enough money one time to take almost ten years off work to write novels. I thought I could have it both ways, write something that would appeal to a lot of people, make some money, and satisfy my literary desires.
I came close once. But near misses don't count, except, as we used to say in New York, in horse shoes, shit fights, and hand grenades.
Anyway, my friend John figured it out pretty well. He planned ahead. He spent 23 years teaching, while supporting and helping raise a family, and for the last 15 years he has been making art.
So far, so good. Good for him.
I wish I had planned it out so well.
I hope he and his wife keep at it forever.
-- Roger
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