RITA ® Award-Winning Author of Fantasy Romance
//The TWISTED MAGIC audiobook is live! Also sharing a call for authors influenced by Tanith Lee. And why I think classes teaching “plotting for pantsers” are damaging to intuitive writers, and other thoughts on process.
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This week at the SFF Seven, we’re asking about book-related income that is specifically not from book sales.
There was an asterisk to that, specifying that the question was in relation to the Authors Guild 2023 Income Survey, which I didn’t read. (I have Opinions about that survey, which I won’t go into.) But I assume the question comes from the survey dividing author income into book-related and not, and the person asking is wondering what the “not” might be. It’s a good question because I’m a firm believer that long-term success in this fickle business relies on diversifying income streams.
I actually have a line on my income spreadsheets that says “Other Writing Income,” as opposed to the “Book Sales” line. What kind of income is that?
//Defining success, tips on how not to go crazy as a creator, why I think competition is bad for us, navigating toxic positivity, why being told “no,” AKA rejection, is so very good for us, and thinking about career paths long term.
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I know you all have been waiting, so here it is! TWISTED MAGIC in audio is available on iTunes and Audible!
//A few thoughts today on marketing, newsletters, why you can be like Enya and not HAVE to do anything, why empty, supposedly “Inspirational” sayings annoy me, and some thoughts on Brotopia by Emily Chang.
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This week at the SFF Seven, we’re asking each other if our writing changed – and, if so, how?
It might seem disingenuous to say this, but yes my writing has changed: I’ve gotten better.
I mean, one would hope so!
And I realize that “better” is a nebulous descriptor, so I’ll attempt to define it. One thing about writing skill that it seems I end up telling newbies over and over is that I absolutely have gotten faster at every stage of the process. It’s like when you learn to drive a car. (And I learned on a stick shift, so there was an extra layer of learning curve there.) At first you consciously think about a hundred different aspects of the task: the brake, the accelerator, (maybe the balance between the clutch, the brake, and the accelerator, which was a real treat), steering, watching the front, the side, the rear view, reading street signs and traffic signals, and thinking several cars ahead, and remembering where you’re going… It’s a LOT to think about and overwhelming at first. But later, after you’ve been driving for years, you don’t think about all of that anymore, right? Mostly I think about where I’m going and how to best get there – and sometimes I zone out and forget even that, defaulting to familiar routes – but otherwise the rest is subconscious.
Writing is the same way! (I include revising in this.) After time and practice, you don’t have to think about the zillion details of craft, liberating your mind to focus on storytelling.
I think this is something that more experienced writers forget – how much we’ve internalized the mechanics of the process, allowing us to allocate more resources to our creative selves. This freedom allows us to try new things, write more difficult and complex stories, to test our writing chops. Maybe it’s like, to extend the analogy, learning to drive a race car or fly a plane. Going for the fancier skills is predated by learning the basics.
The thing is, I think a lot of us who grow up reading the works that inspire us (which should be all of us, really) have this idea that we can leap directly to doing THAT. Everybody loves the concept of the wunderkind, the prodigy, the creative who makes a list like “30 under 30,” as if that’s meaningful in any way. Spoiler: it’s not meaningful; it’s just unusual, which is why we’re fascinated.
So, do what I advise the writers in my mentoring Discord: take your time, learn the basics. It *will* get easier. And THEN you can deliberately choose to make it harder!
//A historical perspective today on the LKH bruhaha this week regarding self-publishing, including Gen X cane-shaking, salacious gossip, and insight into how profoundly the publishing landscape has changed in 30 years.
//Author branding for the long game, being original instead of trying to draft off of someone else’s success, authors using gimmicks to get attention, and the audacity of a woman failing to laugh at a man’s joke.
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This week at the SFF Seven we’re talking about those hobbies that take the pressure off writing.
This is relevant for more than curiosity because hobbies are key for creatives to fend off burnout. It’s interesting, because it seems like when we talk about “hobbies,” we’re already assigning whatever project it is a lesser status. A hobby is something you do on the side, for pleasure and no other reason. I’m going to add that a hobby usually doesn’t generate income (until it does). You might not even be that good at it, because if you were good at it, people would pay you, right?
We talk about hobbies in a slightly indulgent, somewhat disparaging way:
“Oh, my spouse’s hobby is woodworking, but mostly they just putter in the garage.”
or
“My spouse reads countless books. It’s a cute hobby, but an expensive one!”
See what I mean?
The thing about hobbies, though, is that they are critical to our wellbeing. They keep us sane. For creatives, hobbies refill the well, which is what we need to avoid burnout.
What happens for a lot of us making a living from our creative work – I’ll stick with writing as my example – is that what started as a hobby becomes a job. The thing we did for fun, for pressure release, simply out of love, becomes the thing we must do to pay the mortgage and keep the lights on. We lost our hobby and frequently don’t replace it. Because we’re doing what we love for work! That should be enough, right?
Spoiler: it’s not enough.
One of the most important things any creative can do is have a non-monetized creative outlet or two. AKA, hobbies. The non-monetized aspect is important, because it allows us to be creative without that feeling of needing to pay the bills or track sales or make business decisions. I met a US Poet Laureate who also painted – and very well – but had a solid rule never to sell his work. He only gave his paintings as gifts. I’ve remembered that lesson ever since.
What do I do? I confess that, in the eight years since I became a full-time, career author – as in supporting my family with my writing – I have not been super great at keeping up hobbies. I’ve burned out once, too, and come close to it a couple of other times. I’m trying to do better. What do I do?
It was instructive to make this list coming at it from the lens of a “hobby” rather than “non-monetized creativity.” I’ve been trying to implement creative things I can do, but I’m just now realizing that these other activities – even something as prosaic painting my living room (I decided to include an in-process photo), as I’m doing this weekend – also count as leisure-time, restorative activities. Theoretically, everything on my list could be monetized.
(Maybe not. Can you be paid to hike? And I will never, ever be that good at yoga! Trust me: a yoga teacher I will never be.)
Anyway, celebrate those hobbies! They aren’t silly or pointless. They’re what feeds us as human beings.
//The TWISTED MAGIC audiobook is on its way! Also thoughts on reading subjectivity, how reading a book even a few years apart can totally change, sample bias, residual impacts of the pandemic, and writing the whole book.
