dueling voices inside my head or are all writers delusional or is it just me?

I'm having a writer's moment of panic.  Last night I began listening to the dueling voices inside my head. 

On one hand you have the MUSE - much like a mother, she is patient and wise and she inspires me and tells me she loves me and that I am brilliant and that I have much to say. 

On the other hand, you have the CRITIC who sounds an awful lot like American Idol's Simon Cowell.  No matter what I write he's always there sneering:  "That was terrible" or "So what?  It was just okay."

Why are my voices dueling it out?  Well, another year has passed and it's time once again to meet the tax man and show him what I have accomplished in the past year.

The TAX MAN by the way is crueler than even Simon. All the tax man sees is money. He could give a sh*t about art or inspiration.

Last year, he looked over my so-called freelance writing expenses and said bluntly, "You know, you can only claim these for two years without showing any income, and then it's just a hobby." An effing hobby - that's what my accountant, and the tax man, and the government call what I do - the unpaid work of full-time mothering and caretaking and the part-time work of writing/publishing/filmmaking. They snicker when they look at my income statements.

Still, they don't know the panic I feel when another yearly social security statement comes in the mail and I realize that I'm basically piss broke, should my husband ever decide that I am expendable. They don't know how uncertain I am about the path I've chosen and how every now and then I'd just like some positive feedback or public acknowledgement to keep me going.

I want to be a writer. I mean, I am a writer. Not that it means much to the rest of the world who judges things of value based on how much capital you can accrue in a capitalist society. The laughable part of it all is that I probably put in about 60 hours of work a week to my art, to my writing, so it isn't from lack of trying. I'm not some slacker who expects the world to realize my brilliancy. I am working my fanny off, doing the work that I feel will help me get to that next level.

So what is it I want? I want to make a living as a writer!! I want to stop being in a constant struggle between my need to write and my need to make money (to prove that I'm not a loser/slacker/delusional human being).

And there are some days that I feel I am so on track. I'm in the zone and I'm doing the work, enjoying it, and even getting decent feedback. And other days that I feel that after committing two full years to just me and my work that I haven't made a dent in the bigger world. I'm not a big fish in a small pond -- I'm a guppy in a glass of water. I have about 100 people who know I exist and actually read my work.

Which means, that I am no one. I will never ever make it to the big leagues where the big girls get to write and everybody listens. After two years of sending out queries, I realize that breaking into the women/parenting writer's market is tougher than trying to give birth to ten-pound triplets all at the same exact time (not that I've ever tried that). I read magazine articles and I think, "I like this essay, but my stuff is on par with this." I have no illusions of being the next Erma Bombeck or the next J.K. Rowlings or the next anyone.

But I do think my stuff is pretty good. I just don't know the way to market myself or get others to read what I have to say. I've done all the querying, but magazine editors seem frightened to take a chance on anything edgy or different. They also seem to use the same three writers over and over again which has me asking myself, "Who the hell do you have to bonk to get an article published?"

It's not that I need or want to be in Redbook Magazine. But they actually pay decent wages for articles so yeah, it would be nice to be able to make a living writing what appears to be fairly straightforward prose, and not brain surgery.

The funny thing is that after becoming a mother I juggled my dreams and priorities and thought to myself that taking Hollywood by storm probably wasn't going to happen anytime soon. So I began focusing my creative energies writing short essays, thinking that I could make a living doing it.

Turns out, that for whatever reason, it would be easier to get a meeting with Steven Spielberg of Dreamworks (actually Steve if you're reading this I'm free for lunch next Tuesday) than to get my local weekly free paper to take a chance on me and give me a regular column. Basically, in the last two years I've made more progress in my screenwriting and independent filmmaking than in my regular "this is what is going to support me" type of writing.

So looking ahead, I may have to make a choice and possibly let go of my dreams of being published alongside the great magazine contributors like Patti Davis, Pamela Anderson Lee, Dr. Sears, and Miss Manners. I'm not feeling the love coming my way. My ego is bruised. My fingers are tired from typing. I have come to accept that I will probably never see my name in Vanity Fair, although I am inspired by the fact that writer Domenick Dunne didn't become a well-respected, well-known writer and Vanity Fair contributor until he was middle-aged (and that was after a battle with drug addiction and suffering through some rather horrible family tragedies).

I know ultimately I shouldn't complain because in the end it is all about the writing and whether or not I have an audience of 2 million or 2, I approach the work the same way. It shouldn't matter how many people I think are reading my work. And yet, of course, it does.

Some days I wish for a real-life Simon Cowell to just give it to me straight and let me know that I am a talentless fraud who should just crawl back into her bed and keep her big trap closed.

Perhaps that would be a good "reality show." 200 wannabe writers could be plucked from all of America to compete for a column in The New York Times. Each week the writers would be given a topic, a 900 word limit, and two hours to compose a provocative essay. Then each contestant would be called on stage to read aloud their essay. The judges would stop them mid-essay and brutally critique their grammar, punctuation, and lack of logical or original argument. The writers would be publically humiliated and shamed - and yet at least they'd have their 15 minutes of fame.

And we'd learn once and for all who really has what it takes to make it as a writer.

Comments

[Helene]

Me! Me! I'd want to participate in that reality series. Unfortunately with my crappy spelling, I'd be eliminated before the first round :) Good luck with the Tax man and keep writing - you do it well.

[Jo]

Persistence.

I admire what you do. Continue!

[Debbie]

I WAS a columnist at the Times and then one day they decided to give the column to someone else. I went on to write a novel, but still felt a loss - both of income and prestige. I started blogging as a way of getting my readers back. Having a hundred dedicated readers isn't such a bad thing.

I'm a little older than you and I have some good news: when your kids get a little bigger, you'll have more time. Your kids will start sleeping later than you do. You'll be able to pursue money and your dreams. You'll be able to spend a Saturday morning working on your novel...or movie.

Anyway, Google doesn't think you're a nobody. They give Mom and Pop Culture a page ranking of 3. I'm a 0.

[Debbie]

PS - I like your new logo.

[Kelly]

I hear you. It's so tough out here, seems like 10,000 people are begging for the same 6" column space. Wish I had an answer, but know that you're in good company.

[Libby]

Hey, can I be in your reality tv show as well? I'm about to face up to the same thing--the freelance writing "hobby" thing--and it just sucks. I spend money on it, I spend time on it, and I even make (some small) money at it, but in the end it's a hobby. And yet it's the thing--besides human relationships--that means the most to me at the end of the day.

[Eve]

I WANT ON THAT REALITY SHOW!

Hang in there, baby. I wish I had wisdom, but can only offer comiseration.

Eve

[Julie]

You've inspired me to share a similar story about writing and insecurity. Maybe it will help someone sometime as much as your honesty in this post helped me. Thank you for writing and making your work public. You do us all a great service :)

[LittleMiss]

Yup...yup...yup...can so relate!

LittleMiss