The significance of this issue goes back to one of the scariest times in my writing career. I had
just left a second interview for an editorial position at a magazine. I knew the
role wasn't what I wanted for me; it didn't have to be written or edited as much as curated "branded content." In other words, the job was
to make the ads feel like stories. More importantly, it would have stopped me from writing elsewhere. My freelance career wasn't thriving, but I had made some progress. I had managed to present good stories, but I was rarely offered work.
I knew I'd kick myself if
I didn't see my freelance career, so I found myself removing my name from the job application in the middle of the interview. I returned to my apartment a little nervous but finally confident in the logic of my decision. Less than an hour later, I sat down to check my bank account - something
I wasn't used to in those days. I had $68 to draw
de. I don't think I have to editorialize my reaction to you; it felt exactly how you might imagine. The rent was due in 11 days. I calmly
closed my laptop, walked down the street, and bought myself a beer for a panic attack. $65.
They say failure is easier to accept when you know you've done your best. I don't know if that rings true in the moments after you turned down what could have been your plan B. For me, it hurt to know that I had tried so hard. I would put in the work. I had written every day for five years by then, between shifts serving tables or after shifts managing a food truck fleet. I never took a weekend or a vacation. I was not difficult to work with. A lot of effort had gone into it and reality seemed to suggest it was all for nothing.
Otherwise, the evidence all happens at the same time, but it started to sink in soon after. I owed money on a few bills, enough to cover my most immediate bills. Some
locations have been accepted. An editor who had recently rejected my argument contacted me
asking me to write on a different topic. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep my head above water. More importantly, I could trace it all back to
specific efforts, actions, or openings that had seemed like a waste of time afterwards. I could finally see this hard work as something other than feeling around
in the dark. I was beginning to see a foundation and I continued to build there.
Now I write about the things I want to write about for publications I've always wanted to write for.
Few careers, goals, or long-term projects come with step-by-step instructions .
You won't always see your foundation, but you can't build anything
without one. Here are some things to try:
One of the hardest things
about not being able to see your foundation is struggling with the concept of
wanting to be productive but not knowing how. It would help if every career consisted of a to-do list that neatly coincided with the ladder of success,
but that's rarely the case. The calm of not knowing if your workday is going to pay off in any tangible way can lead to throwing up your hands and giving up on productivity.
Fight that feeling by
find the productive things in your life and career that you rightfully enjoy. I love reading the work of great writers and I also know that reading good writing can make me a better writer. Obviously, writing makes me a better writer. So I don't feel guilty when I read a great story in the middle of
the day of the week. Or if I write something that is never published. Or if I exercise or meditate or do a number of things that make me feel good and resist burnout.
I almost never do anything that I don't consider productive, not because I'm hyper-ambitious or workaholic, but because I've expanded my definition of what's productive to include anything that drives me. to the things I want out of life.
You need to make good use of
your time. You need to know how to prioritize deadlines. But ultimately you need ideas to stand out. Sometimes it's good to take the most direct scenic route
. A task-oriented lifestyle buys you time to get more done, but establishing a foundation may require being OK with the possibility that what you
work today could> does not benefit you in any financial or tangible ways.
I'm still working on five
to six projects, pitching new ideas, listening to others' ideas, and
considering what seemingly "unrealistic" goal might be the most realistic and worth trying. It took years for my
foundations of drafts, emails, and experiences to reap some money, more opportunities, and more rewarding experiences. I still spend days working on
stuff that would lead nowhere, but I cast a wide net. I can't tell you know what will lead to something awesome, but the best chance is dealing with anything you could possibly be excited about working with the same energy and enthusiasm. It's not a sunk cost to me. It's just how I spend my working days.
Most of this advice comes down to trusting the process. Nowhere is this more important than with your relationships. The static nature of working towards a career leads to professional jealousy and frustration with seemingly less talented people who have opportunities ahead of you. It's good to have those feelings. You can't do anything about it. But acting on them won't get you far.
I've worked with dozens of
editors and some of those experiences weren't great. But I tried never to express my gratitude to my editors for the time and effort they put into my writing. I send congratulations emails to someone I worked with gets a promotion or support emails when they get laid off. I try to give advice to any young writer who asks for it.
Something that has helped my career immeasurably is being someone who doesn't count favors. I owe no favors to anyone and no one owes me any favors. I just try to do
right by people, and I can trace almost any opportunity to someone do right by me.
My father spent 40 years
as a curator of modern art, a job he loved and excelled at. The only career
Advice he gave me was very simple:"If you do something long enough, you'll be fine and someone will pay you." »
There was no stage in my life where I seemed like the most likely person to achieve what I wanted to achieve. I was not the best writer in my high school. I couldn't land the cool internships in college. If the career you want is popular, you will always be crowded with peers. When I was 23, there were so many 23-year-olds trying to be writers. I don't know how much better I was than that, but that wasn't really the difference. At 26, many of them had given up writing and I was still there. It might not sound romantic to say that you just need to outlast your competitors, but remember that you will improve the time you try to outlast them. I always thought my talents were overlooked, but looking back, I think the moment I finally had my opportunities coincided with the moment I was ready to handle them.
