Making a living as an artist.

It's my belief that every artist faces a moment where they have to decide whether to go all in, or take a step back. I'd posit that that moment occurs sometime around the age of 30, give or take a couple of years. Old enough and mature enough to understand the consequences, and to have some experience in the real world.

At least, that's what happened to me. At 32, I was faced with the choice of buying Pegasus Books or to continue to work as a landscaper/writer. That is, mow lawns and construct stories in my head while doing so, or spend 8 hours a day behind a store counter with zero creative energy leftover. 

I had a mentor in town who was well established and respected in his field, but he lived very modestly, and it was my feeling that for many years, his wife had been the main breadwinner for the family. I also knew a couple of artists in their 40's who were just scrimping by.

What happens if you reach 50 and have had no financial success? It seems a little late to start a new career. (I'm old enough now to think you could do that, but I didn't feel that way at 32.) I did some research on what writers really earn--not the myth--and it was alarming. 

See, I'd thought all I needed to do what get books published. I had my first three books published by a mass market national publisher, got myself an agent, and then hit a wall. Then I went to Ore-con and came away with the feeling that nobody cared. The attitude seemed to be "If I haven't heard of you, you can't possibly be any good."

I slammed up against the reality of writing. 

I bought the store. Admittedly, I thought I'd be able to write in my spare time. The image of sitting behind the counter and writing stories turned out to be figment of my imagination. At the same time, though, owning the store required some real creativity--creativity that was immediately rewarded, unlike my novels which took years (at the time) to reach fruition. I used to call sending off my manuscripts, "Sending them into the void."

Looking back at it, I think that if I'd had the maturity and experience as a 60 year old when I was 30 years old, I might have had a shot. But the truth was, I was mired in some very bad habits and I think I would have flailed around for years. I realize now that I don't have the best commercial instincts, and I'm abysmal at networking. But I'm also damned persistent and perhaps that would have won out.

Instead, I struggled with the store for 20 years, found my footing after another 10 years, and finally freed myself enough to start writing fulltime again at the age of 60. To my great surprise, I had enormous reserves of creative energy, and I was freed from the worry of trying to make a living at it. 

So that worked out very well for me. I got my creative itch scratched.

I've backed off a little. The reality of writing has never really left my consciousness, but I accepted that going in and I'm very grateful for whatever progress I've made. Like I said, if I could have brought what I currently know to my 30 year old self, there might have been a chance.

But I'm glad now that I didn't put myself through that. The store always had the potential to earn me a living--and that I struggled was my own fault--but in the end, it appears to have done what was needed. 

Writing? Frankly, I shudder to think about it.