the unemployed writer

Unemployed writer

I’m an unemployed writer. Oh, yes, I write, but nothing goes anywhere except to my own self-published blogs. I really need to break into the business and become a successful writer. I don’t need to get paid. I want the satisfaction that comes from producing something that others think is worthy of distribution.  If I start getting some stuff out there, whether it is at online publications, or in local newspapers, I will find the encouragement needed to keep going.  Then, maybe we’ll get around to thinking about payment, and then the best seller, and the notoriety, yada, yada, yada.

At some point in my life—I want to support myself while living off the grid.  I want to buy some property somewhere and live without ties to the outside world.  The best way to do this, it seems, is to write. A writer doesn’t need to be in class, doesn’t need to have clean clothes, doesn’t need to be in one particular spot. A writer can take trips to Russia or to Macedonia or whenever the spirit moves him.

Someone else told me that I ought to write a book of stories about where I’ve been.  They said that Kurt Vonnegut did it. There are all kinds of writings out there. I guess I just need to find the place, and send the stuff. I don’t care how many refusals I receive. I will keep sending them. I am taking this course so that I might find out how to get my shit out there.

For quite some years in my life, I wanted to write a book about my dad. At one point, I sent several questions to him, asking about details of the farm, his actions, etc.  He was not a very willing subject for this book.  He was a private man who didn’t like to see himself as the center of attention, or even as an object of interest.  He liked to live in the background. 

A couple years ago, a group that produces videos as memories for older generations asked if we wanted to do something.  His sister and sister-in-law created a video and book about their lives.  My dad chose not to participate because he knew that I was trying to do the same thing. It was a bit costly, but certainly nothing when if one knew the amount that Dad had in his bank account. I guess he just wanted to show his support for me.  He knew I liked to write and he wanted to show me that he had faith that I could do something.  Well, he died this August.  His sister died in January, and a week later, his brother’s wife died.  That leaves no one from that generation of our family still living. 

In 2005, I made a video of both Mom and Dad. I sat them down in front of my brother’s video camera and I asked them questions. We have about 2 hours of film. These interviews are terrific, but I would have liked to do more.  Dad was a wonderful interview subject.  He answered all my questions with candor and completeness.