there should be an inconspicuous (yet convenient) drop box somewhere that allows us to insert our brilliance. From this drop box comes a token, and with this token we go to a similarly inconspicuous (yet convenient) vending machine and from it we buy, say, a log home. Wouldn’t that be grand?
Grand as it may be, vending machines with log homes are not reality. I had some- what come to terms with this by the time I was 21. During my years in high school, I had spent many of my waking hours cartooning, doodling, and making satirical comments about my classmates and teachers. I also had the naïve dream — sibling to my dream of writing — that I could perhaps make a career out of cartooning.
So, I diligently produced a dozen comic strips (titled “Dust Puppies”) and sent copies off to the six biggest comic strip syndicates in North America.
The result was predictable. Six submissions replied to with six rejection letters.
I’m sure I still have them somewhere, perhaps lining the bottom of an underwear drawer.
It was a strange thing, receiving the rejections. I remember opening the first reply (I believe it was from King Features Syndicate), feeling anxious. Oddly, when I saw it was a rejection I was relieved. A friend of mine who majored in psychology suggested it was because I loved the idea of being a cartoonist, but didn’t really want the responsibility of earning a living from it. Looking back on that day, I think I’d have to say she was absolutely right.
There is a pervasive naivete in creative people. We’re full of verve and fire when we’re doing what we love, talking about those things that make our eyes gleam maniacally. At the same time, we brush aside the things we don’t understand, such as the business of making money. We do this because creative people are often psy- chologically similar to children. Given a choice, most of us would rather be locked away in a comfy room somewhere with all of our tools and toys, producing what we do, and oblivious to all of the paperwork and money that changes hands out- side of that room. We’d also expect some of that money to come our way, but if the businesspeople outside our comfy room, our “parents” so to speak, shoved a pizza under the door every now and then, we’d be just fine.
Consider this perspective:
“Perhaps it is the different parts of the brain or some other such dichotomy: left brain/right brain, logical/creative, math mind/artistic mind, details/big picture, new stimuli/routine. Or maybe it is that the creative part of the brain is from the
“child” within. Children learn a great deal of things that are new, are very cre- ative and artistic, and enjoy “play,” including mind or word play. Creative people are often able to be able to display those attributes, and may “specialize” in those abilities.
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“Another aspect is that creativity and coding are often solitary activities, whereas business meetings are just that, meetings. Socializing may be problematic for a variety of people for various reasons. Some people have social anxiety and just avoid all social contact. Others avoid areas where they may appear not at the top of their game. Some people have difficulty with the discipline of orderly, structured, task-oriented business sessions. Some people have trouble with math and the details of paying attention to numbers and plans.
“Many creative people are used to having the power of their own actions remain in their hands. Meetings function on consensus, or are certainly slower than individual decisions. At meetings, everyone needs to get their say, and this makes the process slow and cumbersome for a person used to quick results. The ideas of others, espe- cially those whose ideas seem not very worthwhile, can provoke impatience and boredom.
“But many creative people are just not very interested in business issues. The cre- ative mind is interested in coming up with new, unique solutions. Business and monetary considerations are fairly tried and true. Formulae are not particularly creative. Also, it may be more fun to “give forth” and express than to hoard and control and maintain. Control can be an important consideration.
“Essentially, I guess it comes down to the nature of play and the nature of work.
Creative people are often people who have found a way to make their lives more playful: coding, inventing, gaming, cartooning, discussing dreams, reading, and so forth, worrying about monetary concerns. And it does come down to worry for most of us (there are those entrepreneurs who seem to find making money a playful activity) as it is not play, it is work! Play is the realm of the child, the id, the irra- tional; business is the realm of the parent, the ego/superego, the rational. It is best when these so-called divisions are balanced and blended, but we all have our limits.”
— Dr. David Greenwald, Clinical Psychologist and Partner at Speak2docs.com This naïve outlook is what differentiates the creative amateur from the creative professional. The professional not only plies his or her talent, but also accepts the responsibility of handling all of the difficult, mundane (yet necessary) aspects of earning a living from his or her art. “Handling it” may simply involve hiring someone whom he or she trusts to do it for him or her, but any professional also keeps an eye on the job being done. If you want to make the most money you can from your work, you’d best be prepared to learn the fundamentals of the business world. That way, even if you’ve hired a business expert to maximize your earnings, you can still understand what’s going on outside of your own “comfy room.”
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This is perhaps one of the most difficult truths for aspiring creative types to face:
Earning a living (or even just a few dollars) from being creative requires effort. It isn’t always easy, and there’ll always be a task you don’t like doing that must be done. The glamour of which you dream and the romantic notions you have are usually just that: dreams and notions. Creative work is fulfilling, no question, but note that it is called creative work.
Consider this:
“[I]t’s easy to be an author, whether of fiction or nonfiction, and it’s a pleasant pro- fession. Fiction authors go about making speeches and signing books. Computer authors go to computer shows and then come home to open boxes of new equipment and software, and play with the new stuff until they tire of it. It’s nice work if you can get it.
“The problem is that no one pays you to be an author.
“To be an author, you must first be a writer; and while it’s easy to be an author, being a writer is hard work. Surprisingly, it may be only hard work; that is, while some people certainly have more talent for writing than others, everyone has some.
The good news is that nearly anyone who wants to badly enough can make some kind of living at writing. The bad news is that wanting to badly enough means being willing to devote the time and work necessary to learn the trade.
“The secret of becoming a writer is that you have to write. You have to write a lot.
You also have to finish what you write, even though no one wants it yet. If you don’t learn to finish your work, no one will ever want to see it. The biggest mistake new writers make is carrying around copies of unfinished work to inflict on their friends.
“I am sure it has been done with less, but you should be prepared to write and throw away a million words of finished material. By finished, I mean completed, done, ready to submit, and written as well as you know how at the time you wrote it. You may be ashamed of it later, but that’s another story.”
— Jerry Pournelle, co-author (and writer!) of Lucifer’s Hammer, Footfall, and a plethora of other really great science fiction novels.
Let’s assume you either don’t have this problem, or you’re willing to do those ordi- nary tasks that vex us creative types so much, sacrificing your “artistic innocence”
so that you can put bread on the table. You understand the utility and necessity of accountants, lawyers, contracts, intellectual property laws, and all of those elements without which our world would have fewer shades of grey. You have all the tools and basic skills required of a writer, illustrator, cartoonist, journalist, whatever.
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This brings us to the killer question: do you really have what it takes to be a cre- ative professional and a member of what has been labeled the “creative class”?
First, what exactly is the “creative class”?
Most people will answer that it is the sector of the populace that makes a living from their creativity. They are the professionals in the creative industries, which includes filmmaking, social commentators, writing novels, musicians, advertising, cartooning, and all of those careers that involve both creation and expression of some kind. Whether or not this group actually exists as a “class” in what we assume is supposed to be a classless society is a topic for sociologists to argue. Perhaps a more politically correct (PC) classification would be “creative professions”; for the sake of simplicity, I’ll use “creative class” to describe “the demographic that includes people who derive income by applying their creative abilities in the production of media that others might enjoy.”
I knew that I very much wanted to become a member of this professional group.
What I didn’t know was whether or not I had what it took to actually make a real go of it. I enjoy making people think and laugh, so cartooning seemed the most obvious route to follow. I learned, the hard way, that cartooning is probably the most consistently difficult form of creative expression to accomplish.
Consider this:
“[W]hat truly confounds me is how some people resent cartoonists taking a vaca- tion. But I’m assuming that those are people who know the least about cartooning.
We are the only ones in all of media whose work appears every day. If you think it’s no big deal, get out 365 sheets of paper and fill them up with new, completely original cartoons. And when you’re done with that, get out 365 more sheets. And repeat this every year for the rest of your life.”
— Wiley Miller, creator of the comic strip Non Sequitur, rec.arts.comics.strips, (June 12, 1998) Luckily for me, I didn’t read Miller’s words of wisdom before diving into the realm of cartooning. Miller is a respected, successful comic strip author syndicated by Universal Press Syndicate and the only two-category award winner in the National Cartoonists Society. He knows of what he speaks in this matter, and I’m sure I would’ve been intimidated by his description of a cartoonist’s life.
As it turns out, I discovered that I do have what it takes to be a professional car- toonist. I ended up, several years after having what was left of my ego crushed by the syndicates, publishing User Friendly online for all of my friends to read. In less than two years I went from an audience of 20 friends and associates to an audience
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of more than a million people around the world. And I did it without a syndicate’s blessings.
There remained a problem: I had a huge readership, but I wasn’t making any money. I had a full-time job, but with a very busy Web site and the demands of a daily cartoon, I found that I had little time for sleep, much less anything else. I realized at that point that I would have to do the one thing that everyone who wants to make a living on their own as a creative professional must do: take the plunge and make creating my full-time job.
(As an aside, if you have no intentions of blogging or podcasting or cartooning full-time, you’re not alone. There are millions of people who would like to just make a few dollars on the side with their creativity and perspective, enough to buy some beer or maybe the latest video card. You have a full-time job you love and your blogging alter-ego, and that’s perfectly fine. But read this section anyway, it’ll help you with assessing what you might be able to do in the future.)
To be a successful working member of the creative class, you’ll need to understand and adopt a particular attitude and set of guidelines. You’ll also probably need to disabuse yourself of some of the more rampant myths of working as a creative professional.
The Good, the Bad, and the Fake
Myth #1: Working for yourself has to be easier than working for someone else.
I hear this one all of the time, usually from people who have managers that are apparently first-generation clones of Attila the Hun. The truth is that it can be easier in some ways, but much more difficult than others. It’s easier because your commute, assuming you work from home, is all of ten seconds from your bed to your desk. It’s easier because you don’t have to contend with public transit, traffic, or bad weather. It’s also easier because you can, if you really want to, work naked.
But it’s more difficult because you are your only taskmaster. You might decide to slack off a bit, only to face the cold shock of seeing a bill and YIKES! You haven’t made any money in the last two weeks with which you can pay that bill. It’s more difficult because you never really have “weekends” like the rest of the world. While your mates are out quaffing ale and beer at the local watering hole, you’re slaving away over the latest podcast or blog entry. It’s more difficult because after five o’clock, it’s unlikely you can just “call it a day” and leave all of your work behind.
You live, breathe, and dream your work, every day, every hour, even when you’re on vacation.
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Myth #2: Independent creative professionals make money hand over fist.
I make my living as a humorist, and I swear to Zeus I can’t think of a single state- ment that’s funnier than that one. Every time I hear it I can barely survive the pain in my sides. In fact, I have to change my pants just because it’s on the page I’m writing at this moment.
Now, this isn’t to say that members of the creative class can’t make a fortune, but the odds of doing so are up there with becoming the next Tom Cruise, Sara Maclachlan, or Charlize Theron. You can realistically make anywhere between a modest to a decent living. Just don’t swallow the lie that this industry is where you will make a king’s ransom.
Myth #3: Joining the creative class is a great way to obtain adoration and recognition.
This one is almost as funny as Myth #2. If you’re the kind of person who gets a charge out of being famous and you seek that in this profession, I highly recom- mend you consider a career waiting tables. You’ll have a better chance of achieving public recognition there than you will working as a Web-based independent creative professional. This is because on the Web, your audience is potentially worldwide.
Although you may earn an enthusiastic fan base in, say, Latvia, if you’re based in Saskatchewan you’re not likely to meet very many of them.
On the other hand, the Internet does permit that same global audience to write to you much more readily. You’ll begin receiving e-mail from complete strangers, many of whom will like or love what you do, whether it’s music, cartooning, podcasting, and so on. If that kind of recognition is enough for you, then this gig is probably for you.
Keep in mind, however, that you’ll also be opening the door to hate mail. The same medium that makes you so accessible to your fans also makes it trivial for someone with an anti-you agenda to vent their spleen directly into your mailbox.
Myth #4: Being creative is easy. Anyone can do it.
Then why doesn’t everyone do it?
It’s because being creative every day, 365 days a year with a bonus day thrown in every leap year, is not easy. You have to be talented or dedicated, and preferably both. Wiley Miller’s comment about filling 365 blank pages with original, funny cartoons every year illustrates this well. The same can be said for writing a news- paper column, or creating weekly podcasts. Some creative energy has to go into every single incarnation of your work that you do, and the creative well isn’t always full. When the well runs dry, it’s dry, and it has to be refilled.
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Unfortunately, the days keep ticking on at a regular pace. If your well is dry when the next day or week rolls around and you don’t have a cartoon, column, or pod- cast ready to go, you look pretty silly, not to mention unprofessional.
Not just anyone can be a creative professional, particularly an independent one on the Web.
There’s a little more to this. Not everyone has the talent to be a creative profes- sional either. Maybe you draw cartoons or write stories and your family and friends all tell you that they’re very good. That’s a plus for sure, but keep in mind that Mom and Dad are supposed to love you. They aren’t the best critics of your work, and probably won’t be able to give you an honest, useful assessment. If an unbiased critic (someone who has little to lose when they tell you something unpleasant) informs you that your work is really quite smashing, you have a good indication that your talents do indeed lie in the field you have chosen.
What to Look Forward to
Now that I’ve busted the most common myths having to do with the creative class, let’s cover the plusses of being a creative professional, things you can look forward to realistically.
Boon #1: Your Time Is Your Own
Another way of saying that is you work to your own schedule. You can ditch the 9-to-5 fetters and choose when it is you want to work. There is a not-insignificant percentage of the population that does their best work between the hours of 10:00 p.m. and dawn. Sleep during the day, get up in the afternoon, and ply your trade at night — that’s up to you! The only real restriction you face is the dreaded deadline. Provided you can work to them, you get to choose what hours of the day you do your creating.
Of course, if you need to get in touch with people who have standard 9-to-5 hours, you’ll have to make yourself available as required. This is less likely to be an issue early on in the game, but as you establish your business and you form commercial relationships, adjusting your schedule from time to time will be necessary.
Boon #2: You’re in Your Element
You get to do what you love for money. You’ll leave behind the manacles of the wage-slave, no longer at the mercy of some petty, egocentric boss who wants you to perform superhuman feats at the office doing something you don’t love doing, all the while letting him or her take the credit and paying you less than you’re
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