The Economy of Words: Does It Matter If a Writer's Work is Published?

In the last ten years I have amassed five books of poetry, 15-20 short stories, three columns, and scores of newspaper articles that span professional and collegiate sports, city news and politics, education, community news and events, arts and entertainment. Does it matter how much of this stuff is published, or is output alone enough?

"It's not yours," another writing friend always insists. He firmly believes that everything that is written is meant to be read, otherwise, why write it? "This doesn't belong to you," he told me about a recent poem. "It came through you. You have to get it out there."

I like to believe that's true about certain things, but not everything I write. Some of it is instantly shredded. Others are saved and sent to a few email friends. Others are filed away at the end of the year in notebooks. Precious few are fashioned into manuscripts of some sort.

Part of me believes that, once it is written, my work is finished. I look at my notebooks and say, "this is the only thing you have ever done in this world." I fantasize about someone, perhaps a descendant of mine, finding this stuff a hundred years from now and putting it back out there, and my name will be revered and my writing celebrated for its visionary brilliance.
I recently marveled at the sheer volume. Essays, reviews, blogs, rants, stories poems, musings, screenplays, etc. She is a keen "observationist," as I like to call creative non-fiction writers, and she could do well by syndicating a column or two.
I suggested that she might have "creative empty nest syndrome," that she feels so closely attached to her writing that she doesn't want to let it out there to be exposed to the cruel, harsh world.

She questioned why writers are inevitably measured by where, and of often, we are published, and not the volume, or substance, of the writing itself.

When I left a poor paying, but rewarding position as editor of a community newspaper in Brooklyn last summer, I was taking a leap of faith. "It is time to gamble on myself," I wrote in an inspired scribbling at the beach. I was going to sell my writing. Like those starving artists and hungry hop hoppers shopping demos, I was going to use my creative sensibilities to make my living. Six months later, I realize that for me writing is not just a hobby, but also a serious a discipline. Isn't just a labor of love, it is also a business, and business takes work, planning, and investment of time and money. Not to mention a good product.

Yes it does matter if my writing gets out there, but not for the validation of being published. It's a matter of logic. Things are written so that, eventually, they can be read. I do have to get it out there. But the main reason is simple economics. I write for the money, and I am not ashamed to say so. Will I make enough to make a good living (and by that I mean a house, two cars, three vacations, and healthy college and retirement fund)?

I have always associated "The Economy of Words" with Ernest Hemingway. His minimalist style of writing taught me that it is often what you leave out that resonates the most. "Give your characters secrets," was the advice of one editor. "Saying so much with so little" was my goal. So I prefer the short story to the novel. I prefer the essay to be a thousand words or less. Get to the point, and then get out.

But minimalism does not apply to my bank account, so in another sense "the economy of words" takes on a whole new meaning. How much is my writing worth? What value can be placed on the amount of time, effort and skill it takes to produce a written document that is informative, educational, entertaining, or otherwise useful for some purpose? I think the answer depends on several things:

Skill. Not everyone is a good writer. And not every good writer is diligent enough to become a great writer. Your skill and diligence will mirror your success, however you decide to measure it.

Flexibility. If you're going to rely on one writing the Great American Novel to make your living, then you're in for disappointment. Look at it this way; even Toni Morrison has a day job. If you're going to make money as a writer you better not rely of fiction and/or poetry alone. Apply your writing skill and interest in more marketable fields. Community journalism is but one example of an excellent field for "aspiring" writers. Many community newspaper editors are forced to rely on press releases because there is a dearth of willing freelance reporters to cover hard news. It doesn't pay well (don't expect more than $50 per article), but it is a great place to get professional experience and generate writing clips.

Planning. You have to know where you're going before you get there. Having clear, measurable goals and a plan to reach them is essential. Becoming a professional writer is inextricably linked with becoming a publisher. The biggest difference between an "aspiring" and a "serious" writer is that hobbyists write for themselves and professionals write for an audience. That means that there has to be a clearly identifiable market for the writing, and you have to develop a strategy to meet that market. You have to create a marketable product and sell it. You have to be able to make a profit.