I have spent an enormous amount of time trying to buy more time. As a writer, time, security and a working computer are pretty much all I need to make the writing happen. But, earning the money to buy the first two of those three things, and to occasionally replace and stock the third, has taken up most of my adult life.
I have a lot of respect for writers who are willing or able to go it without a day job. So far, I'm not one of them, and I know a lot of other writers--many of them managing to create fantastic fiction, poetry and/or non-fiction--who work a day job as well. Many of these writers teach, or sell their editing and writing skills either freelance or, like I do, to a full-time employer. Some have jobs that seem to have little to do with writing. My misery over my eight-hour-a-day job and two-hour-a-day bus time often finds soothing company in the thought of Kurt Vonnegut shilling cars at his father-in-law's dealership well into his forties.
More life-altering solutions aside, one of the best ways I know of to gain writing time is by getting grants. I've been fortunate to get writing grants over the years from my city (Ottawa), as well as my province (you can read here about a sabbatical I took courtesy of the Ontario Art Council's Writers' Reserve grant program earlier this year). Last year, I got my first travel grant from the Canada Council for the Arts, which let me try to extol the virtues of my own writing, and that of others, to an American audience, and to build some great connections while I was at it.
I'm very grateful for the grants I've received so far, and what they have made it possible for me to do and make. Which brings me to something I overheard at a conference this summer. Someone mentioned they were glad that provincial grants were going to writers like me, who really needed them. The speaker thought too many grants were going to writers who had a reliable income outside of writing. They didn't realize I was one of "those" writers.
I shrank away, embarrassed, picturing myself looking down from my office tower, the reflective glass sheltering me from the righteous indignation of any "real" artists who might be found begging for scraps of paper or sandwiches in the street below.
It's not the first time I've heard this opinion. It lurks among jurors and artists alike. But it was the first time I felt (even though the speaker didn't know it) that it was aimed at me. I immediately wondered: Did I take away someone's ability to pay their electricity bill? Did someone have to literally go hungry because of me? Was there a poet somewhere in Ontario trying to make a ketchup sandwich in the dark because I got their grant?
My guilt ran amok as I wandered to the next panel. I deserved the sunburn I was probably getting by taking the long way. By the time I found a seat in the shade, and had made some small talk with a handful of other writers, my reason started to return.
The question was really whether I deserved a grant more than someone else. The answer is that art is subjective and, although I believe in the value of my own writing (I have to; it's a job requirement for making more), I accept that, in the end, giving one person a grant and not another is a judgement call by a few people who have volunteered their day to help shape literary futures. But what is it they are judging? Is it the value of the art I could make in the time the grant would buy me? Or is it how much I need the grant to survive as a human being?
I want to believe it's the first. And, I don't want to believe that just because it makes me feel warm and fuzzy if I get a grant, or because it lets me burrow down into the warm muck of self-flagellation or righteous misery when I don't. I want to believe it because that is what the grant descriptions say,
Every grant I have ever applied for (and others I've never applied for, because I didn't feel qualified) was described as meant to buy the artist/writer time to create. And, if you are selected to get a grant, you have to account for that money, exactly how it bought you that time, and what you managed to make as a result.
That there are so many professional writers and artists in Canada that rely on production grants to buy food and pay for basics from food to housing means we, as a society, need to fundamentally change how we value the making of art, and how we support the human beings who make it.
From copyright laws to both arts and financial education to guaranteed incomes, this is a huge job that requires changing policies, changing attitudes, and changing how we value ourselves as dreamers and makers of art.
I have my own dreams of a world where artists at all levels of income are more financially independent and empowered. At the very least, I hope all professional artists and writers apply and apply and apply to every grant they feel they are remotely qualified for. Do it because you believe in your work. Do it because you need time to make more of it, and to make it better.
Here are a few places to start, depending on where you are:
Most cities, provinces, states and countries also have some type of grant system in place for artists and writers. Of course, you may not get the grant you apply for (I certainly haven't gotten most of the ones I applied for), but you definitely won't get the ones you don't.
Good luck out there.
I have a lot of respect for writers who are willing or able to go it without a day job. So far, I'm not one of them, and I know a lot of other writers--many of them managing to create fantastic fiction, poetry and/or non-fiction--who work a day job as well. Many of these writers teach, or sell their editing and writing skills either freelance or, like I do, to a full-time employer. Some have jobs that seem to have little to do with writing. My misery over my eight-hour-a-day job and two-hour-a-day bus time often finds soothing company in the thought of Kurt Vonnegut shilling cars at his father-in-law's dealership well into his forties.
More life-altering solutions aside, one of the best ways I know of to gain writing time is by getting grants. I've been fortunate to get writing grants over the years from my city (Ottawa), as well as my province (you can read here about a sabbatical I took courtesy of the Ontario Art Council's Writers' Reserve grant program earlier this year). Last year, I got my first travel grant from the Canada Council for the Arts, which let me try to extol the virtues of my own writing, and that of others, to an American audience, and to build some great connections while I was at it.
I'm very grateful for the grants I've received so far, and what they have made it possible for me to do and make. Which brings me to something I overheard at a conference this summer. Someone mentioned they were glad that provincial grants were going to writers like me, who really needed them. The speaker thought too many grants were going to writers who had a reliable income outside of writing. They didn't realize I was one of "those" writers.
I shrank away, embarrassed, picturing myself looking down from my office tower, the reflective glass sheltering me from the righteous indignation of any "real" artists who might be found begging for scraps of paper or sandwiches in the street below.
It's not the first time I've heard this opinion. It lurks among jurors and artists alike. But it was the first time I felt (even though the speaker didn't know it) that it was aimed at me. I immediately wondered: Did I take away someone's ability to pay their electricity bill? Did someone have to literally go hungry because of me? Was there a poet somewhere in Ontario trying to make a ketchup sandwich in the dark because I got their grant?
My guilt ran amok as I wandered to the next panel. I deserved the sunburn I was probably getting by taking the long way. By the time I found a seat in the shade, and had made some small talk with a handful of other writers, my reason started to return.
The question was really whether I deserved a grant more than someone else. The answer is that art is subjective and, although I believe in the value of my own writing (I have to; it's a job requirement for making more), I accept that, in the end, giving one person a grant and not another is a judgement call by a few people who have volunteered their day to help shape literary futures. But what is it they are judging? Is it the value of the art I could make in the time the grant would buy me? Or is it how much I need the grant to survive as a human being?
I want to believe it's the first. And, I don't want to believe that just because it makes me feel warm and fuzzy if I get a grant, or because it lets me burrow down into the warm muck of self-flagellation or righteous misery when I don't. I want to believe it because that is what the grant descriptions say,
Every grant I have ever applied for (and others I've never applied for, because I didn't feel qualified) was described as meant to buy the artist/writer time to create. And, if you are selected to get a grant, you have to account for that money, exactly how it bought you that time, and what you managed to make as a result.
That there are so many professional writers and artists in Canada that rely on production grants to buy food and pay for basics from food to housing means we, as a society, need to fundamentally change how we value the making of art, and how we support the human beings who make it.
From copyright laws to both arts and financial education to guaranteed incomes, this is a huge job that requires changing policies, changing attitudes, and changing how we value ourselves as dreamers and makers of art.
I have my own dreams of a world where artists at all levels of income are more financially independent and empowered. At the very least, I hope all professional artists and writers apply and apply and apply to every grant they feel they are remotely qualified for. Do it because you believe in your work. Do it because you need time to make more of it, and to make it better.
Here are a few places to start, depending on where you are:
Most cities, provinces, states and countries also have some type of grant system in place for artists and writers. Of course, you may not get the grant you apply for (I certainly haven't gotten most of the ones I applied for), but you definitely won't get the ones you don't.
Good luck out there.
No comments:
Post a Comment