When I was thirteen, I was subjected to the same ‘career planning’ we subject everyone to at that age. It’s kind of messed up that we ask kids that age to start making real decisions about their future. I have kids that age. I don’t think they have the slightest idea what they want out of their lives, except to be allowed to stay up as late as they want and drink Coke every day.
I was actually the exception to the rule; I knew just what I wanted to be. I wanted to be a writer.
But that’s not the answer a teacher wants to hear at thirteen. It’s not ‘realistic’ at thirteen to want to be a writer. So, when I told my English teacher this, she kindly suggested to me that it wasn’t a viable option. Writers don’t make a lot of money. And if they do make money, it takes them years and years to make it.
I think she talked to me about journalism. I think I folded and told her I wanted to be a vet just so that she’d stop gently breaking my spirit.
That year I shadowed for a vet’s office and decided that wasn’t for me. Too much death for my gentle soul. I joined Jr ROTC and the school paper, still trying to figure out something I could do that would make me happy. I doubt I need to tell you that I wasn’t the military sort. Journalism was fun, but I didn’t see it being a lifelong love.
Of course, you know how the rest of the story goes. I had a rocky couple of, um, decades. But now I am, in fact, a writer. I still have a full-time day job, that’s true. But I am a published author. And I wish that I could talk to that teacher, who told me how wholly unrealistic this life would be. So I decided to write her an open letter. Here it is.
I guess that nearly 20 years is a long time to hold a grudge against someone who only meant well. It’s been a long time, and I guess there’s a good chance you don’t even remember me. You’ve had so many students come and go, I’m sure. And, in fairness, I bet you didn’t ever mean to dash my dreams.
Actually, you didn’t. You told me that people don’t make money writing, at least not for a long, long time. You told me something that I think every writer needs to hear, but maybe not so early.
I wish that you would have done something more, something better. I wish that you would have talked to me about what I could do. I wish that I’d had someone, anyone, to take me by the hand and explain that money wasn’t going to matter. That I could always make money in other ways. I wish that you, and all teachers, were more in the habit of explaining how someone achieves the big dreams. The shoot for the sky dreams. I know it was nothing personal when you told me my dream wasn’t likely to happen. I imagine you’d have said the same thing to any child who told you she wanted to be a writer, singer, artist, actor. Not the kids who want to open their own restaurants, or the ones who want to be lawyers or police officers. There’s a simple, straight path to those jobs. You might still fail, sure, but the chance for failure is significantly less. Most people who want to be lawyers become lawyers if they can afford to go to school. Most people who want to be writers won’t be writers.
And there’s not a lot of room for careers where you’re probably not going to succeed. What I needed was for someone to say, “Look, you’re not going to make a lot of money at this right off the bat. For a couple of years, maybe decades really. So, the first thing you do is that you get yourself a fallback. You start applying for grants right now, and maybe you’ll get a couple. But you might not. Even if you do get grants, they might run out before you’re making enough money writing to keep yourself fed. So here’s what you do. You find a job that you like, that pays the bills well enough. You get that job to keep a roof over your head, and then you start writing. You write every day, and you treat it like it’s going to be the thing that you do for the rest of your life. Be good at your day job, because there’s a good chance you’re going to be doing it forever. But maybe there are more important things than money. Maybe you’ll find that you really like what you’re doing, and you’re happier doing that than you ever could be doing anything else. And who knows, maybe you will make it big, and the dream job can be the only job. It’s always possible, don’t think that it’s not. But you’ll for sure never get it if you don’t try.”
Maybe you can’t say that to a kid. Maybe a college teacher could have said it but a high school teacher can’t. Maybe that’s the problem we need to be fixing.
I want to tell you that I’ve almost made it, anyway. I’m not making money writing, but I am writing. People are reading what I’m writing, which is the more exciting thing. I’m doing what I love and letting the money follow.
I want to tell you that, if you can, help the kids with the unrealistic dreams. Maybe they won’t succeed, and they’ll end up in a dead-end job.
Or maybe they will succeed.
Thank you for teaching anyway, it’s a damn hard job.
Love,
Want to keep up to date with PBW, as well as get info on indie authors besides me? Click here to sign up for the bi-weekly PBW Update.
in his own happiness. In fact, it could be said that Rick is often a bad guy. He created and enslaved a whole race just to be his car battery. He coldly sells weapons to assassins and kills without mercy or remorse. He has actively stated that the only reason he takes his grandson with him anywhere is because he works as sort of a shield, keeping people from detecting Rick. The only person he seems to genuinely care about, most of the time, is his daughter, Morty’s mother Beth.
It’s been clearly established that Rick has to have Morty around to shield him. We also know that there is an infinite number of Ricks throughout different alternate universes, with infinite Ricks and Mortys. There’s a memorable, and chilling episode in which this is discovered at length. Ricks don’t care about Mortys. But it’s made clear, in that same episode, that Rick not only cares about Morty but holds fond memories of him as a baby. While he manages to hide it most of the time, from himself as much as anyone, he really does care about his grandson. This is the speck of humanity that Rick needs to be a redeemable character, in my opinion. We can argue that he’s only kind to his daughter to have a place to live. While he is brilliant and doesn’t seem to have any trouble making money, he might find it easier to mooch off of his daughter and son in law.

and I realize I wrote it. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the one who wrote my books or if there is someone else taking over my thoughts and fingers and weaving a spell over the computer. Part of my writing process is to set aside a project once I complete it for at least two to three weeks so when I pick it up again I am looking at it with fresh eyes. When I come across those little gems of word magic in the pages I get goosebumps all up and down my arms and I feel like I can feel a Muse breathing secrets into my ear. I believe in spirits at exactly that moment.
I just want to take a moment and consider how insidiously creepy just that name is. The Other Mother. You’ve got to remember that this book is written for kids. As adults, we see our parents as humans with faults and fears. As kids, we see our parents as fearless, strong and capable of solving anything. Our mothers and fathers are there to protect us and, when we’ve gotten ourselves in too deep, they’re who we run to. So what the Other Mother represents is, essentially, running to your mother in fear only to find yourself embraced by the very thing you were running from. She’s like reaching out for a loyal pet and finding that it’s turned rabid. She’s a razor blade in a slice of birthday cake.
Coraline as an adult, and so I loved her parents. They were real, they were honest. I am Coraline’s mom, sitting at the table trying to work, being irritated by a bored kid. I get her. I get feeling angry, and guilty at the same time. Sometimes I just want to scream, “I’m taking care of you, can’t you see how hard I’m working to take care of you? Can’t you see that if I stop what I’m doing and play with you there won’t be food or the house will become infested with bugs? How many parents reading this right now would love to be the Other Mother? I’d love to have all the time in the world to make wonderful, scrumptious dinners for my family, provide them with all the new clothes they want and just focus all of my time and attention on my daughters. But there are bills to pay. And we can listen to Cat’s in The Cradle as many times as we want and talk about how money doesn’t matter until we don’t have a breath left. The bills have to be paid, the food has to be bought. And yet we feel guilty when we do it!
Recent Comments