Heroes

Guest blogger Alasdair Stuart grew up on a rock in the middle of the Irish sea, a fact that not only instilled in him the ability to create his own fun but also provided him with a bolthole in the event of a zombie uprising.  He’s grateful for both those things.  Alasdair hosts Pseudopod, edits Hub Magazine, writes for the Doctor Who Roleplaying Game and lives near one of the greatest coffee shops in the country.  He also, secretly, would quite like to swap places with his fictional counterpart in the Marvel Universe.  On the down side, the Marvel Alistare Stuart uses an irritating spelling of his name and is occasionally dead.  On the upside he does head up the Weird Happenings Organisation and who wouldn’t want that gig?

The David Bowie ‘Heroes’ not the just canceled ‘Heroes. See?

\”Heroes\” by David Bowie

So here’s the thing;It’s easy, this job. Sitting behind a keyboard all day, looking at the internet, writing when you feel like it. No colleagues, no office, no commute. Easiest job in the world. You could do it in your pajamas. Hi diddley dee, a writer’s life for me.

Look at it another way though and it looks like this; you versus your brain. No colleagues. No office. No commute. Just you and a keyboard and your brain. Just you and an inbox that never fills up with anything but rejections. Just you and the sound of the air hissing out of your ideas, your self-worth, your self-esteem as you don’t get the responses you want or at the very most don’t get them fast enough.

Barrel of laughs isn’t it?

I’ve been doing this for five years and, right now, I’m busier than I’ve ever been. I’m writing chunks of the Doctor Who Roleplaying Game, I’ve got a magazine article to do and another three behind me, two interviews to kick off or revise, I’m hosting a podcast and working as a reviews editor for another and have two novels to polish and get battle ready. This is the best case scenario, this is the point at which I, five years ago, was convinced I could sit back, relax and realise I’ve finally made it.

Instead, I’ve realised something else; I’ve not made it. You never make it. Or rather, you never stop making it.

Know how I know? Because prior to this year, I spent two years waiting for one of these projects to be given the go ahead, pitched twenty five ideas through the BBC Radio pitch system and landed none of them, was briefly part of a line of print on demand novels that have been put on indefinite hold, had two short films get within sight of production, placed in the top 5% of a contest that was only going to take the top 2% of entrants and seen writers who are less experienced than me get jobs I could do over and over again. There have been countless opportunities for me to walk away, to go get an office job and more than one occasion when I’ve wanted to.

I’m still here though, because that’s one half of how you win. You keep showing up, you keep getting up when someone or something knocks you down, you get the words on the page regardless of whether or not they’re words you like or they’re in the order you want. You do the job, above and beyond the point where it stops being fun. Because if you keep doing that, if you take every hit, if you keep moving, then it gets easier.

The other half of how you win is simpler and much, much harder to do; it’s not personal. In fact, it’s never ever personal and the second you think it is is the second you’re down the rabbit hole. I’ve had editors talk to me for five full minutes, face to face and then ask someone who I was as I left. I’ve had editors promise me commissions that never come. I’ve had editors never write back or write back late, or change my stuff completely with little or no warning. Each one of those hurt like a punch in the face. Each one made the voice that says ‘You suck! You’re tolerated, not liked!” at the back of my head a little louder. Each one felt personal and none of them were because there isn’t an editor on Earth, or at least a good editor on Earth, who actively sets out to mess with their potential employees.

Here’s the thing, and it’s meant in the nicest possible way; most editors don’t care about you as long as you’re professional, nice, do a good job and do that job on time. Fill those four boxes and you’ll get repeat work, get enough repeat work you’ll get a reputation as someone to be relied on, or someone will have read something you’ve done and liked it enough to approach you or let you approach them. Your reward, nine times out of ten, is to be asked back, not to be thanked for what you’ve done. The thanks is kind of inherent in being hired to do it in the first place. It’s not personal for them so don’t make it personal for you.

I am, of course, lying. There is another reward inherent in writing for a living, one that sits next to the adrenalin shiver of seeing your byline or your name in an opening credit sequence; satisfaction. This is not an easy job and even completing something, let alone doing it to a level where you get paid, is a staggering achievement. Even by sitting down in front of a keyboard, even by articulating an idea, by writing a line of dialogue, by picking a soundtrack to write to (Bowie today for me), you’re doing something quiet and personal and deeply heroic. So give yourself a break, grab a coffee and get back to work. I am.