Following the unexpected global response to my #TenThingsNotToSayToAWriter hashtag yesterday, I found myself involved in an equally interesting debate about what constitutes being a writer, and who exactly should be allowed to refer to themselves as such. The massive response to my hashtag suggests that there are many, many writers out there. Not all of them are published; not all of them want to be published. Some of them asked me if it was okay to think of themselves as writers if they’d never been published. Somebody even came to me and complained that I was encouraging amateur writers in delusions of grandeur.
This got me thinking about what it means to be a writer, and more specifically, what it means to be an amateur writer, as opposed to a professional. This was what I concluded.
If you write, then you are a writer. Some people need to give themselves permission to do the things they secretly want to do. There’s only one real difference between a writer and a non-writer. A writer writes. So first of all; write.
However, there’s a difference between coming out to yourself as a writer, and declaring it to the rest of the world. You may enjoy amateur dramatics, but you probably wouldn’t go to a showbiz party and tell people you’re an actress. You may be good at baking, and yet you wouldn’t claim to be a baker. So, how do you describe yourself if you’re not a professional?
I think it’s really time we reclaimed the much-maligned word “amateur.” It’s a French word, meaning “a lover of”, and for years it was worn as a badge of pride. Until recently, amateur sportsmen had a far greater status than professionals. Why? Because they had a choice. They were independent; free to indulge their passion for sport without having to answer to anyone.
Amateur status is not a comment on the quality of the work, or the effort that goes into it. Some amateurs are at least as talented and hard-working as professionals, if not more so. And in writing, as in sport, every professional starts off by being an amateur.
Basically, amateurs work for love; professionals work for money. And yes, some professionals love their job. But amateurs are willing to give up their time and to devote their energies freely to doing the thing they love the most. Amateurs work on passion alone, without having to make any concessions to the needs of bosses or the market. Amateurs have no timetable; they are not bound by rules or financial constraints. To be an amateur is to enjoy the art, or sport, or pastime, in its purest form, without any outside interference.
In fact, in some ways, to be a professional is less rewarding than retaining amateur status. It means having to give up independence, to give in to market forces, to submit to direction from others – even when you think those people don’t have your best interests at heart. It means accepting the fact that, to the people for whom you work, you will be a commodity, making money for the company, sometimes at the cost of pursuing your own ideas. You will no longer be free to write whatever you like, regardless of its marketability. Your work – your passion - will be at the mercy of bean-counters and market researchers.
It took me a long time to decide to give up my amateur status. I’d already had three books published by then, but although I’d been paid an advance for them, writing wasn’t my main source of income. At the time, I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted it to be. I think I was afraid of losing my independence and my joy in the work. Eventually, I took the step, and although I don’t regret it, I sometimes miss being able to do whatever I wanted to do, without answering to anyone.
So, let’s hear it for the amateurs. Be proud of your independence, your passion and your creativity. Just because you’re not being paid doesn’t mean you’re any less smart, appreciated or talented. Any job can earn money. (Besides, even professional writers are generally poorly-paid.) But it’s a rare and precious thing to find work that satisfies heart and soul. So if you love it, do it. Your devotion to the work matters more than the pay-check. That’s what makes you a writer; not the money you have in the bank, or what you tell people at parties. Be proud of what you have achieved – whether it’s for public consumption or something intensely private - and rejoice in your amateur status. You may not be getting paid, but you have something the professionals don’t. Enjoy it; appreciate it; learn from it. And don’t let anyone tell you that just because you’re not getting paid, the job isn’t paying you rewards. It is. So do it for love, first and foremost. And if one day you end up also doing it for money, then fine. But never, never stop working for love. And never sneer at those who do.