Do you plan to be a freelance writer for the rest of your life?
On class, writing, and following your dreams
Recently, someone asked me whether I wanted to be a freelance writer for the rest of my life. When it comes to discussing my life, future, and prospects, I do what I do best: hesitate. Not because I don’t have an answer but because I don’t want to explain my response or be held responsible. In a sense, the person’s question wasn’t really about writing itself but rather whether I hope to eventually achieve job security and a financial future that doesn't depend on the whims of editors, trends, and grants. And at what point would I recognize that irregular pay in the literary gig economy wouldn’t sustain me into retirement, assuming I could ever gather the funds needed to do so?
To some extent, the question stemmed from a genuine place, striking at a more profound concern about my survival. Additionally, when inquiring about my writing career and how long I would pursue it, the question—lacking care or context and possessing a specific tone—could imply something more significant: “You should stop being a freelance writer because you will never make enough money to support yourself consistently.” Even more pointedly, “You’re not a great writer.” Unless you come from an upper (middle) class background, it’s likely best to be practical and seek a contracted job. The question reflects a trend, highlighting a decline in working-class individuals in the arts, despite a history of working-class writers excelling in their craft. I often think of writers like Hilary Mantel, Édouard Louis, Kit de Waal, Ali Smith, Annie Ernaux, Bernardine Evaristo, and many more. (In the UK, there is an effort to unite working-class writers through a festival.) At one point, they faced financial struggles and depended on patronage, partners, and their immediate communities to create worlds of fiction or nonfiction. Some maintained regular jobs to cover their bills while crafting short stories or novels. Eventually, when they could, they fully dedicated themselves to writing—embracing and succeeding at their craft.
Perhaps one day, I will take on a part-time or full-time position to help navigate the material realities of coming from a class not typically expected to envision new stories and possibilities. Or I may become a class traitor, unable to connect with those who nurtured and inspired my creativity and resilience. For now, I will refrain from answering whether or when I will step away from my freelance life. Instead, I will focus on nurturing my current writing life, with all its privileges and uncertainties.
Closing Thoughts
Happy New Year! Thank you for your attention, and I want to express my gratitude for your support.