"Oh? Well, have you entered writing contests?" She didn't even look at me. She's scanning and scanning and can have whole conversations without taking her eyes off the register screen. Amazing.
"Well, yes." I said.
"Well, yes." I said.
"And how is that working out for you?" She just double scanned my cilantro and is now clicking away on the screen taking that second charge off.
"Well, I haven't won anything yet."
"Have you got a writer's agent?"
"Uh, no, you .. it's sorta a chicken and egg thing-- you get an agent after someone wants to publish you, but you can't get published without an agent."
She looks at me, nonplussed. She blows a bubble with her gum. I read her badge. Audrey: Employee since 2009. She looks like she was born in 2007; how does she know everything about being a writer?
"And have you sent your stuff to magazines?"
"Uh, no." I reply. She raises a beautifully sculpted eyebrow. You know the kind-- the kind only 15-year old girls have time to do, and that's only because they wake up at 5 to start getting ready for school at 9. Of course, even when I was 15, I didn't do that. But, I wasn't "cool" and for the record, I do remember getting up to do my bangs every morning. It was the 80s. Meh.
"What about a blog? Do you have a blog?" I'm starting to get annoyed. Why is she telling me all this stuff that I could be doing if I actually wanted to get published? I just wanted her to hear that I'm going to get published one day and then have her oooh and aaaah all about it so I could go home and continue to not do anything to help myself. Duh.
Or, on the flipside, I'd like her to hear I want to be published and then have her say, "My parents are publishers at a giant publishing house, and they have me working here so I might meet their next big thing. You, my dear, are that next. Big. Thing."
But either way, she's mentioned blogging and now ... now she's done it. She's hit something with the blog question, a nerve if you will, and now that she's done scanning all my coupons, I'm gonna give it to her straight.
"Well, here's the thing about a blog-- I feel like it's giving my stuff away for free. Like it's as though I'm pretending I'm some 16-year old prom date trying to be cool, when I'm actually a 30-year old professional dance teacher that came to prom to show the boy she always loved that she's awesome, and that boy happens to be a teacher at the school where the prom is."
"What?"
"I don't know. I'm just not into giving shit away for free. That's all. A person needs to be paid for the stuff they're doing. You're getting paid, right?"
"Yeah."
"Well, you pay the girl that gets you booze every Friday, right?"
The girl looks from side to side and tries to decide whether I'm a narc or not.
"Yeaah."
"Well, everyone does stuff for money. That's how come I can buy these groceries, with or without the amazing amount of coupons I use."
"Right. So? Fifty-three, forty-nine. Debit?"
"Yep. Well, like if you write a blog, it's just putting your writing out there, into the world, into time and space, for free. There's no one that has to pay you for what you're writing."
"Ok. But doesn't it get you exposure and shit?" Oh! Exposure, eh?
"I don't think so. I mean, if I'm a reader, there's no way I'm sitting in front of the computer thinking, "Geez! I wish I could read all these same stories but pay for them instead and have some stupid heavy book to lug around with me every time I move." Nope. And it's not like publishers just put "super funny blog about motherhood that I would make money publishing" in the google search. Nope. People read blogs, think they're funny and that's that."
"Oh. Do you need help bagging?" Audrey's looking more sympathetic.
The woman behind me is getting irritated with all the chatter. "Oh you two! Who wants to be a writer anyway? You only make, like, 11 cents for every copy of your book you sell. You'd have to be the next Atwood to make more than a few bucks anyway. Now bag your stuff and let me get home to watch "Grey's Anatomy.""
I grab my stuff, and my kids (who I think have squirrelled away some Kinder Eggs in their pockets while Mommy was distracted), and head back to the car. We have dinner, Daddy puts stuff away or puts the kids to bed, I can't quite remember how the rest of that night played out because I'm flabbergasted that I've never stopped to think about how little money I'd make as an author. No wonder Stephen King writes blockbusters. And the Clancy guy and who's the one that writes those Chicken Soup books?
You have to be the Jennifer Lopez of writing if you hope to feed your family. You can't just be the Daniel Day Lewis artiste who makes movies for their merit and to broaden an acting horizon. Unless you are the ... say, Tom Hanks or Ron Howard of literature, who makes stuff and gets a great reputation, does some super popular stuff whenever a kid goes to college but otherwise sticks to legit works. Yeah. I could be the Tom Hanks of writing. Yeah. That sounds kinda cool.
Gaga's head is attached to your gold lamé covered boob tassels. No credit, no money, nothing but "exposure" that doesn't make anyone watching think, "Hey, I've GOT to pay that body double to come do Swan Lake at the Sydney Opera House.
Nope. I've said it once, I'll say it again, I'll never write a blog.
Oh.
Well, this isn't a like, real blog. Blogs are like, online journals, where this is more like a bunch of highly crafted stories. This is much closer to art than a slutty blog.
Oh.
Well, maybe there is some merit to exposure.
I mean, uh, Bieber put his stuff out there for free on Youtube and now he's pretending to kiss Selena Gomez or someone else young and beautiful. Maybe there is something to be said if you actually, really have talent and actually, really have the drive to make it. I mean, what if Ellen Degeneres is reading my blog and waiting for the right moment to have me on her show (any time is good, by the way, Ellen, baby. I'll clear my schedule for you.).
Ok. I'll start a blog. It'll be about like, being a mom, since that's what I know best (lately) and we'll see what pops up in the search engines. In the meantime, if you happen to know a publisher wanting to make piles and piles of money, send this along. Well, maybe not this link. It's not my best work. Well, I mean, unless you think it's amazing, then yes, it's my best work. Gosh, I'm talking like a Hollywood starlet already! Blogging is great!
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