I am a writer who was born out of the poor
and labor class into the first of my family’s branches to reach into middle
class. By sheer will, both my parents forged a life that was a step better than
their parents. The public education system and labor unions made that possible.
Unions bargained for better wages and education allowed for greater diversity
and better opportunities. Where my grandmother worked as a seamstress or
laundress, my mother became a graphics and forms designer for the State of New York. Where my other
grandmother was a telephone operator and her husband, my grandfather, a GE
plant worker, my father worked for the University at Albany – first as painter and then,
eventually, as job site manager, estimating and planning the structures for the
University with the architects on staff. Every penny they earned, they invested
wisely in the future, never forgetting where they had come from.
Truth be told, without my parents’ hard work,
I would not have the two degrees that I do: Bachelor’s in English and a Masters
in Screenwriting. However, despite those sacrifices on their part, I still
waver on the edge of the lower Middle Class and poverty. I am single, so I only
have my income to rely upon to sustain me. Adding to the hardship, I have chosen
the life of an artist. My parents have neither connection nor know-how to make
that choice more productive for me. I have had to forge all my in-roads alone.
Thankfully, they are supportive. But, they worry. They worry that I will not
have enough to eat. They worry that I have gas in my car—that my car is well
maintained. That I have enough to pay my bills and don’t keep the heat turned
down so much that I am too cold. Yes, I keep the heat turned down as a money
saver, and just put on extra socks and sweaters to keep off the chill, or curl
into bed with my very old laptop. There are shortcuts one makes, in order to
accomplish their goals. Things that are taken for granted by those in their
large warm houses—little understood either.
Why is there a financial hardship? Well, I
must save for more retirement. Additionally, I have to save for a house. I need
money to maintain my vehicle, feed myself and care for my dog (who is my
world). Lastly, I need money to support my art. From writing, painting,
sketching and photography—there is a lot to buy in supplies. Before I started
my Master’s degree, I invested in a new desktop computer. It recently died, but
was breathed back to life by a friend that I am lucky to have. Both my kindle
and laptop need replacing. My dog has a bladder stone. My car needs four tires,
brake jobs and some other maintenance. Earlier in 2014—I paid an editor to go
over my manuscripts, this was just before signing on with a publisher and
walking away from truly independent publishing. The start of this year saw the
beginnings of fertility treatment for me—thankfully my job provides me health
insurance that my dream of having a child will not be set aside because of
medical costs and lost time. And, that’s not everything!
My iPhone cord wore out. I have yet to get
a new one. My kindle is on the verge of never being able to be charged again,
something is wrong with the port—it will be cheaper to buy a new one, but car
tires need to come first, as well as treating my dogs bladder stone. Thank god
for the day job. It is my greatest hope that my writing will become a second
income. I am stuck, for the time being, in the civil service conundrum of zero
promotion, because to get promoted, you have to ace a test and there has to be
enough job openings to get to your name on the list. There aren’t. So making
more money that way is a very narrow possibility, as narrow as becoming the
next JK Rowling.
Still, I invested in that becoming a realty
starting in 1994 when I transitioned from studies in the Biological Sciences (I
wanted to be Zookeeper) to English and History, my other fair loves. However, a
bachelor’s degree wasn’t quite enough to be taken seriously. The four years of
college, plus one term for transferring schools and changing majors, had spent
my will to continue. Enough assignments and silly papers!
In 1998, shortly after graduation, I had
the fortunate happenstance of meeting an agent who was doing a course on how to
get published. My final project at University was a novella that intertwined
fictional characters into a historical setting (US Civil War) to teach about
the times in a way that only a narrative could. I asked her to take a look and
she was delighted to do so. A few months later, she called that she wanted to
represent the work. My job was to write more of a book out of what I had. I set
to task like fire on dry wood. This was my shot.
The hours spent between working and living
revolved completely around that book. The more I wrote, the more confident I
felt. However, she was unable to place it with a publisher—a near miss with a
Penguin Editor, who lamented that it had come too late and how she did love
it—they should keep tight hold of me. If not for this woman’s words, I honestly
believe at this time that I would have given up the ship. Those words stayed
with me…I wish I knew who she was, to thank her. Then, the economy tanked and
everyone was tightening their belts.
Much of my time after 2000 was spent trying
to find another agent, as mine had let go of me, despite the advice given to
her. It was costly—running copies, mailing them out, producing query letters,
receiving it all back unopened. The places were defunct, or uninterested. Those
I could reach panned the work, then shut their doors—several saying they were
pursuing their own writing goals from there on. I met snags and abuse, which
any writer does and it was hurting my ability to write and continue on. There
was no way free of this cyclical pattern. Well, there was—pay to have the book
edited and produced by myself. It would only take $3,000 to $5,000. I was a
young clerk working for the state of New
York. The gas money to commute to work was
bankrupting me, as well as maintenance on the car. Every time I turned around,
something was worn out and needing replacement: Computer, clothes, shoes,
rotors, tables, chairs. I got an apartment for a year and furnishing it put me
in the poor house—I over extended myself in my exuberance to be on my own.
Lesson learned. I also needed books and help fixing writing issues and learning
new tricks. I call it hemorrhaging cash. All I made went right back out the
door. And in all honesty, it wasn’t extravagant spending. I tried gardening for
food. I was buying a couch to actually have a place to sit. I bought a used
table and chairs on eBay. So much for the idea that poor people spend cash on
crazy things like 50”
televisions! I had the one I was given for Christmas at the age of twelve, a 19” dial television, without a
remote. I didn’t go out much; I didn’t have the cash to indulge. So my twenties
were spent paying student loans, car loans, rent and playing catch up—they
passed quickly without catching up much at all. At least the student loans got
paid.
Arrive 2008 and what was then called
Booksurge. Cue holy choir on high and the magic light from above. Now, I had
seen these things before—Author House, Lulu, etc. It astonished me how some
authors made it work for them. My luck wasn’t good. I tried other venues that
allowed people to post their work online for peer review, including
deviantArt—which I am still part of because of the great people I met online,
the few who cheered me forward in the darkest of times—where I learned what a
troll was, and met some ugly privileged people who don’t know what real
struggle is for their art.
Now in my thirties, wiser and more learned,
I recognized the opportunity that Booksurge could provide me. The cost was much
less than the price tag I had been given elsewhere. It took me no time to sign
up. The only thing I couldn’t afford was a real full-fledged editor. I made do
with people I trusted to proof the material. Once I had enough in sales, I
would either pull the book down and have it edited—or move onto the next. To
save money and time on the project, I was able to do the cover myself, thanks
to kismet with a Civil War reenactment in my own backyard, and my skill with
graphics. Up Blue Honor went.
When it came time, that I had scratched
enough money together to try the whole thing again…I was through with Blue
Honor for the moment and was ready to start new. It was 2011. I had made very
little on the sale of my first book. Marketing was something I didn’t know how
to do, but I knew it cost a lot to do it. A great deal of time was spent
building a web presence despite this lack of skill. This lighter marketing step
still cost money I didn’t really have. The first thing I learned, though, was
to connect with people on their level through common interests. Most of my
readers are actually people I met and made friends with through things like Farmville,
Yoville, and other Facebook games. They’re still with me! I am endlessly
thankful to them. Once again, I had a crowd cheering me on, even if relatively
small.
Offline, I had a new boss at a job closer to home. She talked me into pursuing
my master’s degree. But, this time, the college invested in me some—a
fellowship, the State of New York
employee continuing education program, my union. It still cost, and I will have
those loans for years to come. However, I was at a point in my life that I had
saved up enough money that I could invest in my writing. I chose to do that
over buying a house, or getting a swanky car. I also chose to forgo spending my
time outside my writing nook living life with other people, to get better at
this art. (You can imagine how hard it is to date when you need to be
marketing, writing or working to pay the bills. And, now, because of human
ingenuity, dating costs a subscription fee that rivals the weekly grocery
budget. That is just so unfair—especially since these sites do very little to
help you find a match, other than providing a social media forum in which to
shop for a mate—it’s ugly and opportunist.)
The moral of this story is that choosing to
become an author (or any artist) is a costly one that takes investments in time
and money beyond what is manageable in most lives. Something has to be set
aside in order to achieve the dream. It took budgeting skills and a willingness
to be honest and open with myself to thwart my ego when I didn’t have mentors
to guide me. It took courage to say no to things that I really wanted.
Sometimes it took getting a second job—oh, the time suck that can be. Finding
time to write in the middle of that is the juggler’s magic. I found it—don’t
ask me how—I just did. A minute here, or there, breaks and long nights, less
sleep—whatever it took. I have been at this for over twenty years—mostly
reinventing the wheel, because I didn’t have the money to access the
information I needed to truly get started.
I wouldn’t trade it for the world though.
I’m richer of experience and my writing shows it. Now, I have been able to
produce Blue Honor into the book it was meant to be with a full-fledged editor.
OP-DEC: Operation Deceit is being considered by studios as a possible film (it
cost me a retainer for the managers), but my skills honed over the years had
come together to create a project that was marketable and well written. From
there, I spring boarded ahead and I have a trilogy on the way. Yes, there are
other projects in the cue waiting for my attention.
Had I not made the choice to invest in my art, no matter what it took, I would
not be published. I would not have been picked up by Booktrope. I would not be
looking at a film deal. It takes cash to
get there, but that amount is going to be small chunks strung out over the
course of years. I wish someone had been kind enough to say that when I started
this, instead of it taking years of trial and error and a lot of confusion. Those
with money and connections easily pass through this gauntlet for only those
reasons. They buy mentors and their publishing and editors, designers and
marketers and even the audience to go with it all. That is why many authors
shoot for the big house publishing companies, because they smell the money on
them. We all have this sixth sense about the money trail, which makes a lot of
sense. You don’t invest yourself with the slipshod agency and expect great
results. That said, invest with one that is the reliable mid-range model, then
upgrade when the opportunity presents itself.
What many authors don’t understand about
big publishing houses is this: the money is spent on their star authors, not
the small ones they pick up along the way to fill out their numbers. Little
investment will be made in them. They will have to invest their own resources,
including time, to sell the books, just as if they were independent. Even after
you publish, there will always be a cost associated, while the income remains slight.
You don’t become a star author without the investment of time and capital—even
JK Rowling went through this, and she invested well and wisely.
My grandfather ran a dog kennel while he
was alive. The profits from that kennel went back into the kennel to make it
better. That is how it works with writing. So, invest in yourself and what you
need to write, but do it wisely—for it’s a business as much as a dog kennel or
the shop up the street. Cash will always be the arbiter of your book’s fate, so
invest in it. One day it will pay you back, and you’ll be able to put on the
heat and replace your old laptop.
Born in Saratoga Springs, New York, K.
Williams embarked on a now twenty year career in writing. After a childhood,
which consisted of voracious reading and hours of film watching, it was a
natural progression to study and produce art.
Currently, K has completed the
Master of Arts in Liberal Studies program for Film Studies and Screenwriting at
Empire State
College (SUNY), and is the 2013-2014 recipient of the Foner Fellowship in Arts and Social Justice. K is preparing
to release her new series The Trailokya Trilogy, a work that deals with topics
in Domestic Violence and crosses the controversial waters of organized religion
and secularism. A sequel to OP-DEC is in the research phase, while the
adaptation is being shopped to interested film companies.
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