to be [paid], or not to be...

That is the anxiety-inducing question.

In my room of requirement, photo by me

Today I set up the paid subscription option for this page of mine and am metaphorically hyperventilating, which has caused me to wonder what my drama is with accepting money for writing. I’ve always liked getting money - it was fantastically exciting to be given coins from the bank constantly jingling in my grandpa’s pocket, to find a crisp bill tucked inside a birthday card, to be handed a wad of cash after pulling weeds or babysitting all day; I looked at those things as either kind, unconditional gifts or fair compensation for an obvious job well done (pleasant garden space, children uninjured). While teaching I’d feel a bit uneasy when it was time to join our union voices and stand up for raises because I was doing what I loved yet even so, I knew I deserved that paycheck because of the time & effort I put into my lessons (resulting in measurable student learning/understanding/maybe satisfaction), but also because it was a recognized, acceptable career. Even working as a personal assistant at comic cons, though difficult to explain to people with normal everyday jobs, is at least a thing where I know I’m providing worthwhile services. Writing - especially this kind that is sporadic and randomly themed and sometimes so intensely personal & weird [speaking for myself] - seems like something else I can’t even properly name.

In trying to figure out what I was going to post about next, now that I’ve established a presumptuous price point, I looked around the space where I’ve been writing in various ways for the past 4 years. It used to be my son’s bedroom, painted a buttery Ralph Lauren yellow [which the Home Depot clerk kindly mixed in a better quality + cheaper paint for me because I, with my tearfully desperate pregnancy hormones dialed to 11, could not find that exact shade on any Behr swatches], then a spare room (more specifically “Spare Oom” after we all watched The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe together), then a meager guest room for a handful of agreeable visitors before I claimed it as My Office in 2019, when I decided I would turn into A Writer.
I repainted the walls (Grey Mist and Loft Space) though left the blue ceiling with my son’s glow-in-the-dark constellation stickers; replaced the carpet (Dolphin); moved in furniture from my old classroom and called it Room of Requirement after the clever Hogwarts setting. It has been good and calming with its shades of grey, white, and pale blue. My chair is on the uncomfortable side but it’s vintage and cute and ultimately makes me better budget my time based on pain. The carpet is plush on bare feet and welcoming to my cat Zelda. During its inaugural year, the room’s requirement was a spot for solitude & renewal, to get away from old expectations and build relationships with other writers & readers; I made a schedule for myself, created a spreadsheet, and set gentle timers for writing and submitting and occasionally publishing, but I still considered myself a hobbyist more than an Actual Writer.

Then Spring of 2020 shoved in and the writing space became riding space, with a new exercise bike where I could actively [ha] avoid thinking about the pandemic and isolation and what my impending return to teaching would be like; I listened to audio books and podcasts while cycling, and energetically not writing. However, my Room of Requirement did pivot into a comforting & lovely place for remote work and the mercifully few Zoom meetings & classes I had to attend. For the last two years, my Room of Requirement has alternated between a place of occasional writing, obsessive word game play, and music exploration for me as well as a changing station/playroom for my baby nephew. I finally abandoned the ring light, and my stationary bike is folded away, gathering dust.

Now the room & I are adjusting to new requirements, for reflection and activity - deeper writing time, rebuilding relationships with other writers & readers, braver connections to the publishing world, revisiting the bike and podcasts - though ‘comforting & lovely’ are welcome to stay.

Around my Room of Requirement today

I know I need to make myself claim this vocation of Writer. I’ll maybe start with figuring all of the quotes & validations & silly souvenirs & weird mementos populating Room of Requirement into my work. I mean, My Work. The thing some people might pay for. It has been difficult after 50+ years to switch from thinking that only certain things are worthy of earning money but I’m doing it, and if you’d like to send some coins or bills (or chocolate; I count that as currency) my way, I will be honored, humble, and hugely grateful. And if you can’t/won’t, I will still be honored, humble, and hugely grateful that you chose to spend your time checking out my weirdness anyway.