You’re Writing Code, I’m Writing a Book
(and it feels like I’m falling behind)
We are both writing, but we are operating on different levels of intellect and what feels like very different levels of productivity. You are making things — engineering things, in fact — while I am thinking things and expressing them. You’re developing while I’m reflecting, essentially. Is one of us moving forward while the other takes a step back?
Your skill holds more economic value: job opportunities, the ability to build and market a product or service, the potential to attract investment. I’m generalizing, of course, to make the obvious point that coding ability is in demand; I’m not trying to say that coding is either a) easy or b) any guarantee of success. It’s a challenging line of work, highly competitive and difficult to keep up with, but it’s got clear upside—our economy and culture are validating that fact every day. Here’s the contrast I’m setting up: my skill (the not-coding one), focused for a full year, has generated a comparatively abysmal $315.00 in income.
I self-published my first book, Vivid & Vague, with little expectation of recognition or monetary payoff, but with no lack of energy and hours spent at the keyboard. I put less effort into promotion: I got the word out with a few Facebook posts, some Instagram tagging, a sprinkle of tweets (it felt disingenuous to try and aggressively market what, in my eyes, basically amounted to a personal experiment). So, watching 62 copies go out to my close network — mainly friends, family, colleagues — was extremely gratifying, despite the modest number. I thought I’d break a hundred, but 62 did feel good. For a while.
Now, six months later and well into a second, more ambitious book project, I find myself thinking a lot about the time it takes to turn this writing hobby into meaningful work. This is not about the economics of self-publishing, or the viability of writing for a living. (I don’t make my living by writing, although I’d like to.) It’s about choosing what to focus on in a world where the tools to do so much are right at our fingertips.
The short-hand: what I’m talking about here is opportunity cost.
What if I learned Ruby on Rails, or even just spruced up on my light web design skill, instead of this archaic ‘writing a book’ business? I’ve tried my hand at coding and have the urge, at times, to take a course, start YouTubing through tutorials, to find my way to proficiency. It’s a language-based practice that I do find rewarding; it satisfies my proclivity for syntax and logic. But I have no choice. Instead of programming another system or interface, I need to spend my free time rewiring myself and sharing the documentation of that process. That feels like a very important job to be done right now.
Writing is my modest middle finger to the culture’s obsession with achieving ‘scale.’
Throughout the process I learned that self-publishing, even at a scrawny $315.00 in sales, is an entrepreneurial pursuit. Putting the book together, I stepped into “maker” mode, learning new elements of graphic design to layout my book and create a cover I’m proud of. Along the way I also established a publishing imprint that’s becoming a launching pad for new creative and business projects. Above all, I shipped.
To bring things full circle: I’m at peace with this feeling that I could be focusing on more valuable, marketable skills, mainly because I know that value is up for interpretation. Maybe I am falling behind others, but relative to myself, I’ve leapt ahead. And I’ve got it all in writing.
Get in touch on Twitter @marc_it. You can check out Vivid & Vague here or head on over to Depth Department to learn more about the book and future projects.
