A Writer, Is a Writer, Is No More
Every couple of years, I have a heart-to-heart with a recruiter. The most recent one nearly gave me a heart attack.
Giddy and expectant, Cindy asks me to share my “story.” So I gush: “Well, I was going to be a poet, then a professor. But life got in the way, so I moved on to theology and culinary arts. Like you do. At some point along the way, I had to practice adulting, so got a job in food writing. It didn’t pay very much.” Pause.
This is the part when we both start squirming. Sheepishly, I reveal that while I loved food writing, it just didn’t pay anything — so I pivoted to business writing, then to marketing, then back to business (sort of), then to tech, and now back to marketing.
Cindy nods, smiling. As she processes the illogical, serpentine path that put me in the mega-marketing biz, I wait for the question to land: “So, would you say you have an area of expertise?”
I don’t. I’m a Jack of all writers. But that’s not what I tell her.
“I certainly have a strong background in food writing and hospitality,” I fluff, “though I’m pretty comfortable with business and content marketing these days. I’ve also worked on a fair amount of thought leadership in tech and human resources.” In other words, Cindy, no. I don’t.
I’d love to buttress this subtextual confession with more context, but Cindy quickly moves on to job requirements and PTO policy. The moment is lost.
Having enjoyed these awkward moments upwards of a dozen times over the last decade, I’ve begun to ask myself, “What would I say if I could explain my career pivots, my lack of single-silo expertise?”
Probably something like this: “I have to.”
While my tech-tastic friends are keen to throw around obscene compensation figures and ballooned bonuses, we writers have a different outlook. Our salaries are downright depressing by comparison; in Denver, a large-ish metropolitan area by most accounts, a managing editor can safely expect to make $60k a year. Meanwhile, entry-level coders are handed six figures and a signing bonus. Massively different worlds.
I don’t begrudge those who are successful, but with the cost of living climbing at sweat-inducing rates, we writers have to make ends meet. So, we pivot. We become experts in marketing strategy, analytics, SEO, business strategy, human resources — the list goes on and on. We ask, feverishly, “Where is the money? How can we use our writing chops and a handful of quickly-supplemented skills to secure a salary of $70k, $80k, $90k?” In short: We become all things to all people.
There’s clearly a benefit to this. With constant self-education, we acquire a knowledge of many, many industries. In most cases, however, the knowledge is only skin-deep. Even our writing — our beloved writing — becomes less a practice of steady improvement in one form and more an exercise in superficial mastery of a dozen forms.
I would argue that this is necessary. As writers, we have to hustle to make our careers work for us financially. And while I greatly admire those in my ken who have stuck exclusively to writing in a specific medium or subject area, I also know how much they struggle with the pay — not to mention the constant nag-nag-nag that’s required to actually secure a check for services rendered.
What’s my point? Ultimately, it shouldn’t be this way. Good, practiced writers are rare and should be valued — with compensation reflecting that value.
The obstacle, however, is in the craft itself. Most of modern America can write, can’t they? If I’m a business owner in need of copy, why would I pay top-dollar for a self-titled professional “writer” when there are literally thousands to choose from? Heck, somebody on staff could probably do the writing for me, saving me the cost of another hire.
Here’s the rub: Yes, most of modern America can write, but do they write well? Do they understand voice and tone and style and audience and the power of thoughtfully-crafted language? Do they understand the intersection of psychology and language; do they think about semantics?
In most cases, no. They’re still considered writers, though — which puts supply/demand way out of whack and we writers too often out of the job.
I would dearly love for society to come back around to the appreciation of good writers as a rare asset, to value penners who have honed their craft over the course of many years. But we read in snippets and digest in fragments, these days. We increasingly consume information via multimedia. We soak up podcasts, TikToks, Tweets.
I can’t help but wonder if we are slowly abandoning the written word.
This dawned on me during a recent interview. The shock of the idea gave me heart palpitations and I almost blurted out: “My God, Cindy, are writers about to become obsolete?!”
I won’t wait for an answer. Time for another pivot, I guess.
