Emily Maloney, Writer: Creatives Surviving Capitalism
It’s all a test, right? It has to be. We’re thrown into this life with our tiny, balled up fists, unadjusted eyes and confused cries. We’re given specific circumstances in which we have to survive and develop and grow. We have to figure out how to hold onto what makes us laugh and what to avoid so we don’t cry. It’s a balancing act, with the highest stakes we can comprehend — survival.
It’s a balancing act, with the highest stakes we can comprehend — survival.
I’m being dramatic because it is dramatic! You act how you think you’re supposed to act. There’s no manual, and the only makeshift guide you’re given is your surroundings. Your teachers, your role models, your elders and even your peers. And guess what? They’re figuring this all out right along with you. That’s a lot of blind trust. A lot of trial and a lot of error.
I navigated one of the most stereotypical paths. Small-town, New England girl, strives for straight-As, plays sports and does a handful of other extracurriculars. Gets into a good college. Finishes her undergrad in 4 years. Figures out exactly what she wants to do and who she wants to be, and gets a good, stable job immediately following graduation with full benefits and a 401k.
Yeah, right. Play that back, but this time, stop after “finishes undergrad.” I finished in 4 years, sure. But I might as well have gotten a degree in making friends. I’m really good at making friends. My fancy framed diploma, however, reads English Major/Psych Minor, because “I was registered Undecided until my advisor told me if I didn’t make a decision, I would have to enroll for another semester or two, which is a boatload of money, and I know I’m great at writing, so let’s just go with English and whatever minor I already have enough credits for” apparently didn’t fit in the margins. (It also ends in a preposition.)
Staying on-trend, it proved pretty difficult to find a good, stable job when you have no idea what you want to do. And apparently, comedy television producers don’t go around begging to hire unconfident English majors who’ve been ejected into the real world with nothing but their balled up fists and blinking eyes. (We’ve learned to reduce our cries to silent tears and Twitter rants.)
For the next five years, I would find myself in a cycle. THE cycle. First, I moved to New York City and got a job in the service industry; unrelated to writing, but with hours that would allow me to write on the side, and a location that allowed me to rub elbows with more writers. That’s when I started my scripts.
Soon tiring from feeling like I was wasting my degree (I should be getting PAID to write already!), I entered the corporate landscape as Bareburger’s lead copywriter. I quickly found that writing at work 45 hours a week was good exercise, yes, but left little creative energy for my scripts. After two years in NYC, I left for LA and decided to start fresh with a less time-consuming, less stress-inducing gig (back to the service industry!), promising myself that I’d be better at putting my script-writing hours in.
This was working, but then I turned 26. At 26, you get kicked off your parents’ health insurance. Fists balled, eyes blinking. Worrying about paying for my own healthcare came with this nagging voice that I really should’ve gotten started on my 401K by now. Back I went to Corporate America, this time as Fashion Nova’s first and only copywriter. “First and only” meant a lot of stress, very little help, and daily overtime. I didn’t open any of my script documents for the entire year. Self-hatred set in, and ate at me for months preceding my resignation.
What matters most, though, is that I’ve finally started believing in myself.
This time feels different. This time, I accepted a long-term, freelance writing gig that actually pays the bills, allows a ton of time to take on other work, and, more importantly, get back to my own work. And, an added bonus, the opportunity came from Bareburger, so I get to work for my old boss again. (This time, without having to survive a New York winter.) Instead of the company’s copywriter, I am responsible for an article a week, published on their new blog.
I feel good about my newest shift, and will, for now, ignore the pressure of building my 401k. I will figure out freelancer’s insurance. I will set aside chunks of my paychecks to avoid that tax-season panic. I will work towards the ultimate goal: writing my own TV series. It feels different this time, for a number of reasons. I’ve made a handful of very valuable connections here in Los Angeles, and everybody who has read my work is willing to help me once I have a good, solid script draft. I finally realized that people believe in me. From my boss at Bareburger who has watched me develop my skillset, to a few impossibly talented peers, to my mentor who knows the industry and has been writing for decades longer than I have. They all want to see me succeed.
What matters most, though, is that I’ve finally started believing in myself. I needed a lot of nudges and lectures to push the self-doubt out of centerstage in my headspace. I’ve finally set goals for myself, instead of “going with the flow.” As a creative, you have to strike a balance between the two. Riding the wave for too long becomes an excuse — self-imposed deadlines are terrifying. But by 29 years old, I will have a script that is ready to be shopped around. By 30, whether I have network backing or a group of friends willing to take a chance, I will have that script in production.
I’ve figured out how to break my cycle. Now it’s time for you to break yours.
Emily Maloney is a freelance writer and has written for Bareburger and Fashion Nova. For the latest, follow her on Twitter.
