Read Online Write Good or Die by Scott Nicholson - Free Book Online Page B

have given you my standard “making a good living” answer. If you had pressed me, and asked me what my biggest dream is, I would have told you that it would be to have a career like Stephen King’s or like Nora Roberts’ (she was still in the early stages of her bestsellerdom, not the phenom she is now).
    At the time, I didn’t know all the pros and cons of that kind of career. I only knew what I saw from the outside—lots of books on the shelves, books adored by the fans, books that climbed the bestseller lists. The movies didn’t thrill me as much as the books did, although a movie deal or two would be nice. And so would the money which, in those days, was “I want to be rich and never have to work again” money.
    In those days, I did not know that vast sums of money required vast amount of money management. I did not know the downside to fame (like the struggle to maintain some kind—any kind—of privacy). I didn’t know that writers like Stephen King (back then) or Dan Brown (right now) can cause entire publishing houses to have a good or a bad year just by releasing a book.
    I didn’t understand the pressure.
    I simply thought that a brand name bestseller had a damn cushy life of writing whatever she wanted and getting it published and then sitting on top of her pile of money. And I thought I wanted that.
    Yet I heard myself questioning things. Like the “never have to work again” part of my old friend’s quip. Um…but I like writing. I want to continue working. So what would happen if I became rich and never “had” to work again? Would I quit? Would I feel required to quit?
    Would I be greedy if I continued to work while being filthy rich?
    Such questions. Questions that I did not then have the answer to.
    I do now. You can probably tell from all the various freelancer posts that I’m an avid researcher. So I’ve researched those early dreams and discovered that I don’t want some of them. Money, yes, of course. Brand name status? (shrug) If it happens, it happens. It’s no longer a goal. The New York Times Bestseller List? Yes, at least once with my own book before I die. And so on.
    I have worked very hard to not only define what success means to me, but to understand what it is I’m hoping for. And even then, I know I’ve missed a few things.
    For example, this summer, Neil Gaiman accepted the Newberry Award for his wonderful novel Graveyard Book . On Twitter, he posted a picture of the ceremony where he got the medal and where he had to give a speech.
    The picture (from Neil’s place on the dais) was of a typical hotel ballroom, filled with earnest-looking faces looking up at him over plates of rubber chicken.
    Mercy me, I’d always pictured the Newberry Award Ceremony at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, filled with lots of beautiful people in spectacular designer gowns. I was actually disappointed to see that hotel ballroom filled with well-dressed but non-glam people.
    It took me a day or so to figure out where I had gotten that impression. My sister Sandy gave me books every year for Christmas and my birthday. As I grew up, I got Newberry Award winners at least once, sometimes twice a year.
    The only awards ceremony I had ever seen as a child was the Academy Awards, which my mother watched faithfully each March. The only school night that I was allowed to stay up until midnight was Oscar Night.
    So, to child-me, all awards ceremonies took place in pavilions with lots of cameras and lots of pretty well dressed people. And my subconscious had held onto that image of the Newberry awards (which was the only book award my child-self had ever heard of) for more than forty years.
    See how the definitions of success get corrupted? Had it been me getting that award before I came to my adult senses and remembered what an extreme honor it is, I would have been momentarily disappointed by that ballroom. Note that I did not expect the Edgars to be in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. Nor did I expect