I remember my husband and I talking for a bit about how depressing it must be to have had ambitions for a musical career and end up singing "Jug of Punch" for a bunch of tourists at a fake medieval banquet.
But I've been thinking about that, and now I'm not so sure that it's all that depressing.
What got me thinking was seeing the operatic Viking ad for J.G. Wentworth the other day.
The jingle is a definitely a catchy little ear worm. (But not in the cloying, awful, annoying way of the Kars 4 Kids ear worm.)
I have a structured settlement and I need cash now!
Call J. G. Wentworth! 877 cash now
(J. G. Wentworth is a fin-serv firm that buys out structured settlements, annuities, lottery winnings, etc. so that someone gets a cash lump sum up front.)
Anyway, I was sitting here thinking that the folks in the ad had pretty good voices, pity they're only doing an ad for J.G. Wentworth, when two things struck me.
One was that my pity, as it probably was for the Bunratty Castle singers, was likely misplaced.
Yes, they were all fine singers, and I'm pretty sure that none of them started out thinking that singing an ad for a structured settlement company was their dream job. But maybe they were all just happy to be getting paid for something they enjoyed doing and were good at.
Everyone doesn't get to be Placido Domingo.
Some people make it. Some people don't. Even when all those people are pretty much equivalent talent-wise. (Not saying that the J.G. Wentworth Vikings are the talent equivalent of Placido Domingo, but not entirely sure that they're not.)
A lot that factors in: initiative, drive, persistence, opportunity, networking, luck.
Maybe the J.G. Wentworth Vikings weren't interested in being struggling artists and took other jobs, in music or not. Maybe they were in their community chorus. Their church choir. Maybe they got paid to sing at funerals. Maybe they taught. Maybe doing ads was a side gig. Maybe they were just as happy they weren't touring the world having fans toss roses at them. Maybe they were content.
Decades ago, I had a colleague who was a supremely talented performer. John was an admin at my company, but he performed in community theater. I saw him play the lead in Pippin. He tore the house down. He was a fabulous singer, a great dancer, very nice looking, and had tremendous presence and charisma as a performer. (As an admin as well.)
Afterwards we marveled that he wasn't on Broadway.
I have no idea what his ambitions were, or why (or whether) they weren't realized.
But trust me, you would have paid to see this guy perform.
And there was no pitying him because he was Pippin in community theater. He was loving every moment he was up there. (Sadly, within a few years, John died of AIDS.)
So my first thought was: spare the pity for those doing what they love, even if they're not getting rich and famous doing it.
My second thought was: hey, that's me you're talking about.
There's no doubt in my mind that I should have been a writer.
Oh, I'm a Sunday painter kind of writer: Pink Slip, twitter comments, fiction workshops. But, even though I knew I should have been doing it, I never had the persistence, drive, ambition, stick-to-it-ive-ness to try to make a go of making a living as a creative writer.
Writing was always part of my work as a high-tech marketing professional, and when I decided to bail out of corporate (farewell to politicking, managing, commuting...) I focused my freelance work on writing. So in that sense, I've been a professional writer for years.
Would I rather have been Joyce Carol Oates, or even Maureen Dowd?
Hell to the yes, baby.
Maybe I didn't have their talent. So there's that. But I never gave it a go, either.
Instead, I've content myself with being an excellent professional high-tech marketing writer (which I am 100% confident I am), and being a Sunday painter writer with my more creative work.
And there's no use crying over that spilled milk. Just like there's no pitying those whose names may not be household, whose names may not be in lights, but who are somehow, somewhere, doing what they love.
(Meanwhile, if you have a structured settlement and you need cash now, you might want to call 877-cash-now.)
1 comment:
There is a jingle in a local ad for financial advisors that cheerily sings:
"You may be old, but you're not dead... Now's the time to plan ahead."
As for your writing -- decades of my pleading for your novel tells my view.
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