Dear World

Please Kill Me,

Greetings and happy Monday my literary hoards of man. How the hell are you? Should the sun have set on the east and rise in the west, then, I’m still not quite sure where I am (#Misguided #LazyPhilosophy).

In any case, the sun’s up, and that means that it’s time for another game of #WriterSays with your favorite sociopath. (Second favorite, depending on your closeness to Johnny Depp.)

Anywho.

I’m not quite sure where any of you are on the literary: spectrum, totem-pole, limbo bar (quickly descending train that is human literacy?), etc. However, what I do know is that regardless of whether your craft is– your hobby or your passion– you do hope to be paid for it at some point. (Though that form of payment may vary #Don’tGetArrestedForIt #I’mGettingOffTrack).

What I mean is that: you do good work, and you’d like to be acknowledged for such work in a tangible way that may help to pay for a bill or two (and the rounds of therapy that we’ll all assuredly need).

Now, though, I can’t really speak for the HOW to get paid (a.) I don’t run that kind of site and (b.) If I did, this post would be it’s own damn novel– I can speak for what it means when you do, and potentially how to get there.

A lot of people like to think that our craft is all loosey-goosey, free-formed, and reminiscent of the 70’s (U.S. that is), however, when it comes down to the nuts and bolts of it, we’re all just doing what any other good merchant or service does.

We provide the people with something, that they often can not, or will not provide for themselves. Now, I get it, we may have more pure intentions, reasoning, (sexual infatuation?), etc toward our customers–but, once again, it is a business to some extent. Because of that fact we have to ensure that we are the best servicer that we can be (ergo, eventually we get paid for that service #YadaYadaYada).

Beyond the business aspect of it, (which I’m sure that many of you, like me, detest), there is a particular validation that comes with making the ALMIGHTY DOLLAR for your work, (Short of dancing around the streets exclaiming “MY IMAGINATION MAKES MONEY!!!!” and punching an old-lady in the cookie basket #Smooth).

That bill, coin, check, deposit, (gentle fondling?) or whatever, means something. It means that we’re good enough. It means that we’ve hit a level. Surpassed a divide. Broke a barrier.

Getting paid for our work means that we’ve essentially arrived, and YES, that (feeling) is worth something. Maybe not financially (money’s just the form that the chakra takes), but for us, it’s one of the few tangible signifiers of heading both: in the direction that we want and in the direction that we need to be going to be successful. Those times are hard to find and even harder to identify (even if you’re just the Average Jack or Jill too smart to be taking the risk in the first place).

So we work for that validation. For our chance at contributing to the perpetual existence of something that long preceded us and will thrive long after us. We work for that indelible mark, (in one way, or another).

Don’t down the artist who doesn’t have to worry about eating today. Don’t shun the painter with his own Netflix account. Don’t ignore the writer with a Keurig (strapped to his mouth and constantly running it). DON’T CRAP ON THE FINANCIAL GAIN OF YOUR PEERS. Work with them. Work toward them. Work to get there. Because you’ll quickly find that that’s what they had to do. It’s what we all have to do.

It’s not selling out…. It’s buying in.

It’s buying into the idea of art.

It’s buying into the power of the artist.

It’s buying into the illusion, that we were told was fruitless, and reaping its benefits.

It’s buying into the insanity that brought you here and will bring you where you trek next.

Work for yourself. Work for your audience. Work for the world. The doubloons are secondary (but work for them too).

 

*steps off of soapbox*

 

Alright, gang, that’s about all that I’ve got in the chamber for today. I’ll see you all tomorrow for some more text on a screen.

 

Crush Your Week,

–Antwan Crump.