Hump day thoughts on the artist and the day job

Quartz recently ran an article, based on a letter from 19th Century French novelist Gustave Flaubert to his mother, on the notion of an artist taking a day job to survive. Flaubert himself called the notion an "illusion," claiming that such pursuits were for the mediocre, and that if he were going to commit himself to writing, he would only do it if he could apply his entire energy and strength to it:

When one does something, one must do it wholly and well. Those bastard existences where you sell suet all day and write poetry at night are made for mediocre minds — like those horses equally good for saddle and carriage — the worst kind, that can neither jump a ditch nor pull a plow.

The article was balanced, offsetting Flaubert's artistic puritanism with examples of writers (Kafka, Harper Lee, Jennifer Egan) who had succeeded as writers in spite of holding down day jobs. It also pointed out that Flaubert's parents were fairly well-off, which is not a privilege every writer has. 

The problem isn't work; it's kids

Long ago, when I was in my mid-twenties, didn't have kids yet, and wanted to be a great writer more than I wanted anything in life, I wrote a personal creed of sorts in which I said words to the effect of "anyone can raise kids, but only a select few people can be prophets who create great art, so if I have to choose, I will choose not to have a family so I can create great art." 

It's hard for me to believe that puttering away at the kind of job needed to preserve a subsistence living for one person is going to keep you from being a great writer. You can do almost anything full-time, and if you're willing to make personal sacrifices like having a roommate, you will be able to sustain yourself. (Assuming, of course, you don't have unusual obstacles like expensive health issues.)

Furthermore, the kind of job you need just to pay your own bills isn't going to be so taxing you can't still write when you get home. It probably isn't going to be the kind of job where the boss is on your ass so much you can't sneak away for a few minutes to jot down the idea you just had so you can work on it when you get home. You think the manager at a drug store is going to write you up because you took five minutes to jot something down? As long as you more or less show up on time and more or less don't insult customers and more or less don't steal from the store, you're going to be fine.

A single person with a day job should be able to discipline herself to write when she can and still write everything she needs to write to accomplish her goals. It's when kids enter the picture that things become difficult. First, you're going to need a better job, the kind that sucks your best energies and makes you expend brain cells. You'll maybe have some fleeting idea for your story while on the job, but you need to run to the bathroom or you won't have time to go before the next meeting starts.

Then, of course, when you get home, there is a whole other set of people with problems that require your attention. A single writer with a day job can still put writing first in his life; a conscientious parent will be lucky if it's a distant third.

Priest vs Preacher

I have no issue with someone making a conscious decision to avoid the responsibilities of family life to pursue art. If artists are in some sense prophets, then they are entitled to follow the long tradition of beliefs in the world that espouse the need for spiritual leaders to avoid Earthly entrapments. The Catholic Church, for example, wants its priests to remain unmarried so that they can focus fully on pastoral care. It wouldn't be hard for me to believe that the writers who are the greatest virtuosos with language were also the writers with limited familial responsibilities. The music inside their heads was seldom blasted away by The Wiggles.

But the Protestant in me feels like this isn't the only route, and not the one for me. I feel like it's a little rich to be doling out life advice when you aren't yourself experiencing the one thing that most profoundly affects the lives of nearly all your adult parishioners. I'd prefer to take my advice from someone who struggles to deal with his kids fighting each other as he writes his sermons on the kitchen table. As Clint Eastwood's preacher put it in Pale Rider, "the spirit ain't worth spit without a little exercise."

The only photo of this scene I could find. 

At the very least, I think you have to agree that once you have kids, your responsibility for them is greater than your responsibility to create art. I may not still be a Christian, but C.S. Lewis's evaluation that a Christian writer must know from the outset that saving one soul is worth more than all the great works of human history still checks out with me.

How can you be a vessel of divine truths when you neglect the needs of your own family? In my experience, words and images worth committing to paper are hard to come by. You have to place yourself in a position somewhere between the most abject humility and the most unjustified certainty. I don't see how one could even get in such a place while ignoring the welfare of the people you are responsible for.

The decision to not have kids is a great life decision. I don't want to deride it in any way. But I can't believe that taking on such a basic part of human existence--even if it comes with all kinds of mundane extras like having a job-- makes one unable to write about the mysteries of that existence. My two favorite writers, Melville and Vonnegut, both had heavy family responsibilities. In Vonnegut's case, it altered the way he wrote, because he needed his books to sell. In Melville's case, it dogged him his entire life. They both still managed to write great art.

For me, developing the discipline to be a father, including all the pain of having a grown-up job, has also helped me develop the discipline to be a writer. I might miss out on a few scenes I'd otherwise have written if I were able to write on "event time," but I think I gain more than I lose.