/lit/ - Literature

>>22374508
It's my understanding that most creative types have to have a day job to fall back on.
Herman Melville worked for the government most of his life, Frank Herbert worked in the publishing industry, Andy Weir labored in the software industry salt mines until he hit it big, etc.
But my day job sucks all the life out of me, making it extremely difficult to write. I can't be creative when I'm tired and stressed.
I could write any number of things–I'm never wanting for ideas–but what should I put my effort into? What will actually be popular, sell a zillion copies, get optioned for TV/movies, and otherwise make it possible to quit my blood-sucking career & do this for a living instead?
This really sucks.
I don't expect anyone here to come up with solutions...I'm just ranting in the last few hours of freedom I have before I have to hit the hay and show up at my day job tomorrow morning.

>>20761743
You can always look up related tropes:
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/CosmicPlaything

>>20746992
His hair stood on end as heavy footsteps approached. A burly pair of cops suddenly obstructed his view; one unlocked the cell as the other muttered furiously, glaring at Raymond. As soon as the door opened, the cop grabbed Raymond and yanked him out of the cell, pushing him roughly down the hallway. "Hey!" he complained. "Ease up!"
"Not a chance," came the curt reply. "*You* know what you did. You deserve to be treated this way."
"You should be careful," Raymond crowed. "You don't want to hurt your fists on my account."
He felt the back of his shirt tighten up right before he found himself flung into the unforgiving concrete wall. A shock of pain overwhelmed him, and he crumpled to the floor. "My fists will be just fine," he heard the cop gloat. In an instant, he was pulled to his feet and the forced march continued.
After what seemed like a long journey, Raymond entered a small courtroom. There were tables for opposing counsel, but no space for a jury, and only enough seats for a handful of witnesses. He felt a chill overwhelm him; he had heard of courts like these. They were known for dispensing swift and brutal justice. The door slammed behind him; he was alone in here except for the judge and one of the cops.
"Raymond Izquieda," the judge intoned, "you stand accused of assassinating the President."
"I demand a lawyer!" he bellowed. He felt himself shoved from behind, and collided painfully with the floor. Righteous indignation gave him the strength to stand up quickly. "Did you see that?!" he fumed.
"Indeed I did," the judge scolded, waving his gavel menacingly. "Keep this up and I'll strike you myself." Raymond swallowed hard as his shoulders slumped.
"The standard punishment is to be tortured to death," the judge warned. "But we can reduce that to painless execution if you confess. Maybe even life imprisonment. But it all depends on your cooperation."
"You have nothing on me," Raymond growled. "I'm innocent." He remained calm; he was highly confident they could never prove it. After all, he had done a *really* good job of covering his tracks. He just had to hold out against this abusive interrogation.
The door opened; all turned to look. It was one of the many bureaucrats that worked in the building. "Your honor?" he interrupted. "We found the guy. He gave us a full confession, and produced the weapon."
Raymond felt his blood chill. What was going on? He stared hotly at the interloper as the other two glared silently. No one spoke for a moment.

I'm about 200 pages into "The Business Of Being A Writer" by Jane Friedman.
I wasn't expecting miracles, but sadly, it's confirmed my most cynical fears.
It openly admits that MFA programs are about writing "literary" fiction, while acknowledging that the commercial market for such work is nearly zero (with notable modern exceptions like Jonathan Franzen).
The other benefit of an MFA program is making "connections" that might help your career later, which doesn't apply to someone like me that's long out of college (STEM) and not about to go back.
It also admits that getting an agent to respond is largely a question of persistence (sometimes for years...dear God) and trying to tune your query letter to the agent.
The latter is the same BS I hear about my resume, and IMHO it leads to a ton of effort for someone that wasn't likely to respond to you in the first place, no matter what you did, so why bother.
It also acknowledges the only way to build up a personal set of contacts, people that might be willing to buy your work, is to have some sort of online presence, social media or otherwise, writing stuff that people want to read.
That's not really an answer...if I knew how to do that, I would have already.
The rest (so far) involves other types of paying work for writers. I don't need that; I already have a career that pays the bills. So, again, useless for me.
What am I learning here, other than the effective impossibility of the task, and how much sheer luck is involved? I'm the unluckiest person I know.

>>20301166
This isn't the kind of story I would write, so I don't mind giving you my ideas.
Here's what I came up with while folding laundry. (Menial chores let me daydream, and I come up with a lot of ideas that way.)

After looking back on his life, he realizes there were times where he felt genuinely happy.
They had two things in common: he was alone, and he was unemployed.
He realizes that the big stressors in his life are related to how awful other people are, and how much working for a living sucks.
He also realizes that the sort of people that make his life miserable aren't superior to him -- in fact, they're deeply inferior people, lashing out at anyone they can
His epiphany is that it's better to be alone than to wish you were alone.
He goes back to his life, and resolves to compartmentalize his career so he doesn't think about it unless he's getting paid to, and enjoys his time alone...then decides to write a story about it.

>>20203611
Is he implying that "Shitkickers" wasn't porn?
Because I have news for him...