Many of you know how I feel about money: I wish it wasn’t a thing. I don’t have any brilliant ideas for how to manage the exchange of goods, but if someone else would take that on, I’d erase money from the planet. It’s synonymous with power, turns people cruel, is to blame for untold levels of death and destruction. That it has anything to do with whether we have a roof or clothes or healthcare is agonizing. We live in a world where being human = needing money. Barf.
But we built this world and now we’re living in it. It’s real—we do need to be valued in dollars (or whatever currency), to have our basic worldly needs met. I’ve been working in the service industry since I was 15. Restaurant work is hard work and the pay is good. I’m fed by the pace and dynamism and believe I’ve received the equivalent of a masters in psychology from observing all that human behavior. In the last decade, it’s also some of the only work I’ve been paid for.
Feminists have been debating for decades about whether women should be financially compensated for their emotional and domestic labor, or whether that just strengthens the capitalism Kool-aid. Early in our life together, Ken and I agreed that he’d mostly earn the dollars and I’d mostly be home with the baby and everything was equally important and we’d share everything (money) evenly. This isn’t uncommon on the island, where jobs are limited and childcare costs money. Our arrangement went on to shift a few times, to be largely positive, and also create its own ruts and resentments.
What I’ve never had is a career. A track I’m on, an identity I’m building as my own which the world recognizes me for, both with affirmation and also money. At 37, I finally know that writing is my vocation, and I’ve been dedicated to building/freeing that identity for four years now.
In that time, I’ve been paid a total of $2,000 for being a writer—and this was a single generous sum from Roxane Gay at The Audacity (support artists supporting artists!). Mostly, I’ve invested a great deal of money into strengthening my craft. Another round of grad school, you could say.
What does any of this have to do with play? Isn’t money inherently anti-play? Recently I’ve been trying to think of play as a switch to be turned on. Feeling hopeless about money? Shit feeling heavy? Unsure how you’re going to be able to do x and also y? Time to flip the switch to Play Mode!
Play Mode means eliminating all the edges and walls that feel really real. Melting them into the ground. From there, there’s a basic identification of what’s missing and what shouldn’t be compromised. Once there are real parameters, not assumed ones, creative problem-solving gets stimulated. I like an assignment. Thinking outside the box is my jam.
This is what happened with me and “work” and “money” a few weeks ago. I needed Play Mode to solve for the “being compensated for my work” dilemma. Once I flipped that switch, it became fun to think about money in new ways. I had agency in an area that often feels like a trap. What was missing: income, what couldn’t be compromised: writing time. The idea came tumbling out. A sponsorship of sorts, an annual award to be given out to a writer who could demonstrate excellence in their craft. Early drafts were a mashup of a formal replicable model and arguments for why I should get the award. The consistent feedback was that I needed to focus on myself, make it personal. If it worked, we could think about replicas.
To artists, my proposal is a no-brainer. To donor-types, it’s a stretch. Many supporters of the arts are accustomed to supporting organizations, not individuals. I’ve repeatedly been directed to pre-existing national programs, of which there are few. These are extremely competitive awards serving a national pool, applications are for slots a year+ in the future, and I have applied to all that match my genre.
Another way to frame this is that it offers universal basic income for an (Orcas Island) artist who demonstrates promise/excellence in their field. In part so they can continue living here. The king’s court model. The sharp increase in the cost of living over the past few years has meant an exodus for many longtime residents of this island. As someone who has lived here for 14 years, I can attest that a great number of them were artists.
There’s also a feminist slant to this—especially for those who have been in uncompensated caregiver roles (pretty much every woman), and who face significantly more hurdles in the publishing world than their male counterparts (shocker).
Anyway, I’ve had no luck thus far, so I’ve decided to share it here.
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First Book Sponsorship Proposal
When Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was elected to the Senate, she vowed to pay all staff, including interns, a living wage of at least $15 an hour. This was deemed “radical” because congressional internships have historically been largely unpaid. AOC was highlighting a barrier to entry for huge swaths of Americans while acknowledging the absurdity of unpaid labor.
Writing a first book is like an unpaid internship for a publisher who doesn’t yet know you exist. A writer must be fully devoted to their work, yet somehow patch together paying gigs which eat away at the hours. Challenges multiply if they have dependents.
In early 2020, I overcame significant depression and started working with a writing coach. I began consistently writing, revising and submitting my work for publication. This was during the pandemic, so I was also homeschooling my young daughter and serving as primary caregiver for my elderly father-in-law. Writing came after domestic obligations a lot. Much has shifted in my life in the past year, and writing can now be—is—unequivocally my vocation.
My current project, JUNO’S HOUSE RULES, is a collection of essays interrogating the narratives we’re told about home, partnership and sex. I write personal narrative essays to make meaning of my life, but also because I’ve seen how talking about uncomfortable things releases them. When the title essay of this book was published in 2022, I heard from readers around the globe about the ways my description of the challenges of sex in partnership resonated for them.
For the past four years, I’ve been committed to becoming a better writer. My work has been published five times, including by New York Times bestselling author and columnist Roxane Gay. I’ve submitted to 20+ prizes and awards, was shortlisted twice and received two Honorable Mentions. I’ve applied for fellowships and residencies through the following organizations: Martha's Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing, Hedgebrook, The Kenyon Review, Tin House, The deGroot Foundation, Mineral School and Pen Parentis. Though I haven't won, I’ve heard from numerous editors that my work shows great promise, or that my essays were in the top 5% of 1,000+ submissions considered. It’s a gross understatement to say that demand for these programs far outweighs the supply. This proposal attempts to compensate for this on a local level. If people in well-resourced areas “invest” in members of their own communities, the odds are increased for applicants to the national pool who live in less-resourced communities.
To date, I’ve invested an estimated $24,000 in my writing career. I certainly live a life of disproportionate privilege—I have a partner who has almost single-handedly financially supported our family for a decade—but I’ve also been out of the workforce for a long time, am a strong writer and believe I should be paid for my work.
This $26,000 sponsorship is intended to cover basic living expenses and editorial support for a 6-month period, during which I will complete a manuscript draft. We often romanticize “the starving artist,” applauding dedication to craft and the subversion of capitalism, but the truth is millions of great works of art were never made because an artist was too busy trying to pay the bills.
Thank you for considering my proposal. Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me with any questions.
Warmly,
Serena Burman
I’ll survive if this idea never takes off. But it’s also possible there’s someone in another town somewhere who loves the idea and wants to make it a reality in their community. Or maybe someone knows a niche club of “patrons of the arts” who appreciate a grassroots edge. I’m releasing it into the world in part because I’m not certain it’s about me anymore. I’m also sharing it to inspire you to dream up a solution to a conundrum of your own.
Optional Assignment:
Apply Play Mode to something that feels stuck in your life. If light-switch or dial imagery doesn’t work, make some Play Goggles. Your “problem” can be large or small. Identify what’s needed and what should not be compromised. Notice the “yeah, buts” and see if you can melt them down, even just a little. Ideally, you’ll get to a clean slate you can build up from. If that doesn’t work, it means nothing. I’m making this up. Because play.
Apple Play Mode
Play Googles
That is what I saw above.. the problem of the capitalist brain. Maybe not totally beside the point.
If I understood my cousin correctly, in Paris they offer desirable subsidized housing to artists. Long wait list of course. Not a solution, but at least effort in the right direction.
May your endeavor be successful! May you always be able to write, despite the many obstacles, because you do it so beautifully!
Love and hope,
Steph
so outside the box and genius!!!!!!!! i am wishing you all the best of luck <3