Sweatshop Woman

sweatshop.jpg  Yesterday, I was all perky with positive thinking. Today, I’m — well, not the exact opposite — but I’m tired and wondering “why”?

Why is it that a talented English major with an M.A. has never made much money? Granted, money has never been my top priority, and I don’t work full-time at any one job. I have many part-time jobs, which I’ve always preferred because they give me more time and variety. Sometimes, I feel like I’m slaving in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory at the turn of the century, doing piece-work — some editing here, teaching a class there, selling an article to a magazine, but still . . . 

Why is it that I can work for five years on a novel that finally gets published, and earn only $6,000 from it? Granted, it was a genre historical romance, and that was the expected earn-out from a first single-title sale, but still . . .

Why is it that I have to pay through the nose for my own health insurance? Granted, RWA is working like dogs to make people “respect” romance novels  *rolling my eyes*,  but still . . . Why can’t they just offer group health insurance instead? Now that’s something we could use!

It doesn’t help that Dh is always ragging, “Quit messing around and get a real job!”

I hate to give up the dream, but still . . .

It’s a good thing I love writing fiction, but still . . .

One does get tired.


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