How to Value Creative Work

Recently I asked my friend Elizabeth what she thought about unpaid writing gigs that hold the potential for greater exposure. She looked at me in that wonderfully incredulous, no-nonsense way of hers.

"You do NOT write for free."

"No exceptions," she said.

Of course, I was free to do as I liked, but if I wanted to be taken seriously as a professional artist, I would need to say "thanks but no thanks" unless there were some sort of trade involved. I could write an essay in exchange for a massage, say, or a three-month supply of Fair Trade vegan chocolate. But to write for nothing, no exchange of energy, would be to disrespect my own talents, skills, and (ahem, expensive) education.

But what about start-up websites that may not have any advertising revenue yet with which to pay me? "You can leave those opportunities to people who just write for fun," Elizabeth replied. Part of me was resisting this advice, but I knew she was right.

Around the time we were having this conversation, my friend Kirsty (whom I met at Hawthornden last year, and will soon see at the Edinburgh launch of her debut story collection—for which I'll be doing another Q&A-contest, by the way!) reposted the following screenshot of two Craigslist ads, the second a response to the first: 

Absolutely silly.

"You wouldn't go up to a chiropractor at a cocktail party and say, 'can you just make this quick adjustment for me?'" Elizabeth went on. "And if you did, the chiropractor would say, 'I can take care of that. Just call my office and make an appointment. I charge $150 an hour.'"

Why is it, then, that artists are so often expected to work for free? Is there a pervasive cultural perception that because "anyone" can "make art," that only a very few should make a living at it while the rest of us remain happy to "dabble"?

So tired of this complete lack of professional self-confidence. Seriously. SO tired of it. I just want to kill it with a fork. #stabbity— Sarah/Katherine (@pennyvixen) March 27, 2014

I have been sitting with Elizabeth's advice for the past week or two. I have thought over the times when I have made school appearances, asking and receiving less than I was worth in return for my time, energy, and knowledge, because at the time I felt that speaking for free was simply a gesture of goodwill from a writer who had "made it" with a Random House book deal. I offered a free writing workshop (eight two-hour sessions) a couple of years ago because I wanted teaching experience and figured it would be a great way to make my own opportunity. I don't regret any of those decisions, but I do feel that the time has come when I can no longer say, "sure, I'll come speak to your students for free." I have been very, very nice—so nice and so generous that I have not actually behaved like a professional. I'd committed to two (albeit quick) unpaid writing projects before I had that conversation with Elizabeth, but in future, if there isn't at least a modest honorarium involved (hey, I know school budgets are tight), I simply cannot do it. (I'm excepting the Skillshare because a free exchange of knowledge is the raison d'être—at least in our version of a skillshare. And in that case, I received even more than I gave.)

Whatever the reason artists are so often expected to labor for nothing beyond a quick thanks a lot, the fact is, we writers and musicians and artists need to put a price on the work we're doing. St. Martin's didn't pay me for Bones & All with a pat on the head, now, that's for sure! In any given exchange in the professional arena, one of us has to value my time and talent—and if it isn't me then it certainly won't be you.

What do you think? Am I empowering or limiting myself by writing solely for pay?