I opened the front door and walked in. The host introduced herself and I did my part. The usual blah-blah.
And then it was like in those Saturday morning cartoons when you see the light bulb switching on in the character's head. "Oh, you are the guy who writes columns in the newspaper" she said.
"How does that work?"
I am used to this question now; it has been six years, I think, of regularly writing columns for this paper. "I am a regular columnist for them, yes, but I am not one of their staff."
"Oh, so if they pay you, it is probably an honorarium, right? Perhaps just about enough to pay for a dinner for two?"
I smiled and nodded. An irony that pretty much over those very years, it has not been dinner for two in my life. Well, hey, the honorarium check goes a lot farther when it is for one!
At least I have a day job that pays. Though, there are times when that also feels like an honorarium. Writers rarely ever can sustain themselves by writing alone.
As I noted a while ago, it is humbling when I remind myself that the writers of the past had way worse struggles:
In fact, I am glad I am not a full-time writer; the pressure to monetize the writing will be way too intense, as this writer humorously observes:
My experience at Hay was just one example of how I have effectively enslaved myself. I'm sure many fellow authors will identify with the occasion when I took two days to get to Durham and back, in order to talk to 14 people in a damp Scout Hut, three of whom bought a book. Or how about the major book prize which wanted me to be a judge and read some 35 books over the summer?So, no complaints about the honorarium that I get from the paper. I wonder if I will ever get a raise though after these six years--I mean, at least to adjust for inflation! ;)
'Love to,' I said. 'What will you pay?'
'Pay? Oh. Well, we give an honorarium.'
I had to look it up. It's Latin. Apparently it means, 'You should be honoured to be asked, but if you insist, here's a groat and you won't get asked again.'