I was a full-time author/artist. Now I’m returning to the workforce

I’m sharing my story to vent, to get perspective and feedback, and in case it’s useful to anyone else.

In 2019, I was a 24-year old full-time marketer and I hated it. I'd spend my days fiddling with platforms to increase percentages of performance and do content audit reports and all these things I felt were pointless because none of these activities created any beauty, helped humanity in any way, or even fed my soul.

In 2020, I decided to pursue writing. I'd give it 4-5 years, I said to myself. "I could always go back to marketing." And I figured that was enough time to pursue my dreams. So if I failed, then at least I tried, right? Anyway, my real "passion" was filmmaking, but that required capital I didn't have. So I wrote. 2 months later, I got my first and main writing client, and I'd be with this client for over 4 years.

In that span of 4 years, I managed to learn how to become a professional-level writer. I won some modest national literary awards. I got accepted into prestigious writing fellowships. My first novel came out to modest success. I've reached the point where my small town knew me as an author, after having my work featured in a few news outlets. I even earned enough as a writer to self-produce and direct my first short film! (It premiered at a festival in San Diego, CA – and no, I'm not based in the US).

In 2024, four major things happened:

1. I self-produced and directed my second short film, which was more ambitious and much, much more expensive. Unexpected costs came up, and I ended up going into debt to cover the final 1/9 of the total budget.

2. My long-term relationship ended, followed by the death of a close family member.

3. I lost my job/client, as the client decided to pivot and no longer needed me.

4. I became a full-time author/artist earning purely from newsletter subscriptions, blogging income, and the occasional sales of my products (book, course, toolkit).

At this point, my monthly debt payments are higher than the average pay in the big city. This debt is an accumulation of various things, including loans I took to cover health and logistics-related needs for my family (mother, father, siblings, etc.; I’m unmarried with no kids). A close family member died of cancer; before she passed, she was hospitalized and the bills were high. I helped pay using loans because I come from a poverty-line family. The year before that, in 2023, my younger brother needed life-or-death surgery, which I also went into debt to help cover. Then there’s the relatively “smaller” debt from my second short film, which has remained unfinished and unsubmitted for a year because the final product was unsatisfactory. To fix it, I need major editing resources (time and money) I don’t have.

Despite everything, I managed to keep paying my monthly debts. My earnings were highly unstable, but they were just enough to cover both debts and living expenses.

Until now.

By September, a year after becoming a full-time author/artist, I expect to earn just enough to pay rent and get through the month on the most frugal terms. There will be nothing left for debt payments.

I intend to write to my lenders to explain my situation. They’re legitimate financial institutions, but they’re known for aggressive collection practices and relatively high interest. I couldn’t borrow from major banks; they wouldn’t lend to a “freelancer” like me. I’ll ask for restructuring, lower interest, and similar relief, and hope for the best.

Yesterday, I had a job interview at a company referred by a friend. It’s a strategist-type role at a marketing agency that would cover my monthly debts and modest living expenses, with a very small amount left for savings. The interviewers liked my profile and my test, and they said they wanted to hire me. Nothing is final, and something could still go wrong, but I feel good about my chances based on that interview.

In preparing for the job, I was already having a personal crisis. I put it aside to focus on the company’s test and on the interview. I focused on getting the job first. Now that it feels semi-secured, I’m letting myself face the personal crisis, which is part of why I’m writing this.

In 2024, the lack of a safety net and unstable income pushed me into survival mode. After a year that felt like a long, extended war, I’m tired. Yet my best option is to start a new job that reminds me of the soul-killing things I left in 2019. While preparing, I researched marketing platforms, and as I looked at these tools I felt again the pointlessness of it all—how inconsequential this life of a marketer can feel, helping businesses get more business. Yes, it’s basically for the money. I know. I also know I’m still blessed that I got to pursue my art at all, despite my poverty-level background.

I'm tired.

Tired of a year that felt like pure survival and still ended in defeat.

Tired that my second short film was so expensive and that it failed because I made mistakes as a director.

Tired that I failed to become a sustainably full-time author/artist.

Tired of the unfairness of watching these authors from upper or upper-middle-class backgrounds get all the attention and big deals, without family debts to pay, traipsing around New York, posting “my life as an author,” doing whatever the fuck they want, and not having to do the content grind people like me go through just to survive as a creator.

I would love to flip them the middle finger and say that if I were at least middle class and only had to pay for myself, I could surpass whatever the fuck they’re doing.

It annoys me, those cutesy authorly posts about impostor syndrome. This is my bias, yes, but my objective brain also agrees: I’ve never had impostor syndrome, because I know my literary work is just as good, if not better, than what many popular young authors are putting out. Their subject matter often speaks to middle- to upper-middle-class white women, which is what most readers consume in this market right now, and that’s why they’re getting all the hype and awards.

I suppose I'm writing this now to come to terms with my defeat. I failed.

My 2019 self thought I'd give this "pursue your dreams" a try for 4-5 years. I did it for 6, and I failed. Now, time to get back to marketing.

One thing my 2019 self didn't realize is how hard it is to go back to marketing after having tried living as an artist. It just felt so right. This is what I was born to do. This is how I'm supposed to live. This is what makes me truly and genuinely happy.

But I failed.

I will still continue writing. I have a novel in progress.

I write this to help me accept the idea that this is my life, at least for now and maybe the next year or two.

I'm tired and I just want to take 2 or 3 months off. Take a proper break, which I haven't had in years. Travel, because I haven't left the country for 6 years. Do some focused writing on my novel. Just live life.

But I have to work (and that's assuming I actually get this job). I have to work marketing so I could afford my payables. It feels like such a waste of a blessed life. Spending a year or two of my life doing this crap just so I won't be hounded by lenders. But I don't suppose there's a real alternative, is there? I considered just running away from them but I have to be easily found online to succeed as a literary artist.

I just turned thirty this month.