I spend a lot of time on creative projects: thousands of hours writing, hundreds of hours podcasting, the occasional flurry of drawing. About 30 years ago, I knitted a scarf.

Living as we do in a culture of life hacks, side hustles and personal perfectionism, dedicating this level of effort to creative endeavours makes no sense. The return – especially the financial return – doesn’t justify the time commitment.

Take my book on local journalism: There’s Someone in Reception. I’m currently doing my tax return (a time drag if ever there was one) and my back-of-the-envelope calculation tells me I got paid about £1 per hour for my labour.

To put that in context, the current UK minimum wage is £12.21 per hour for a person aged 21 or over. So, I’m pretty sure I have illegally exploited myself – and should report myself for investigation.

Now, I’m aware that some writers make a very good living. Obviously some at the very top make a fortune, and many more earn a solid crust from their blend of creativity and professionalism.

However, it seems inescapable that many writers, artists and other keen creators won’t make much money from their work. Of course, many do it for the sheer joy of the creative process.

I’ve always done creative stuff, and for most of that time I’ve had no interest or intention of selling anything. But here I am, writing a newsletter, trying to act all professional and “make it” as a writer. So my motives are now officially mixed.

I’m currently reading a brilliant book called Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, by Gabrielle Zevin. It tells the story of two childhood friends (Sam and Sadie) who – at the point I’ve reached in the story – are embarking on a career as game designers.

Explaining his motives, Sam says: “I want to make something that will make people happy.”

Sadie calls this “trite” – and Sam replies by reminding her of childhood afternoons playing Super Mario together, and how that distracted him from being unwell and in pain.

He adds: “I could save the princess, even when I could barely get out of bed. So, I do want to be rich and famous. I am, as you know, a bottomless pit of ambition and need. But I also want to make something sweet. Something kids like us would have wanted to play to forget their troubles for a while.”

So – while I may never make any money, nor fill that bottomless pit – I’ll keeping trying to make something sweet.

Comfort Fiction

While we’re talking about Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, let me share another lovely quote. Sam and Sadie’s friendship has its troubles, including at least one serious fall-out. Sam soon realises what he has lost:

“His mistake had been in thinking the world would be filled with Sadie Greens, people like her. It was not.”

The accepted wisdom in my family is that making six true friends in your life is good going. So, if you have a Sadie Green – or more than one – be grateful. And try not to let them go.

Dicing with Death

Just as I’m trying to become more professional in my writing, we’re constantly working to improve Dice Company. Tom leads this endless quest, tinkering with everything from audio quality and editing to episode art and our website.

My current contribution is to create a blog and email newsletter (apparently one wasn’t enough for me) to promote the show. I’ve done a lot of research, and the “journey” for new listeners is meant to go like this: Google something about TTRPGs, find the Dice Company blog, read that blog and be amazed by its brilliant insights, sign up for the newsletter, get emails containing intriguing references to Dice Company, listen to the show, be wowed (once again) by our awesomeness, become a dedicated listener – and perhaps even a Patreon supporter.

Podcast experts assure me this improbable chain can indeed hang together, so I’m giving it a go. I’ll let you know how I get on.