I don’t know about you, but I hate it when people pay me for my work. It just makes it all about them, doesn’t it? Like that Siobhan Curham who ghost-wrote Zoella’s record-breaking gazillions selling Girl Online, outselling J K Rowling and Dan Brown. Gutting for her, it must be, being chained to that. Worse for Zoella, maybe, when the internet found out, but that’s by-the-by.
Money’s just such a downer for the creative juices. Personally, I can’t write until I’m so hungry I might pass out. I actually need that weak, borderline-hallucinogenic vibe before I really crack out the good stuff. And sure, yes, I could do that to myself with money in my bank account. But the flesh is weak, and I can’t promise I wouldn’t be tempted to nourish myself with something costly and high in fatty acids, like an avocado, or a slice of salmon. The People With The Money know this about creatives, and I — like the rest of the weak-willed, left-brained world — am so, so grateful for that.Read More