The Jakarta Post - Weekender

In the last few years, there has been a significant increase in the number of book titles put out each year. For aspiring writers, it’s kind of a good sign.

“For sure there are now more books out there, although that does not necessarily mean an increase in quality as well,” says Harumi Supit, who left the world of investment consulting to become a full-time freelance writer at the beginning of this year.

“But that gives us a chance to read both trash and classics. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying a good trashy book.”

But 29-year-old Harumi and other writers seeking to pen their first novel find that it takes patience, determination and, most importantly, finding other sources of income to fuel their dream.

Netta Asril, whose first novel about a humanitarian worker is in its final editing stages, works at an international organization.

“I don’t think you can make a living exclusively from fiction writing yet, but maybe it’s possible if you also write articles, film scripts and do other different forms of writing at the same time,” says Netta, who first tried to sell her short stories to her elementary school classmates.

“But that also depends on the person’s luck factor, and their popularity.”

Stefani Hid, a 22-year-old English literature student at Petra University in Surabaya, wrote her first novel, Bukan Saya, tapi Mereka yang Gila! (It’s Not Me, but It’s Them Who’re Crazy!), at the age of 16 and had it published two years later. Two more novels and several short stories have followed.

Although she has yet to try to pursue a living from literature, she worries that her works – dealing with “heavy” topics such as death and insanity, often presented in the form of stream-of-thought consciousness – will not be commercial.

“(T)he themes I usually put forward in my works are not too pop, so I think that if I stick with them when writing full-time, I wouldn’t sell enough to support myself. So perhaps I should have more sellable stuff, like sex.”

Akmal N. Basral already knows what spells commercial success. A journalist at Tempo newsmagazine by day, the father of three daughters has published three fiction books in the last two years, including this year’s bestselling Nagabonar Jadi 2 (Nagabonar Becomes Two), an adaptation of the hit film.

His income from writing fiction would be enough to support him on his own, he says.

“But if you want to have a standard of living like what you’d expect from other professions, at least enough to pay for a house and a motor vehicle plus to take care of your kids’ needs, then it’s very difficult. Not impossible, but very tough.”

Harumi, as well as contributing feature articles to the Weekender and other publications, focuses on copywriting, editing websites and company profiles to pay the bills.

“Professionally, most of my job usually involves writing. But I’m lucky in that I have no kids yet, and I have a few years of very strong professional experience. Otherwise, I can always be an English teacher as a fall-back plan.”

Freelancing is not easy; copywriting work is often tedious, full of technical mumbo-jumbo, and payment for project-based assignments can be tardy.

There also is the uncertainty of working from one job to the next. “I often have to ask myself: ‘now, what are you gonna do next?’”

Putting meaningful words on paper is easier said than done. Akmal says that when he encounters “… potholes or traps, so to speak, in telling the story, then the writing process becomes not as simple as I previously thought.”

For Netta, there also are the inner demons of self-doubt, laziness and exposing one’s work to public scrutiny.

Then if it is this hard, why do they keep on writing?

All four respond to the question excitedly. Harumi puts it simply: “Because I like it, and am good at it, and I make a living out of it.”

Netta also professes her deep love of writing. “I write because there is something I need to get out of me. Otherwise, it wouldn’t feel good.”

“You could say that ‘I write, therefore I am,’” says Stefani. “Writing makes my thoughts immortal, and it makes me sensitive toward life, making life more lively and meaningful.”

Akmal considers it a powerful, innate passion.

“My drive to keep on writing is becoming very similar to my drive to keep on breathing, because life is too beautiful to be taken for granted, nor to be enjoyed only by oneself. Writing is one of the most economic ways to share, but its impact often surprises the writers themselves.”

That struggle to write against all odds concurs with American writer Bill Barich’s description of the universal sameness of the writer’s life: “Hard days, lots of work, no money, too much silence. Nobody’s fault. You chose it.”

They also chose writing, or perhaps it chose them.

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