Free Agent
So I did it.
On Thursday, I signed my contracts with Voyager, the Fantasy imprint of Harper Collins UK, which, in conjucntion with the contracts I signed a couple months ago with Del Rey (Random House) and Hayakawa in Japan, and two weeks ago with Bragelonne in France, ensures that I will have enough guaranteed money coming in over the next two years to cover my basics, if not match my current salary. I am still negotiating contracts with Germany, Russia, and Greece.
But those contracts come with a heavy responsibility. I have to produce. Not just books, but good books. And in record time. The Painted Man was written over the course of years. They expect a sequel in 7 months, and another one 10 months after that. I have long known that’s not possible to do while keeping a day job.
For the last couple of years, I have essentially been working two jobs: One I don’t like that pays well, and one that I love but paid nothing. I would drag myself up, go to the job I hate, and spend the best and most alert hours of my day there, then come home, spend an hour or two with my wife, and then stay up until somewhere between 12 and 2am writing. Lather, rinse, repeat.
It has really worn me down. I am perpetually exhausted, but unable to sleep well. I’ve stopped reading, watching TV, going to the movies, playing games, all the wonderful things that make life worth living for nerds like me.
But the greatest tragedy of it is that the work that I loved so much always got the worst of me. The tired, grumpy, dull-minded Peat, home from another shitty day at a job I have no emotional connection to. Jinx would come and meow for attention, and I would shout, “Can’t you see I’m busy?!?” like she could understand me and it was her fault I was burning the candle at both ends.
(In my defense, Jinx is a pain in the ass. She will shout for you to throw a toy for her to chase, but if it’s not the right toy, she will just watch it go and do nothing. Even if it is the right toy, half the time she will chase it a few steps and then come back and meow for more; spoiled bitch. And God forbid you pet her. She immediately rolls onto her back and treats your hand like a tuna sandwich. Chomp!)
But now I know that no matter what happens, I can pay my rent for the next two years, and that my lovely and supportive wife still has a big corporate job that we have switched our healthcare insurance to.
So Thursday afternoon, I quit my job.
I had been planning it forever, and finally all the pieces were in place. I marched into my boss’ office and said, “Got a minute?”
She said “Yes,” so I came in and closed the door. She looked at me and said wryly, “You don’t have a weapon on you, do you?”
“No,” I laughed, “just words.”
I took a seat and pretty much told her what I said above. I had an opportunity to pursue my life’s dream, and I was taking it. Nothing personal against her or the company, but I was leaving.
She asked how flexible I could be about it. I’m the only person in my company that handles production, and no one else has the necessary skills to fill in. She was worried that they would be left in a lurch. So we agreed that I will work reduced hours (10-3) for the rest of the month, and I will help interview, hire, and train someone to take my place.
On November 1, I go to the World Fantasy Convention (WFC) in Saratoga Springs with a representative from JABberwocky, my literary agency, my editor from Del Rey (Random House), and my evil twin, Jay Franco, fantasy editor at large. WFC is an industry con, so it will be mostly writers, editors, publishers, and agents, rather than fanboys and cosplay fanatics (not that there’s anything wrong with that).
I am considering it my first day of my new job, where I will meet my new coworkers, and get used to the fact that from here on out, THIS is my business.
I. Can’t. Fucking. Wait!