Off to the Coal Mines

It was almost that way. A gentleman found himself on hard times financially and considered moving to the coal mining region and getting a job.

His profession? A wordsmith, a writer.

Being a writer has always been hard work, and it had often been very low-wage work. This writer in question wrote a book that won an award, and the award was enough to raise the book's profile and sales to the point where the writer was able to stave off heading to mines to work.

What is this, the nineteenth century? Is this some forgettable author of overwritten pretentious award-winning crapola?

Nope.

The year: 2014! The award was the Man Booker Prize!

The author: RICHARD FLANAGAN!

The man behind the masterpiece Gould's Book of Fish was going to leave his home and move to northern Australia to work in a mine because he was too broke to continue on as a writer.

This is a very difficult and strange era for authors. I identify with authors, even as I've yet to complete anything serious. Am I lucky to have a gig that can support Corrie and myself while I try and carve writing time out? How does that effect my writing?

The sad and exciting story can be found here.

Check out the award winner: The Narrow Road to the Deep North

And the masterpiece: Gould's Book of Fish

And, if you're curious:
Wanting
The Unknown Terrorist