life as a butcher, baker, and candlestick maker

It happens every time. Somebody — a neighbor, my dentist, that lovely couple from church who always sits two pews behind me every Sunday — asks me what I do for a living, and the resulting response is always the same. The conversation usually goes something like this:

“So, what is it you do? You’re a teacher, right?”

“Me? No. I’m a writer.”

The first spark of interest hits their eyes. They look straight at me. “Oh, wow! A writer! Really?”

At this point, I brace for the inevitable. “Yeah — I do a lot of websites, letters, reports, pretty much whatever a client needs.”

Before I even finish that sentence, the spark of interest fizzles out and their eyes glaze over. “Oh. Yeah, that’s pretty cool. So, um….”

At that point, the person I’m talking to will do anything just to change the subject. Me too. Because we both feel embarrassed. They got all excited about meeting a real, in-the-flesh writer, but it turned out I wasn’t the kind they were hoping for.

There’s something we love about meeting a true-blue novelist. Book authors are a wonderful, privileged group: They can have fame and celebrity, their own brand even — yet they’re still often “every man” approachable, the kind of souls who would make great company during a coffee date. There are quite a few on my list I’d love to get to know (and grill) over a steaming latte.

But more than that, novelists are those who’ve made it. Anyone who’s ever toyed with the idea of publishing a book has undoubtedly come to discover just how daunting it is, not only to finish the manuscript but also to edit it, actually find someone to represent it, and then finally get a publisher to print it. Novelists are some of the super-humans who were able to get past all the hurdles, obstacles, and banana peels in their path to publish something that perfect strangers want to buy and read.

I have been writing stories since kindergarten. My mom still has a copy somewhere of the first “book” I wrote (complete with illustrations, too). It features a protagonist with an amputated leg, her Native American best friend, and the best of all deus ex machina endings where God literally comes down on beams of sunlight through some swirly, pencil-drawn clouds and performs a miracle that makes the heroine’s leg grow back. I’ve been scribbling ever since, though I’ve moved past amputee heroines and miracles from graphite clouds.

I’m thrilled that this is the year I’ve finally managed to do my third (yes, third) front-to-back full rewrite of my own novel. Maybe someday I’ll get it published — but even if I don’t, that doesn’t make me any less a writer. While outlining fiction stories, building characters, and coming up with bicker-and-banterful dialogue is a passion and a delight of my soul, my storytelling prowess is most often used to tell real-life, real-world stories for real-life, real-world people. Say what you will about soulless marketers and their ilk: If you want to meet some of the most incredible writers and storytellers out there today, you’ll go to the voices behind Google, Coca Cola, charity: water, etc.

But creating the stories of nonprofits and organizations doesn’t seem to fit what most people think of as a “writer.” So, until I actually publish that novel, I’ve decided to change up what I tell people I do. The conversations in the future will go more like this:

“So, what do you do for a living? You’re a musician, right?”

“Me? Nope. I’m a butcher, a baker, and a candlestick maker.”

At this point I expect either a throwaway chuckle, as if I’m full of wit, or a look of blinking bemusement. If I get the chance to continue, here’s what I’ll say:

“As a copy writer and editor, what I do is a lot like being a butcher, a baker, and a candlestick maker all at once. I’m like a butcher in that, while I edit, I chop something up and pare it down into more palatable pieces. I’m like a baker in that, when I write, I combine precise ingredients — words, sentences, paragraphs — following standard recipes — grammar, style, structure — to create something delicious to read. I’m like a candlestick maker because, as a candle maker dips a wick over and over in molten wax to create a taper candle, I practice my skills and techniques over and over until I make something brilliant.”

I don’t ever expect to actually carry this conversation out in real life. I’m too much of an INFJ to have the attention all to myself for that long, so I’ll likely deflect the conversation away from myself so that I can listen to others talking instead. But here, at least, I can better define what it is I truly do. When I get my novel manuscript past the hurdles, obstacles, and banana peels into a publishing house, then maybe I’ll change my job title back to “writer.” Until then, here’s what my business card will say:

Chris “Cross” Eberle

CrissCross Writing & Editing

Chief Butcher/Baker/Candlestick Maker