Sometimes friends ask how much I earn as a columnist for newspapers. "It depends," I usually answer.
Some papers don't pay for op-ed articles, others pay $50 to a few hundreds. For Indonesia-based papers, I usually get $70 to $100 per article. Therefore, in a good month I publish 4 articles, it means I earn $280 to $400.
For a few other media outlet I write for, such as MB and WIP, I get $50 and $60. For magazines, which I rarely publish, the rate is anywhere from $0.05 to $2.50 per word. If you get a magazine that pays $0.50 per word rate, you can earn $500 per 1,000-word article.
On average, I earn approximately $300 per month from newspaper columns writing. Not much, but like most writers, I don't write for money, but more on getting messages across.
If someday I write one column per day, 20 columns per month would translate to $1,000. Is it enough to live in SF Bay Area? No, but it can pay for my health insurance, dental insurance, and some dining out meals.
That's the life of a writer. You either must be a very good one who earn sufficiently from royalty residuals or you must supplement your income with other sources, like working elsewhere or investing in some businesses.
Every single incident captured through the senses has at
least one meaning, if not several. Meanings are both attached and given. As a
writer, I give both concrete and abstract meanings to many things, since
verisimilitude is a principle that I always strive for. The truth or at least
the sincere semblance of it gives validity and credibility to one’s thoughts. More
importantly, since writing is life presented on a piece of paper, it is being
alive in a different format. And in life, we need to be clear, honest, and
gracious to earn self-respect.
Some writers are strictly factual, others are philosophical,
and the rest combine both aspects. Whichever the chosen or the natural path is,
writers write as the result of contemplative activities either immediate or
through a complex process of filtration.
Independence comes from literacy and abundance in these areas:
Intellectual (reasoning skills)
Legal (awareness of principles of laws and regulations)
Financial (awareness of monetary and business policies and personal finance)
Residential (where you live determines many things, including level of freedom)
This explains why I keep polishing skills in these areas. With abundance, we can live more meaningfully and more courageously. And these can be achieved with a strong belief of "yes, I can, I will, and I am."
We all have 24 hours a day. If we use them right, we can double, triple or even quadruple the results. 2010-2015 are business years, not much focusing on activism and pursuing academic endeavors. Live a balanced life, that's the motto.
On October 17, 2009, I attended NACA's "Save the Dreams" colossal meeting at Cow Palace, San Francisco to save our property from foreclosure. Together with hubby, we have been fighting against predatory lending and advocating housing issues since November 2008, during which we also fight for our own property.
The meeting was unforgettable. We woke up at 4am and quickly drove to Cow Palace, waited in line, attended the orientation workshop, waited for the counselor, met with the counselor, waited for 2nd line of counselors, met with the second line of counselor who audited our "loan restructuring recommendation," waited for the lender's counselor, and finally met and negotiated with the lender's counselor.
There were at least 5,000 people attended the meeting. Many came the night before (slept over with blankets and tents) and many came early in the wee hours of the morning (like us).
Hubby and I were followed around by NACA's TV crew and Max, the host of Swiss Public Radio who has been following our story since November 2008. Max is curious on why even "activists" like hubby and me found difficulties in modifying/restructuring our mortgage. We finally received assistance from Bruce Mark's NACA, the largest non-profit that helps people to restructure their loans. Bruce Marks was named by Wall Street Journal as "an activist financier who terrorizes bankers in a non-violent way."
Keeping fingers crossed. Once dusts have been settled, I'd like to write about my almost one-year journey in advocating against foreclosure and, of course, about Bruce Marks "the non-violent bank terrorist."
Btw, where is Michael Moore? Capitalism the sequel, please. :)
I have no intellectual ambition, meaning I don't have the urge to be acknowledged as a top-notch "intellectual." I write things that matter to me simply out of passion and joy, which explain why the topics are varied. Clever ones and silly ones.
Sometimes it sparks a dilemma nonetheless: should I pursue something because I can or because of it is what I want? I hope I'm not disappointing my mother by choosing what I enjoy doing instead.
I try to be conscientious, be aware of sources of suffering and pain, but still live to the fullest with happiness and joy. Thank you for being happy for me. Even though I might not reach my fullest potentials intellectually, as long as I'm happy.
C'est la vie.
[Note: I read somewhere that following one's ambition to be acknowledged as the smartest is following the so-called "ego." I'm learning to kill my "ego" by doing small and overlooked things. It's the intensity of doing small things that matter. Mother Teresa said, "We can't do great things, we can only do small things with great love."]
I lost my daughter when she was 7 weeks in my womb. I started the pregnancy in September 2008 and the OB/GYN found out she had no heartbeat in November 2008. For almost two months, I didn't realize she was alive in me due to vague signs of pregnancy.
She would have been 3 months old today. Instead, she left a big hole in her mother's heart. My daughter is watching me from heaven. Together with her great grandfather, they are my guardian angels. I just need to close my eyes and meet them.
It has been a long time that I've been contemplating to have a daily column, perhaps like John Grogan of Marley and Me and The Longest Trip Home. So far no publication has offered me one, so it's probably something I have to wait for or create for myself.
I think one short column of 600 or 700-word per day is doable. It would be good to clear up my jumbled mind. Early in the morning while sipping my daily dose of green tea would be good time to write. In a good day, it takes about 45 minute to an hour to write that much. I'll have the rest of the day for gazillion other things.
For now, I'm simply grateful for having a fortnightly column and regular contributing posts here and there. Thanks for reading, all.
[A journal entry on a typical day in San Diego when I stayed with Maria in September 2009.]
I like observing. People, landscapes, trees, cars, and
passing by animals. Sometimes I count how many dogs I passed by on a particular
day. Sometimes I would notice the color of the sky as it changes from bright
blue to pale to grayish. Of course, there are days when I don’t notice many
things.
On those days, I didn’t even notice myself. Like today.
I woke up this morning in a strange bed. It was not my bed.
It was Maria’s, my best friend’s. It has been her bed for ten years, or,
perhaps eleven. And today, I woke up in her bed.
I noticed this bed. I noticed her tiny studio apartment. I
noticed Maria was upstairs sleeping in one of our landlord’s extra bedrooms. I
noticed Bella, the aloof cat who loves sleeping by Maria’s feet.
I noticed the sparkling swimming pool by the apartment
window. I noticed the one-year old patio and the breathtaking view beneath it:
the skyscrapers and the military barracks-turned into a street mall. I noticed
the Coronado Bridge arching the horizon. I noticed the white clouds.
In short, I noticed many things when I woke up in a strange
bed this morning. Yet, I didn’t notice myself.
I was just a spectator to this new studio apartment. I
recalled how I headed to the bathroom and washed up to get ready to go to the writers' training at the university. I recalled how I was looking for this black blouse I’m
wearing in a cramped green suitcase laid on the carpet.
In short, I recalled the things I did this morning as new
morning rituals away from my Bay Area home. Yet I didn’t notice myself.
What was my feeling this morning? Was I confused in this new
city? Was I homesick? Was I ready to embrace what today has to offer?
I didn’t care much about what I felt this morning. I didn’t
want to bother looking inside.
I was too busy looking outside. I was too busy trying to
brush my teeth as fast as I could. I was too busy looking for those black socks
and I was too busy chewing my Bologna sandwich. I was too busy placing this
black HP laptop into its case. I was too preoccupied without noticing anything
else.
It didn’t feel like I was missing anything. Not until now.
Was I just a spectator of this new place and this strange bed? Was I just a
ghost of the past who happened to be waking up alive this morning? Was I just a
shadow in a new city with million rays of sunshine?
I didn’t notice myself this morning, but I know I was there.
I know I was making some impact in this chaotic and oftentimes strange world.
No matter how tiny and overlooked.
I am a pilgrim of the past heading into the future. And in
between, I pass by the present. Sometimes with full awareness, sometimes
without.[]
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