Writing prostitute

I thought that might get your attention. I have been trying to find a phrase to describe this phenomenon, and this is what I've come up with:  writing prostitution.  It's when you love to write creatively, you're not Tom Clancy or Steven King, but anyway you decide to try and do what comes naturally to make some money.  Have I gone too far?

I don't think so.  Actually, I feel that I've gone full circle before coming to this conclusion, that trying too hard to make money writing starts to make one feel like a writing prostitute.  Let me back up.  I have always been a hobby writer.  I love to tell a story.  I mean, I love it.  I am almost breathless with anticipation when I begin something new, my heart pounds, my hands sweat (are you getting the analogy, here?), and I can think of nothing else.  But that's only when it's my singular desire to do so.  I do fiction and non-fiction, but only when I'm feeling, in strictly a writing sense, randy baby.  Yes, I do it when I'm in the mood!

Then, I think, Hm, I'm pretty good at this writing stuff.  Why not start submitting and see if I can't do something that I love to do, and make money?  What a superb idea!  What a dream!  So, O.K., sure, I've gotten a few little tidbits published, made a dollar or two (quite literally), but all the moolah is in nonfiction (well, for all intents and purposes, anyway).  I try hardcore NF for a while.  I can do it.  Oh, yes I can.  And it's not too bad.  I even go back to writing to journal specs. and to themes put out there for submissions.  But...  I've lost my passion for writing for the sake of writing.  I am forcing structure, points made, deadlines.  Gulp.  I am desperate for someone to buy.  I'll take ten dollars.  Maybe even five!  Please!  Please!  Pay for my services.  I'm good.  Not just everyone can do it like I can!

But I digress.  It's fantastic to make money writing, especially if you still are loving the process.  I know that it can and does happen.  I will always aspire to it.  But, for now, I'm done doing the literary street walking, if you get my drift.  I will continue to write, always.  I will continue to submit.  When I get that singular thrill.  You can come knock on my door if it is true love, but, otherwise, I'm no longer putting myself out there for a buck.

Ciao for now!
Heidi