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cultural vandal | by maryann johanson

frequently asked questions: “Do you make a living from this site?”

Variations on this question include:

• “How do you make a living?”
• “Why do your bosses let you get away with the shit you pull?”
• “How can you afford to live in New York? You must have a rich husband.”
• “Why can’t your staff handle [insert whatever strange request the emailer needs answered]?”

Here’s my deal: I do not have a trust fund, or a rich husband, or a sugar daddy, and I have not won a Powerball or Megaball or any kind of lotto game. I am my own sole support.

I do not have a staff, or bosses, at FlickFilosopher.com. It’s all me. I do it all: design, Web coding, promotion, advertising sales, reader relations, and — oh yeah — occasionally writing reviews and other pop culture commentary.

I am a professional writer and editor, which is all I have ever been in my professional life, which began when I was 19 years old and had just dropped out of New York University’s film school. With the extremely rare exceptions of folks like J.K. Rowling and Stephen King and Tina Brown and Jann Wenner, professional writers and editors do not make very much money at all. Forget everything you’ve seen in the movies and on TV. Publishing is not glamorous, and it’s not lucrative.
I live modestly in the Bronx, a 35-minute subway ride from midtown Manhattan (and that’s after a 15-minute walk to get to the subway, or a 20-minute wait for a bus to transport one to the subway). Kindly forget any depiction of middle-class NYC life you have seen on TV or in the movies. The fabulous 20somethings who live fabulously in Soho or Chelsea or the Upper East Side are doing so thanks to five- or six-figure infusions of cash from Mom and Dad in Greenwich or Chappaqua (ie, the ritzy bedroom communities in the well-off burbs). Everyone else lives outside the fabulous neighborhoods, a goodly commute away, even if one is technically within the confines of the five boroughs.

I don’t own a car. I don’t buy designer clothes — a $100 trip to H&M is a treat, and I haven’t done that in a year or more. I don’t spend $50K a year on shoes, like Carrie Bradshaw. The most expensive thing I own is my widescreen HDTV (now that my laptop computer is more than three years old), which I’ve been paying off at 50 bucks a months at zero-percent interest, and my next big indulgence will probably be upgrading to a MacBook Air, pehaps next year, if I can swing it. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I will enjoy my second trip to Europe this year later this month, when I travel to England after also having traveled to Paris in the spring. But since I haven’t had a real vacation, before these, since 1996, I probably shouldn’t feel too bad. And they’re both working vacations anyway: I can’t even conceive of a vacation where I do nothing but lie on a beach and drink fruity drinks for two weeks.

I’m not complaining. Plenty people are worse off than me. But plenty people are better off, too, including many of those whose names you would recognize as well-known film critics (which I gather from overhearing their conversations, at press screenings and other press events, about their apartments in Manhattan, their weekends in the Hamptons, and so on). I’m not some out-of-touch ivory-tower intellectual. I live in the same workaday world that most people live in. (Accusations and assumptions that I’m not tend to make up the bulk of questions along these lines.)

My movie-reviewing activities make up about half my pretty humble living. That includes advertising and affiliate-program revenue associated with FlickFilosopher.com; reprint fees from the handful of alternative weekly newspapers that run some of my reviews; blogging for Film.com (half of those postings also appear at FlickFilosopher.com, and I post links to the rest); reviewing DVDs for VideoLibrarian.com (all which are also posted at FlickFilosopher.com); and sales of my Princess Bride book. The other half comes in from writing and editing work I do for a variety of freelance clients, including, at the moment, Cosimo, a boutique print-on-demand publisher (I also maintain Cosimo’s blog), and Baen Books and St. Martin’s/Tor Books, both publishers of genre fiction.

In my wildest dreams, I will be able to make a living solely from writing about movies, and from writing screenplays for TV and movies and/or writing fiction. My wildest dreams do not include a rich husband or a lottery win, though of course I wouldn’t say no to either.



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