Do you recall the criticism of #romfail a while back? I couldn’t be arsed about #romfail, but there was one thread in the commentary that got me thinking. One published author visited an aspiring author’s blog and called her a “HOBBYIST” (all caps) because she hadn’t sold any novels. He complained that unlike other professions, in fiction, all one has to do is say they’re a writer, and poof they are.

On another blog, a published romance novelist, wrote something like, “I think RWA has done more to give people the idea that they are writers than any other single group. The label pre-published and the PRO designation in RWA drive me nuts. You aren’t pre-published any more than you’re pre-pregnant or pre-dead. And you’re not a pro until you’ve been published. Period.”

It really doesn’t matter who said these things, because I am betting their views are shared by a number of people. This post isn’t about them, but about certain ideas of what makes a writer a professional.

For those of you, who, like me, are not RWA members (maybe we’re all pre-members, though?), PRO membership is for folks who

are actively pursuing a career in romance, have completed at least one romance manuscript but hasn’t get gotten “The Call.” Members have to show evidence of submissions of this manuscript (for most of us, that means we have a manuscript that either an agent or editor passed on.) However, this isn’t always true. With the new definition of PAN (the $1000 earning level), many of our PRO members are indeed published, almost without doubt with an e-publisher, but have not yet earned a total of $1000 for one book.

Well, this got me thinking about professions, professionalism and writing.

The three original professions, the “learned professions” were medicine, law and ministry. Sometimes a few others — the military, academia, and architecture — were included. These occupations were granted special status because they required a high degree of education, and were considered very important in satisfying basic human needs.

Using something they call “research”, sociologists today list a number of defining features of a profession, such as

  • status conferring
  • organized
  • autonomous, both the profession as a group and individual practitioners (this is the criterion that makes many people exclude the military)
  • the group has societal influence
  • self-regulating
  • collegial
  • client focused
  • non-commercial
  • has an ethical code

Another way of defining a profession is to look at its history, to see if it has gone through a set of required stages, such as establishing academic programs, seeking political and legal support for recognition and entry barriers, developing a code of ethics, credentialing and licensing, etc. This method allows one to identify different stages of professionalization, rather than the “all or nothing” classification system above.

A third approach is one favored by ethicists, and mocked by social scientists. Naturally, it is the approach I favor, although you will see it referred to as “quaint” and “old fashioned” if you read the sociology journals.

On this view, the core of a profession is not so much the special expertise, but the dedication to something other than one’s own self-interest. For doctors, it’s obviously their patients. For lawyers, their clients, and for ministers, their parishioners.  To “profess” means “to declare aloud”, “to publicly proclaim”. This is why the OED refers to a profession as a “calling”. When you proclaim, you are answering a call of others, not your own needs exclusively. What professionals proclaim is not just their knowledge of medicine or law, for example, but their dedication to altruism, to putting the welfare of those they serve first. These people are “professed”, i.e. publicly committed to a certain ethical ideal. When med school grads say the Hippocratic Oath, they are making this kind of “profession”.

Several virtues, or good character traits, help to define a professional in this sense. We have already mentioned (or implied) altruism, self-regulation, lifelong learning, and submission to an ethical code. There is also accountability, respect, integrity, honesty, excellence, compassion, responsibility, honor, and duty, not just as a human being per se, but while practicing as a member of a profession.

I really don’t see writers as professionals in this sense. Of course, I think art has as important place in a human community as health or law, but the relationship of a writer to her readers is not best characterized in terms of fiduciary duty. In fact, if anything, the more a writer thinks of her audience, the less successful the writing is apt to be.

One problem with this approach is how apolitical it is. It can tend to obscure the ways that even the learned professions are commercial and self-interested, and utilize privileged social positions (who were the original lawyers, doctors and clergy after all? How many of what you think of as “professions” are female dominated, or African American dominated occupations? How many are male or white Anglo dominated? How many pay poorly? How many pay very well?) and wield political power in ways that are unjust.

A typical example in the medical literature is the rise of the AMA in the mid nineteenth century and its virulent opposition to women healthcare providers, especially midwives. Just last year, in response to Ricki Lake’s documentary on midwife assisted home birth, the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology declared that the best setting for labor and delivery is a hospital, despite data which suggests otherwise for low risk pregnancies.

When we put on our “lefty glasses” (feminist, Marxist, etc.), we see professions as monopoly labor protectionism. Resources — valuable jobs and high social status — are hoarded by a select group. All the oaths and specialized knowledge are a smokescreen for political power and social privilege. If you can keep the unclean out and name your own (above market) price, you’ve got a profession. From this point of view, denying certain groups, such as women and minorities, access, is just part of the strategy of keeping the labor supply low and the price high.

Looked at ethically again (instead of politically) we can see several themes in the concept of “profession” that are antithetical to the ethical ideals I mentioned above. One is unquestioned loyalty to members of one’s profession. Another is exclusivity and elitism based on credentials. Another is excessive concern for the group’s self-interest.  In this sense, professionalism can be self-protective and excessively inward looking, rather than focusing on its clients and social function.

So, what does all of this have to do with writing?

Well, the first thing to say, in response to the author who claimed that the unpublished writer was merely a “HOBBYIST”, is “pot, meet kettle”. Because nowhere, in any definition of profession one can find, is “being paid for it” a necesary or sufficient condition for being a member of a profession. My 9 year old makes $5 on a summer day selling lemonade. Is he a “Professional Lemonade Merchant”?

How about special training? Hmmmm. Ever heard of an author named Nora Roberts? If the recent New Yorker profile on her is correct, she is “self-taught”. No MFA there, I’m afraid.

Credentialing? Nope.

How about special skills? Excellent writing/unskilled writing doesn’t track the published/unpublished line. Take a look at any “F” review on any romance blog and tell me if it’s true that only well-written books get published. Then look at some of the wonderful free fiction on the web, and tell me it all shows lack of writing skill.

Suppose we accept outright the idea that being published and paid for it means you are a professional writer. Even then, things get murky. Published by whom? Does self-pub count? E-pub? Arguably, in its stance towards e-presses, the RWA evidences some of those protectionist practices I mentioned above. Even if it wasn’t problematic for other reasons, the idea that we can define a professional writer simply as anyone who is “published” raises many more questions than it answers.

I think there’s a strong case to be made that fiction writing is not a profession at all, as that term is commonly understood, such that no writer is really a “professional”.  And I can see the other side as well. But if it is a profession, when we think about how may excellent writers have not been paid for their work, or are not paid enough to quit their day jobs, or how many wonderful writers were not published until after they died, or were not published until after 10 or 15 or 20 years of rejected manuscripts, getting paid to publish is probably not a very important determinant.

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All of this came up in the context of #romfail, the semi-regular event in which Jane of Dear Author and some other folks read a romance novel and make fun of it line by line. It doesn’t pretend to be any kind of serious criticism. I’ll say a few things about that, although my main target here is the quotes with which I began the post.

The naysayers’ claim was that “amateur” and “professional” authors who participate in it are somehow acting unprofessionally. My first thought was that the critics can’t have it both ways: if the pre-published authors are “HOBBYISTS” then why do they have to hew to “professional” standards? But the bigger problem is that even professionals are not professionals 24/7 (do you behave, and dress, and speak, the same way you do on your job, when you are at home?), and I see the romfail stuff as “off duty” fun.

It’s possible (I have no idea) that writers who participate in #romfail or other snarky activities are not being prudent. That is, it is possible they are doing something that thwarts their stated career goals. That’s not a moral issue, but one of practical rationality, and it’s really up to the individual to decide.

It is also possible that they are doing something immoral, but my point is that they are not doing something wrong in virtue of being writers. Whatever moral wrong writers commit (if they do in fact commit one) by participating in #romfail or any other snarky activity, it is the exact same moral wrong that nonwriters commit.

If anything, I think there is a gendered component to charges of “unprofessionalism” in these sorts of situations, but that’s a subject for another post.

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I do realize that published authors have a valuable base of knowledge of the business that unpublished ones do not, and I can also understand getting a bit annoyed if someone doesn’t recognize this difference, and acts like you and she are exactly the same. I know I get a bit put out — for 5 seconds — when people with a BA in some field claim to be experts. In most US colleges, you need 120 credits to graduate, and only about 30 in your major. I knew very little philosophy after my 30 undergraduate credits.

But, while a moment of “hey, wait a minute!” is very human, I have to ask myself why it makes some people so mad that the RWA has these designations, or that some unpublished bloggers refer to themselves as “writers”. They ARE writers, and I commend the RWA for bringing them into the fold with their various designations which recognize different levels of experience. I fail to see what this takes away from published authors, whose success, I am sure, is duly noted by every aspiring writer who desperately wants to join their ranks.

From a feminist/labor point of view, the RWA is to be celebrated for encouraging anyone who enjoys romances to join a local chapter and try their hand at writing one. To me, that’s an example of the service orientation a true profession has, and it’s a salutary counterbalance to other areas where the organization seems, from my outsider point of view, not to have been so open-minded and inclusive. That the RWA doesn’t seem to enforce rigid hierarchies and exclusionary practices in keeping “HOBBYISTS” out encourages more people of various levels of formal education, ages, and economic backgrounds to participate. I would think that, whatever problems there are with the way it is enacted in the RWA structure, the PRO designation and use of terms like “pre-published” encourages more people, rather than fewer, to feel a sense of possibility and promise, to feel that they have a place at the table with the big shots, to feel like they are entitled to at least try. When we talk about empowering women, isn’t this what what we mean?

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