I couldn’t afford to be a writer, am I not allowed to be one?

On the privilege of making it as a writer.

Jenna Rink, Andy Sachs, Carrie Bradshaw, Rory Gilmore - they all sold us very romanticized and unrealistic versions of a career in journalism and media. Despite knowing that no editor would ever allow me to work on just one small column a week at a time and get paid over four Dollars per word, I still wanted to be one. A writer. A journalist. Someone who puts words to paper. I was desperate to see my name in a byline somewhere.

So, at fifteen years old, I went to a job fair and talked to the editor-in-chief of our local newspaper. I asked him tons of questions: what should I study, what should I learn, what should I read? He told me to study something of value, something not every other journalist has on their résumé so that I bring something new to the table. “We will teach you how to write, and how to do interviews, but we can’t teach you how the stock market works”, he said.

I showed him my latest grades, and he pointed out my A in math. He said he had never met someone interested in journalism who was that good with numbers. He said this with an admiring, positively surprised tone. I was flattered, glad to have done something right. He suggested I look into some studies that have math in them, to ‘bring something new to the table’. And so I did, I studied international finance and economics.

Unsplash, by Vuk Burgic

To tailor my résumé to the media industry, I did many internships, had several freelance writing gigs, and even worked and later ran the University’s student magazine. I wrote for local newspapers about the supermarket’s new opening hours and for big national papers about the riots against Hamburg’s mayor right before he held a speech about Hamburg’s asylum policies. Seeing my name under a headline was exhilarating. Like I accomplished something. My paycheck, however, must have gotten lost in the mail—I never saw a cent for any of my writing.

I did this dance between studying and working as a journalist for seven years, all the way to my master’s degree. When I think about what my day-to-day looked like back then, I shudder now. How the hell did I manage to go to class, then work in a drugstore for 15 hours per week, sometimes until 11pm, then write articles for several newspapers, and edit and manage the student magazine?

You clearly have more energy in your 20s than you have in your 30s, but even if this insane pace had gotten to me back then, I would have had no other choice than to pull through. Education is almost free in Germany (you pay a few hundred Euros admissions fee per semester only), but housing, food, clothes, and textbooks have to be paid for by yourself. My parents didn’t have any money to support me, I am the first and only person in my family to even have a University degree, so I was pretty much on my own. Financial aid helped a lot, but whoever calculates that you only need 200 Euros for rent clearly has never lived in a big city. So I had no other choice than to work my ass off in a drugstore at minimum wage to put food on the table.

Today I realize how unjust all of this was. Not getting paid to write, not getting paid to be an intern at a national newspaper where I did the exact same work as anyone else. I had a byline on the front page while I worked there; everyone else who had a byline on the front page got paid, I didn’t because I was just the intern.¹ I don’t know if I would’ve quit my job at the drugstore if the writing would’ve generated income, but it sure would’ve helped me value my writing more. Writing like a machine, the way I did to ‘fill my résumé’ made me start to hate writing. My teenage love for writing, which filled notebook after notebook, faded with every unpaid story.

While my love for writing faded, my fear of not having a job after graduation grew bigger. My parents made it very clear that I was not allowed to move back home. “You are an adult now. You have to figure this out on your own”, they said.

I applied to many traineeships, one of those traditions in German journalism where you have to be a trainee journalist for two or three years before you are considered a ‘real’ journalist. I knew the real reason behind it, it saves cost. Declaring the first few years a traineeship, allows the paper to pay less than minimum wage. As a trainee you get paid less, have fewer rights, and can get fired more easily.

One of the biggest national business papers invited me to their yearly assessment center for a traineeship. There we had to do pretend interviews, write stories, and partake in a fake roundtable about the recent policies on interest rates. Throughout the day we were able to talk to current trainees and junior journalists. They took us to lunch and we talked about the economy, politics, and the stock market. Or better, everyone else talked, while I remained silent. It wasn’t that I didn’t have an opinion on these topics, but that wasn’t what I wanted to talk about. I needed to know how life as a trainee was for them. But no one seemed to be interested in that. Everyone was busy making sure that they were seen as smart and opinionated, able to hold different views at once, excellent journalists, and great talkers. I decided that I couldn’t decide whether or not I wanted this career if I didn’t ask the question, the one you aren’t supposed to ask, but one I needed to know: Can you live off what the paper is paying you as a trainee?

The answers shocked me, and they still do:

“I don’t really know. I mean, my parents pay my rent, so I am doing just fine”, said one.

“I just bartend on the weekend, and my parents pick up the rest whenever it gets tight”, said the other.

Then and there, I decided that I didn’t want it anymore. Not if it puts me at risk for burnout at 25 years old. I probably had made that decision way before then; my subconscious sure did. But my heart wasn’t ready to let go until that moment at that overpriced coffee shop. After lunch, I was apathetic; all I wanted was to go home. The editors must have realized, I didn’t get the traineeship.

On the train ride home, I realized how naive I had been, to think that I could make it as a journalist. The one writing profession that would’ve at least generated a somewhat respectable income. I was also angry; and jealous. No one at that lunch table was aware of their privilege. The privilege to afford their dream. I couldn’t afford mine. I couldn’t afford to be a writer.

Looking back at this now, with over ten years more life experience under my belt, I am still a bit shocked at how normal this experience seems to be. What does it say about our media landscape when the news is written by people with privileged backgrounds only? What does it do to the opinion section when only those with immense privilege share their opinions on current affairs? The lack of diversity that this brings to the stories is concerning.

I don’t like that editors are laid off left and right these days, and that magazines and news outlets of all sizes are dying, especially when it comes to small news outlets that often are the only news source for local communities. But especially for the big news conglomerates, I cannot help to think that this might be a problem of their own making.

traditional news outlets often write for an audience who all grew up learning similar histories and consuming lots of the same media, and often assume that we all have a shared understanding or context of a story.

The fact is though, these days, because what we consume and learn online is so fractured, and we’ve all got different levels of education, a lot of people (including Gen Z and Gen Alpha) have grown up with completely different reading and listening habits from each other, so it simply can’t be assumed that we all have the same context when we’re reading a story. So yeah - while we should make newspapers cool again, we should also maybe make them make sense for the generations to come.

by Luce, make newspapers cool again!

That you are reading this now, on Substack, written by me, is proof of the power that online platforms can have. Years ago I did start a blog, but stopped writing a short while later. The experience of writing for no one, without the possibility of anyone seeing it, was too isolating for me. Not only did it make me feel completely alone, a feeling way too similar to the one at that lunch table all those years ago, but it didn’t help me grow as a writer either. Writing here, where people can comment and quote my writing, allows me to see what resonates the most. Not to grow my audience, but to grow as a writer. Learning what words evoke emotions has made me a better writer in a shorter period of time than any writing experience I had in the past.

People might wonder why someone would write online without wanting to grow an audience or make money off of it.

Because it is fun! That’s it.

Starting this Substack has been the most fun creative project ever. It reminds me of my University days when I researched the most interesting topics and was able to write a paper on them. Writing is an essential part of who I am. I don’t know what I think until I’ve written it down. The box full with Moleskine notebooks where every page is written on is proof of that. I love that everyone can come on here and start a creative writing project. It reminds me of what Instagram used to be, but for writers.

In the past few days, there has been a lot of discussion about where Substack is headed. I do understand people’s concerns that with Substack getting bigger, the tech-bros and -gals wanting to make a quick buck will find their way into this corner of the internet more and more. But that is a fact of life—or capitalism. With more people coming on, Substack will become more monotonous, as people try to follow the ‘formula for success’. It definitely is possible that, at some point, Substack will die a slow social media death like Instagram and Twitter. But in the end, you are in charge of the content you consume. Not only isn’t Substack an endless doomscroll that feeds you content non-stop, but it also isn’t an in-app platform only. You can access any Substack without ever having logged into the platform itself, you do, however, have to log into Instagram and Twitter to get full access to the content.

Substack has democratized writing, and that is a good thing!

I am living proof of that. I wanted to be a writer all my life, but lack of privilege stopped me from pursuing the dream, and now here I am, writing to you. Considering how privileged the media landscape is, it is great to see how this platform allows writers from all backgrounds to share their writing. I love how I can read well-thought-through opinion pieces on GenAI, but also read a well-researched listicle of the best sandals for summer.

Not only has Substack democratized writing, it has democratized the monetization of writing.

Being able to put a paywall on my writing, as a ‘buy-me-a-coffee’-model, has helped me value my writing a lot more. Having written for free most of my life truly messed with my perception of the craft and time that is put into a piece like this. I’ve been writing this for the past five hours. These have been really enjoyable five hours, but giving readers the option to value my writing is allowing me to value it much higher in return.

I think, ultimately, this is what traditional news outlets are dealing with now: the devaluation of writing, not only from a writer’s perspective but from a reader’s perspective as well. If the written word is shared for free all the time, what true value does it still have?

While I don’t think writing essays online will save journalism, it does add a layer of honesty and diversity to the media landscape that traditional news outlets have failed to accomplish.² Reading stories from people of all backgrounds, stories about their lives, their experiences, or simply their taste in books gives me a unique perspective on the world that traditional media has failed to do for years. Even the ‘diary entries’, spelling mistakes and all, give me insights into a life I never lived and, in turn, help me make sense of this world.

XOXO
Annika

1. I debated whether or not to link my bylines but ultimately decided not to. I have many reasons, one of them is that I like to keep things a bit more private on here.

2. Clare has written a great piece about this: no, influencers can't save journalism