ANTIQUES AND COLLECTIBLES NOT FOR THE FAINT HEARTED

I don’t socialize with other writers, for fear our inflated egos will cause some sort of nasty character implosion. Except for a select few columnists in the daily press, and some former writers I would have taken a bullet for, I don’t wish to know them beyond their daily offerings. I’m sure if they knew me, it would be mutual. My experience with writers in general, when sober, has always seemed to me like a test of willpower and endurance.....like how many beers it takes to loosen lips. We used to do this constantly, in the old news gathering days, to free up information from competing reporters. We got more scoops from the competition than out on the hustings. It cost us. Lots of big bar bills. There was a lot of poop hitting the fan when both our papers hit the newstands, showing we replicated and expanded on all their front-page scoops.

I don’t make friends of those who might wish to take the bacon off my plate, when I’m not looking. I don’t join literary societies and I refuse to be rescued by those who believe there is safety in numbers. Most writers I know around here, wouldn’t want a big mouth like me in their mutual admiration sessions anyway. I don’t believe there’s any strength in numbers, when it comes to hungry writers, looking for new gigs. Just more creative intrusions to leap-frog ahead.

My experience with associate writers, like my contemporaries in the antique profession, is that it is perfectly acceptable practice to climb on one another’s back to gain the advantage. The very idea of helping one another is laughable, because it’s a real game of Survivor out on the hustings....... with very few paying jobs. Lots of writer-kind and too few job opportunities. Everybody is looking for a “rare” opportunity to work in the industry. Those who have jobs won’t be giving them up voluntarily. For every working writer there are probably a dozen waiting in the wings, or hovering somewhere close by.......and it’s a publisher’s bonanza......there is no shortage of “willing to work for less” writers.

I don’t wait in the wings, and I couldn’t hover for more than a couple of minutes but I’m always interested in a writing gig......especially the rare kind that exchanges work for folding money. As with thousands of other writers, also wishing liberation from the publisher’s political protocol, and the regimen of writing to sell papers, I opted out of the paid ranks back in the spring of 1990. I’d had my last fight with a publisher about money. When I was asked what was most important.......being an employee of the firm, or being an antique dealer (which I had commenced three years earlier), I replied with a determined snarl, “That would be an antique dealer.” We parted company soon after. I never looked back.

I loved newspaper work and adored most of my colleagues, and at the end, my production of editorial copy was most often double what they demanded “by list” each week. I was a copy producing machine. I worked from home, frequently got up at 3 a.m. to write-up council news stories, and had them into the office for a final edit by 9 a.m. Included in this bulk of copy were other news stories I’d been assigned, and numerous other features I offered basically free of charge. Working at home, where I look after our two lads as a Mr. Mom, allowed me tremendous flexibility to work when I could; after they had begun a nap, or at bedtime. For two publishers, over about three years of working from my home office, they were making money off my productivity. I was working way more than if I’d been stuck in an uninspiring office all day. I was able to conduct as many phone interviews, and in person meetings, as I would have in a formal office. The “away from the office” format was new, just as it was having a feature writer who admitted he wasn’t going to put all the proverbial eggs in one basket. I was saving them money by not using office resources, and with the copy being produced, likely eliminated the need for at least another part time employee. But the fact they couldn’t actually see me working was bothersome. They must have imagined all kinds of stuff going on......but never actually took the time to weigh the benefits of a highly productive writer, happy to work alone.

So when we parted, it was generally assumed “I would never work in this town again!” That’s pretty much true. I’ve been writing copy for free ever since. The trade-off is usually a print advertisement in the publication I’m contributing. Since 1990 I have had two disagreements with publishers about editorial content. In both cases, without feeling any inclination to debate the issue, I simply pulled out, satisfied I’d enjoyed a good run, and that there would be two more publishers out there somewhere, looking for editorial generosity. I’m far more interested in writing for an appreciative publisher, and audience, these days, than making strides within the newspaper profession as a staffer. After many years at the grind, I know my writing suffered. I wasn’t happy and it showed in my work. I was far more of a writing purist than I knew back then. It was only when I started to work from home that I realized what I had been sacrificing, stuffed into a too-small office with too many hung-over and self-absorbed reporters. I loved them though!

Funny thing, I took creative writing and history at York University, back in the mid 1970's. I started out as a poet / historian who would later become a writer / historian / antique dealer. I wrote my first book of poems by the spring of 1975, had thrown it in the garbage by the winter of 1976, launched plans for an antique shop in the spring of 1977, graduated university, opened Old Mill Antiques in the fall of that year, in uptown Bracebridge, and got a chance to write a column about collecting for the local press. Working on the business with my parents was a disaster, my girlfriend dumped me for a guy who fixed her car once, I started in the news business, gave up on antiques, set about to write forever as a profession, found out that wouldn’t work, got married, had kids, opened Birch Hollow Antiques, kept writing, opened an antique shop also on upper Manitoba Street in Bracebridge, fought with publisher, quit, re-hired by another publication, ran shop, quit writing, and lived happily as a Mr. Mom / Antique Dealer / Freelance Writer from the 1990's to the present. A “mish-mash” you say? I always had something to fall back on when one or the other professions fell through. The difference today is that we will never surrender our antique enterprise, as it is the profession Suzanne and I have geared up, over all these crazy years, for retirement income. I expect to be a “free” lance writer until I can write no longer.

When I had a bad week at the newspaper, the weekends were for antiquing. Auction-going. What I began in 1974 was my safety-net through the tumultuous love-hate years as an editor. Even on weekends now, Suzanne and I free-wheel as collectors, hitting all kinds of interesting venues, estate sales, antique shops and malls, church sales, thrift shops, flea markets, and any yard or lawn sales within an easy commute. I have never found any pre-occupation as stress-relieving as the antique profession. Now, of course, if you are going to auction sales, or scrumming at estate sales with competitors, it can admittedly get a tad heated. Not as bad as a newsroom at deadline but close. Generally speaking, I’ve never had an antique hunting moment, or competition for a piece(s), that was greater than the frustration of dealing with a publisher at deadline, whining about something or other, I didn’t give a rat’s arse about. There’s a lot to be said for the freedom of being your own boss, that’s for sure. Out on the hustings, well, we’re the bosses and if we choose to snooze while our competitors pick all the good stuff......that’s our misfortune and failure as dealers. As I felt working from home, without the boss looking over my shoulder, I have always been hard on myself when it comes to output and outcome. So when I might have slacked off because opportunity prevailed, such as working from home, I felt too inspired to just sit around watching television. It’s the same when we’re hunting treasure. It’s too much fun to be considered work. So you might say, we play even harder.

When I started in the news business, I realized my patience was limited to about a decade. Bang on! Every year it became more difficult to refrain from storming out of the office, and tossing my typewriter down the road. I had always been a reliable employee and only took off a few days in ten years, as a result of illness. There were too many people to please in the industry but the only ones I cared about were the readers. My bosses didn’t like my indifference to them. My argument was always the same. If the circulation is going up, we’re getting new ads all the time, and the consensus of the readership is that we are publishing a good, and responsible newspaper, what the hell does it matter that we don’t see eye to eye on every issue. I always stepped aside, if the publisher at the time, wanted to write an editorial. I always refused to be told what to write, as an editorial, or from what perspective I should adopt. I simply stood up from my typewriter, or keyboard, and welcomed them to sit and knock themselves out. This befuddled them into a stupor, because they were used to getting their way. Most did what they were asked because they couldn’t afford to be fired. I understood this, and felt sorry they were in this position.

It bugged management that I wouldn’t conform just to get a wee cheque......and it was most definitely a small cheque......so I just decided to quit while the going was good, as my antique business was humming along. It was the right decision. I began to hate writing. That wasn’t right.

There are times when I’ll notice an opening at one of the local papers, or regional magazines, for a reporter / writer, and occasionally I’ll respond just to see if old barriers are still in place......and they are. I never get the chance to meet a publisher or editor in person........suffice to say they all know about the belligerent former editor who said, when asked, “so, do you want to be a writer or an antique dealer.” My response has never been different, and I have no intention of changing my stalwart attitude for another wee cheque. I’d like to be respected as both a writer and a profitable antique dealer. My wife says I’m a good writer and, as she keeps the books for the business, also applauds our financial prowess. I know, I know. Where’s her objectivity?

It must drive that old management of yore nuts, that I didn’t wither-up and blow away after parting company. Outside of a short hiatus of well less than a year, while I was working on business upgrades, I have never been without published work in one form, one venue or another up to the present......and I’m comfortably booked well into the future. And I’ve never been more contented with either discipline.

A writer associate of mine had lost a paying gig a while back, just before the recession but had turned his focus to writing a second book. When I asked why he hadn’t re-introduced his column in barter, for something like an advertisement, he looked at me and said with his eyes; “I don’t work without pay.” I suggested that a byline is always payment. It keeps you in the game. In his case, I pointed out, that a column in exchange for an advertisement for his new book, would make perfect sense to future sales and income. Everyone gets a taste of the action. They get a column from a respected writer, and the author gets the bragging right about being “published.”

There are thousands of bloggers of highly read and regarded sites, considered some of the best writers in the world, contributing their work without a dime of remuneration. That’s freedom. I wonder how many of them are antique dealers as well.

What’s so special about the antique business? Where and how shall I begin? More blogs coming soon.