Fair Pay: 6 Tips for Writers (and writing teachers)

Last month, as I filled my dining room table with receipts and mileages and 2022 credit card bills—all to prepare and file my 2022 taxes—I noticed a pattern.

Some of my expressive and creative writing workshops earned my regular hourly fee. Others were for a reduced, agreed-upon cost. Still others were freebies. And one was supposed to be fee-based, but turned out to be a non-paying gig.

Now that you’ve filed your taxes or asked for an extension, here are some been-there tips for getting paid for your time and expertise as a writer:

1. Talk money early: I’m proud to report that this math phobe is getting way more comfortable at saying, “My hourly teaching fee (or presentation fee or freelance writing fee) is $xyz. Does that fit with the organizational budget?” Saying this line and asking this question avoids wasted conversations and becomes much easier with practice and time.

2. Faux literary friendships don’t mean money: As writers, we often love to connect about just-read books. Or we swap opportunities or share experiences. But friendships aside, your time and expertise are just as valuable as other folks’ time and expertise. For example, that plumber who came to my house last year was a lovely fellow and yes, we had a grand chat, but I still had to pay him his set hourly rate.

3. Read and re-read your contract: This one is related to Number 2. Just because you’ve been hitting it off or chatting over the phone or email or even helping out with the event planning, don’t trust or assume that the hiring contract will be written in your favor. Avoid making naïve and costly assumptions. Read every line of that contract. Then decide if this event is right for you (see above about the surprise non-paying gig).

4. The author contract is about more than payment: Look for other, non-monetary items on that presenter’s contract, including audio visual equipment and the presence (or not) of on-site IT support or a delegated Zoom moderator. When you arrive at the site or digitally connect with your audience, you don’t want to invest your valuable time trying to get everything to work. Trust me on this one.

5. Time is money: If it’s a two- or multi-part workshop, ask if you will be expected to respond to students’ between-session emails. It’s fine if you do, but you need to know what to expect. For day- or weekend-long events, are faculty meals included in your stipend? Will you get reimbursed for accommodation costs or mileage? Again, don’t assume. For a multi-week or semester-long program, estimate your real time allocations—including prep time, teaching time, Zoom meetings, student email responses and other duties. Based on these, project your hourly rate. Is this rate financially viable for your budget?

6. Work for free? Yes, but be selective: If you’re going—or can afford to—work for free, make sure that the hosting organization’s mission aligns with your own values or interests. Or ask if there’s a non-monetary payout. When someone asks for a freebie, I ask myself two questions: (1) Am I being asked to work for free because someone has spent down (on other writers) or mismanaged their operating budget? Or (2) Do they really value my expertise, and this will be a mutually rewarding event or project?

The bottom line: Like everything else in our lives, choosing to lead a writing workshop (or do some business or grant writing or give a presentation or mentor a group of young writers) is a choice—usually a happy one. But remember: This is also time taken away from your own creative or writing time. So before you say “yes” to that freelance or programming request, think about what you need, what you can afford, what you’re willing to sacrifice and why.

That “noblesse oblige” thing? For those of us who have bills to pay and taxes to self-prepare, it’s a luxury we don’t have and cannot afford.

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Enjoyed this post? You may also enjoy:

“How Much Money do Writers Earn or Make?”

“What Questions Should You Ask Before You Lead a Writing Workshop or Retreat?”

“On Labor Day: What Your Day Job Brings to Your Writing (and vice versa)”

Sharing Your Writing Drafts? Here's My "No" List

When Should We Share Our Writing Drafts? And with Whom?

This morning, as I started yet another round of edits to my novel in progress, I thought, “Couldn’t I just hire someone to read and edit for me? Let them scribble all these notes and reminders in the margins.

By outsourcing, wouldn’t I fast-track the process from scribble-y draft to almost clean manuscript?

No. I’m not even close to the share-able state yet. Plus, I’m pretty reticent about sharing any of my works in progress (WIPs).

Finally, as a writer with a day job, I rarely or never have the time for weekly or monthly manuscript swaps or meetings with other writers.

Sharing Your Writing Drafts: Here’s My “No” List

1. The Unempathetic Person - Especially if you’re writing about something highly personal, painful or traumatic. In this case, be extra, extra, extra vigilant about who gets to see or preview that generative writing or those early drafts. For a start, let’s borrow from Brené Brown here and avoid anyone who may respond to your story with, “At least.” You know these folks. You reveal a personal story and they respond with sentences that begin with, “At least.” (At least you had a house to get foreclosed on/past-due food to give you food poisoning/a partner to fight with you.)

   It’s hard enough to write from a place of pain. Don’t add to this hardship and pain by giving your writing draft to … well … a self-centered pain.

2. The Family: Some family members can and will read your writing with an open mind. Others cannot or will not, and will (a) insert themselves into your story (“isn’t this character based on me?”) or (b) assert that their version or memory of this event is the only and better version or (c) be incapable of separating you, the kid, the sibling or the cousin, from the accomplished, grown-up writer that you are now.

   Two tips: (a) Don’t share generative or early-drafts of the work with a family member. Wait until you’re close to final draft (b) be clear with yourself and your family why you’re sharing and what exactly you want that family member to do in their post-reading response to you.

3. The Limited, Tone Deaf Person: Here, I’m talking about someone whose life experiences or reference points are so limited or privileged that they can’t even try to “get” your story or poem—let alone give those pages a fair reading. For example, a few years ago, after several back-and-forth emails, an acquisitions editor and I hit an impasse. They liked the writing. But they didn’t get what was story-worthy here. On a hunch, I turned to my old buddy Google. Ding! There it was: a set of this person’s own writings that were so social-class-bound and tone-deaf to contemporary headlines that, frankly, I should have known better than to submit here. The good news: As kids, most of us started reading because it opened the doors to a world that was foreign from ours. So most beta readers or potential editors can and will make the comprehension or cultural leap.

   But a few cannot. Or won’t.

As well as these three, let’s not forget Willie Nelson’s rules or personal “No” list.

As we decide how soon and with whom we choose to share our writing drafts, Willie’s list of outlawed behaviors is a good guideline for us.

In the above three-point list, have I missed anyone?

Enjoyed this post? You may also enjoy these related posts:

How Much Can We Write about Our Families?

How to Write Safe Truths in our Personal Essays or Memoirs

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Ditch that Messy Draft. Embrace the Blank Writing Page.

Should I write a new draft? Or throw my writing away?

Yesterday I decided to dust off an old, Thanksgiving holiday-themed essay. It had already been drafted and re-drafted, so (I convinced myself) it would only take an hour to edit, fix and pitch.

The essay was written in 2011, when I had pitched it to a popular Sunday magazine in which I had been previously published. Back then, the editor returned it with a nice note saying that it just didn’t work for that publication.

Today, thanks to eight years of editorial distance, I understood why my original draft got rejected. Plus, I love to edit, so I convinced myself that a nip here and a tuck there would make that 2011 piece perfect and ready for a re-pitch.

Now, after more than 20 years of writing and publishing, wouldn’t you think I’d know that re-writes are never, ever easy or quick? So this afternoon, after a few botched attempts, I abandoned that old draft to open an empty page to hand-write a brand new version.

Here are four reasons to stop twiddling with that old draft to start over with a fresh piece:

Our narrative voices mature: Since 2011, I’ve published (lucky me) several other essays and a full-length book collection collection of my essays. Our narrative voices change and mature, and experiences change or deepen our perspectives. We need to write as the writer we have become, not the writer we once were.

Updated facts, statistics and research: When it comes to fact checking or supporting statistics, many things may have changed since our last draft. So check and insert the latest data.

Publishing trends change: Publications downsize staffing or change their editorial focus and submission requirements. While we try not to write for a specific market or readership, it’s foolish to pitch or submit something that doesn’t meet the target publication’s submission requirements.

A new draft gives a new chance to go deeper: For today’s piece, I ditched the old typed version and wrote the new piece by hand. Handwriting helps our critical thinking and lets us find a way into what we really want to say. So turn off your computer and pick up that notebook and pen.

If time equals money, then, given how long we spend writing and drafting, we writers are always working at a financial deficit. But time also equals quality. So if you want to write what matters to you now, today, consider starting from scratch with a new page.

P.S. I just got an acceptance letter for this Thanksgiving-themed essay, from a good editor at a paying market.

My New Morning Run Is Giving Me New Writing Tips

Two months ago, just before Thanksgiving, I handed in my notice to leave my job in healthcare communications.

Some folks told me I was brave. Others inferred that I was either spoiled or crazy or both.

I had a number of reasons for leaving, and most are too complex to go into here.

Overall, I knew in my bones that it was time for a break, and the only way I could get myself that break was to make … well, a clean break. Also, I have a new book, Green Card & Other Essays, being published in spring 2019, and I had a number of final edits that needed my attention. Plus I have a half-complete novel draft that desperately needs some overdue love.

So I crossed my fingers, ignored my bank balance and granted myself a work sabbatical.

Now I’m two-plus months in, and I’m supposed to be basking in all this freedom, all these things that, this time last year, I longed to have, including more time to write.

Well, at least I’ve got the “basking” part down (smile).

I have always been an avid walker and hiker, so one of the best parts about being away from work is the extra outdoors time. Then, just before Christmas, I decided to turn my usual morning walk into a morning run.

Of course, I had a thousand reasons not to run: My mid-life knees aren’t what they used to be. Winter is cold here in New England. I hate Spandex (or is it Lycra?). And, if I got up to run a few mornings per week, wasn’t that cutting way into prime writing hours?

My first few days out, I did a kind of power-walk-and-run combo. Then, one morning, I just kept running—all the way down our local hiking trail and all the way home again.

Now, for all you seasoned runners out there, this is where you’re allowed to snicker behind your hands. Pretty and peaceful as our local hiking trail is, it’s nothing that would prepare me for the Olympics or even a mini-marathon. But running there feels great—especially as I enter that last little lap toward home.

I also know that this new running gig is teaching me about life and work and writing.

Here are 5 things that this (very) amateur jogger is learning about creative writing:

1. Nike has it right. For writing or jogging, there are morning when you have to shush the excuses and arguments inside your own head and “just do it.”

2. Running enhances the writing: As I thump along the blacktop trail, my mind wanders into and out of my novel’s plotting cul-de-sacs. I worry over (and sometimes solve) problems. I make editorial corrections. I get new ideas. There’s nothing like the cold wind against your cheeks to pump up the creative.

3. Push past your comfort zone: I’m learning that it’s all about setting your sights on a milestone up ahead and then, pushing to or beyond that set target. Like I say, I’m a long way from being a marathon-er (and probably never will be), but I’m learning that my body is capable of more than I thought. Also, that moment when I want to quit is also the moment when I should push on for an extra few hundred feet. Or, as writers, when we need to push on for a few hundred words more.

4. Healthy body. Healthy mind: It’s all about taking care of our own daily wellness. This is especially true when the winter blues and blahs can and do eclipse our self-confidence and our creative selves.

5. Prove yourself wrong: On the trail or on the page, I’m discovering the joy in proving my morning-grumpy self wrong.

How to Get The Most out of Your Writers Retreat

I'm on deadline for part of a book and a brand new essay and oh, yes, I need to catch up on some emails.  So I did what always works: I packed up my notebooks, laptop, books, pens and sweat pants and booked myself a room at my favorite retreat for artists and writers. This is Day 3 and the last night of my short residency. 

I've been here before. And before.

Fifteen years ago, shortly after it was opened, I was one of the retreat's first residents, and now I'm a frequent flyer. I've come here in winter, spring, summer and fall. I've come when I've been under deadline, under stress, under duress and, once, after a family bereavement, in that underwater silence that is grief and loss. 

I've done my best work here.  I am my best self here.  I am equal parts productive and contemplative and have often banged out 60 - 100 pages in one long weekend (O.k., so during those mega-output stints, the personal hygiene is .. ahem .. spotty). 

Tonight, I just had one of those great writer-retreat conversations.  

Downstairs, at our lamplit dinner table, the retreat 's assistant director was marveling over how resident writers just seem to naturally and automatically respect each other's space--much more so than, say, passengers in an airport or guests in a hotel.  

"Do you think there's some secret or art to this?" She asked. "To being on writers retreat?" 

"Yes,"  I said. "Yes. Yes. and, well ... um .. Yes." 

"You're sure about that?" she teased. 

I laughed. 

There is an art. It isn't enough to just book a flight or plug the retreat address into your GPS and "head west, young writer."  Whether you're booked for a week or a weekend or a month, you will need to be ready and prepared to ... well ... retreat.   

Based on 15 years' experience (I also write about this in my book, "Writer with a Day Job") here are my personal tips:  

6 Tips For Getting The Most Out of Your Writers Retreat

1. Alone or with writer friends? This depends on the friends and what you're working on.  If you're collaborating on a project, then a few days away together works perfectly. But when you go on writer's retreat with a friend or friends, make sure to establish work time and socializing time and to stick to your mutual agreement. If you do go in a small group, respect the other residents (outside of your group). Unless you've reserved every single room, it's not your group's exclusive space. 

2. Writing materials: Pack what you will need (laptop, charger, thumb drive, printed manuscript with hand-edits, audio interviews, books, research notes). But leave yourself open to new possibilities, new sides of yourself. Bring a few paper notebooks and pens. Once you settle into this slower, complete-immersion space and pace, you may want to mix it up and try new writing tools and approaches.

3. Food: Unless the place includes a meal plan, pack some easy-cook or easily defrosted or ready-to-eat meals. Yes, it's fun to join in communal writer dinners. But you're really here to work, not perfect new recipes or waste time driving around looking for local restaurants. A must have: One ready-to-eat meal for that arrival day or night when you'll probably be travel weary and just getting unpacked and used to the vibe. 

4. Be open to new experiences, new people, a new way of being and writing: Especially if this is your first retreat, and especially if you're used to writing on the fly or snagging time in between parental or other family duties, the solitude may take some adjustment time. Be ready for that. Allow yourself at least one day to settle in. Resist the urge to call home and check in. Ditto for social media and email. And if you must check in at home, assign yourself one check-in time each day.  

5. Set a goal and have a plan: Yes, I know I said you have to leave yourself open and go with the flow.  But with all this unfettered, unpunctuated time stretching ahead, make sure you don't just waste these precious hours or days. Set yourself some goals. Have a loose plan for what you will accomplish by retreat's end.  

6. This is not like a professional conference: If you work a second, non-writing day job (and which of us doesn't?), expect a retreat to be very different from a professional conference.  For one thing, it's unstructured, non-instructional time, without breakout sessions or round tables or focus groups.  And for another, it's all about respecting your own and your fellow writers' space and solitude and silence. Although you may have fascinating or fun chats, the primary focus is on working, not NETworking. 

Are you extra or less productive when you write away from home or go on writers retreats? If extra productive, share you personal tips. If less productive, what does work for you?

Writing about Tough Stuff (and then getting on with your day?)

I'm writing my first book-length memoir. It's something I thought I would never, ever write--that I would never have the stomach for.  But I am writing it. I feel compelled to write this story about my leaving Ireland at age 24 to come and live in the U.S.  

The story is, of course, about much more than the cultural bloopers, the adventures and misadventures of my early years in America.  

I've just drafted and printed the first 50 pages. I have no idea if it will ever get published.

Last Monday, I flipped back through the "easier" stuff to write and insert a really difficult scene.  How difficult? I, a woman who (mostly) breezes through the transatlantic airport departure lounge completely dry-eyed, sat here at my computer weeping.

Then, this morning, almost a week later, I got up, made coffee and tackled the second-most difficult scene. As soon as I began to write Difficult Scene 2, I instantly sank into another bout of  melancholy.

2013-06-15 11.27.38

Surely this is a kind of willful psychosis?  Surely, on an ordinary American Sunday, a day when the sun is shining through my writing-studio window, it would be easier and healthier not to revisit or revive the past. To simply stay in the present?

But for better or worse,  I've written both scenes. In doing so, I've committed to typed words one of the saddest and loneliest times of my adult life.

Writing these scenes--actually the whole book so far--has taught me that sometimes, we commit our worst acts of cowardice, our most heinous acts of negligence against ourselves.

So I'm done.    I'm free to get up from this desk and go about the rest of my normal American Sunday.   

Or am I?

Busy, Guilt-Ridden Writers! Write What You Can

Two weeks ago I attended an after-work spiritual retreat at Rolling Ridge, a  retreat facility and conference center that's located only about a half-hour from my office. It had been a hectic week, so I welcomed this chance to kick back, meditate and just generally let someone else do the talking or better yet, shush my brain altogether.    

The presenter began with a story about two monks--one older, one younger. One day, the junior monk confessed to his mentor how, as a neophyte, he could never seem to measure up; he could never be as pious as his elders. The younger monk said, "You get up so early every morning.  You seem to pray with all your heart and soul.  I could never hope to pray like that."

The elder monk smiled and said, "Why don't you pray what you can, not what you can't."

This advice really applies to our writing. It especially applies to those of us who constantly dither between our creative lives and our other responsibilities, including work. Honestly, there are weeks when I should get a golden gloves for all the jabs I take at myself, for how much I beat myself up over all that "I can't" do, or haven't done or failed to do.

In her inspirational blog for writers, Barbara Ann Yoder dubs this, "emotional self-flagellation," a state she finds counterproductive.

Barbara adds:

I think it’s important to acknowledge that jobs, relationships, cross-country moves, illnesses, and many other challenges can and do at times take precedence over writing.

For me, this "emotional self-flagellation" is often rooted in a monkish belief that only long-form writing stints qualify as "real" writing. 

Or, for another perspective, check out Lisa Romeo's writing blog, in which she also refutes that perennial advice about writing every day.

Lisa says:

But to my mind the most detrimental piece of standard writing advice is the one that declares that in order to be a *real* writer (whatever that is), one must write every single day, often amended to include that one must write a set number of pages or words, or a set amount of time per day.

Since attending that evening retreat, I've been trying to change my own thought processes.

On those days when I simply can't get 500 words on the page, I force myself to ask: What can I do?

Can I do a short morning meditation to clear my brain and develop a better and more creative attitude? Can I journal for five minutes?

journal

Can I switch on my laptop and just read yesterday's paragraph so that I have at least "visited" my work in progress for that day? Can I do a quick read-through and edit of the first paragraph? Can I write up a to-do list of what's left or outstanding in the work? Can I play a scene through my head while I'm driving to the day job?

By focusing on what I can do, I am actually getting more writing done--or at least, I'm staying more consistently engaged in the work.

And best of all, I'm on much better terms with myself--and this life called writing.

What on-the-fly, quickie writer strategies save your writing days?

Writers, Join this book giveaway by sharing your tips

This week I was lucky enough to be featured at The Writer's Place, a spiffy blog by writer Nancy Christie. Then, today, the interview gets included in Help for Writers.

I enjoyed the entire Writers Place interview, but I was especially charmed by Nancy's last question in which she asks for my "top three takeaways" (or tips) for balancing creativity with work (based on my book, Writer with a Day Job).

Here are my top 3 tips for balancing writing and life:

1.  Define your own path to writing and writing success. Comparing ourselves with other writers is counterproductive—even deadly.

2.  If you’re a beginner writer, create an overview of your month’s typical schedule and commitments. Circle the items that can either be outsourced or dropped altogether. Only keep those commitments that are truly, honestly as or more important in your life than writing. Even if you don’t use your freed-up time for actual writing, use it for writing-conducive activities such as reading, yoga or just sitting and staring into space.

3.  Learn how to say, “no.” When we do, people are not as miffed or disappointed as we assume that they will be. We fall into these “I should” and “I must” habits because —duh!— we’re not clear with others about what we need in order to nurture our talents as writers.

So you've got my three tips. Now, what are yours? Insert below in the Comments section and join my book giveaway. 

If we get 15 responses (each with your hot tips), I will enter all names in a random drawing for a signed copy of my book, WRITER with a DAY JOB. I will mail the book to the winner, so make sure to include a website or blog where I can reach you. Sorry, U.S. addresses only, please.

We need a minimum of 15 responses ... so ... pick and post your best tips... and spread the word  ... 

New Year's Resolutions for Writers: Ernest Hemingway's "Truest Sentence"

Should some writing come with a "made-in-China" label? In our digitized 21st century, how much of our writing is too cheap, too quick and too disposable? Has the sheer volume of digitized, podcast, broadcast and hard-copy content spawned a  24/7 static, a persistent distraction?

I have been a lifelong lover of the jigsaw process of writing, of yoking apparently disparate ideas together for a cohesive whole.  As a teacher and a writer, I have told my students and myself to "let yourself play in the word box to find that first, unfettered draft."

But lately, I have been questioning my own advice. In the time that it takes us to pen that first draft of a 3,000-word essay or story,  have the writing and publishing rules already changed? Has everyone already gone onto the next and louder message?

December has not been a good writing month because the first week was spent in my native Ireland, where I flew across the Atlantic to visit my family and to close out the mourning year for my late father's death.

It has not been a good writing month because my day job was really busy.

It has not been a good writing month because I was jet lagged and tired, addled, anxious and often awake at 3 a.m.

In fact, though I've managed to complete some essays and start a new book project, it hasn't been a very good writing year. For most of 2012, I have been plagued by this sense that some of us are destined to be the gauche maiden aunt at this hyper hip, hyper loud and hyper mercenary party called modern writing.

Or let's put it this way: This December, we tele-witnessed a young man gunning down 20 school children, another man pushing a stranger in front of a speeding train, and another man shooting up firefighters on Christmas.

So what the hell good are we?

And, worse than being ineffectual, aren't we writers--aka "content providers"-- part of the problem?  Our words are part of that blathery static that postures and obscures and, by extension, belittles the gut-crushing realities of life, death and loss?

Two nights ago, on the evening of December 30th, I was thinking about all of this when I suddenly remembered that line from Hemingway:  "Write the truest sentence that you know."

Ernest Hemingway

But after the madness that has been December 2012,  I could find or write no fixed, existential truth.

At least, not about anything out there outside my office window.

But a quick Google search threw up this wonderful writing exercise from a Canadian writer who encourages us to adapt Hemingway's advice to write some truths about ourselves.

To atone for our year of spin and cruelty and sycophancy, I tried to call up that one true thing about me.

I wrote down 20.

Some are those bare-knuckled truths that set us on the offensive or make us brace or duck for the next upper cut.  Some of my self-truths made me hold my breath. A few made me tremble. One made me cry.

The fact that I wrote 20 truths on 16 single-spaced, handwritten pages doesn't make me super prolific or super honest.  It simply and sadly means that,  in the busy-ness and babble of life, in the gussied-up version of me that I present to the world, I had abandoned what was true.

Now, all 20 of my truths are written down. They are an excellent blueprint for 2013.

Thank you, Ernest Hemingway. I don't like your writing. Given your macho, hard-living shtick, I probably wouldn't have liked you.

But in a world turned mad and bad, I love your saving advice.

Should You Come Out (as a writer) at Work?

It's happened again. This morning, my Google Alert told me that my name had been mentioned somewhere out there in the cyber galaxy.

Was it a glowing online review? Some writer blogger mentioning or  (or damning--who knows?) my book for writers? Some agent who had come upon my last novel and now, she or he had a question or a quibble or a hot writers' advance for the next book?

It was none of these.

Instead, it was a press release that I posted at work as part of my job as a communications director for a non-profit here in Massachusetts.

Dang. It's not that I'm disappointed that the search engines are picking up my work-generated press releases, but I don't like this public link between my paid work (aka, the day job) and my life as a creative writer.

I hate when that happens. In fact, I do everything I can to not have that happen, to keep  my day job and my writing life separate.  So I never stand in the lunch room blathering about last night's rough draft. Or I never announce a new publication.

2011-10-20_19-50-56_853

I don't invite my colleagues to any of my public readings or panel discussions.

I never bring one of my books to work, and I never, ever mention my workplace on Twitter or on my author's Facebook page. Sometimes, when and if a colleague reads a piece of mine or sees my name in the local newspaper (the arts, not the business section), I grow suddenly bashful and embarrassed, as if I've been caught out in a secret.

Why?

Mostly, I like to honor the requirements and ethics of my professional life and workplace. I feel grateful to have a job I like with colleagues I respect.  But then, I don't write anything salacious or pornographic or outrageous. I don't write on the job.  So what's the harm in sharing my life with those people with whom I wait in line for the coffee machine?  Just as they tell me about their kids and their kids' birthday parties, why can't I share my extra-curricular life?

Mostly, I want my colleagues to see me as fitting and fulfilling the role I'm paid for. So I hesitate to introduce another variable of myself, to charge them with seeing me in another and separate light.

And make no mistake: They are separate. The worker me and the writer me are very different. Especially on those self-effacing and writer-blocked days, I like the worker me better. It's a far more confident and competent version.  It's a version that gets things done.

But mostly, I think I keep things separate because, even when I'm writing fiction, some part of that manuscript will reveal my past and my innermost thoughts and sensibilities.

Do I really want my colleagues to know that much about me?

How do you manage it? Really, I'd love to know. Do you allow colleagues or business associates to share in the joys and challenges of your writing?

Do you share rough drafts with your family or life partner or best friend?