Biglaw, Money

alt.legal: Tackling The Green Elephant In The Room

One of the hardest things about leaving Biglaw is saying goodbye to that nice, hefty paycheck.

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In my first three columns, I’ve detailed my own fears and insecurities about leaving Biglaw, what inspired me to finally quit, and how it feels to start over as a writer. But some of you may be rightly thinking, this is all well and good, but how do you eat? So today, we are going to talk about money.

One of the hardest things about leaving Biglaw is saying goodbye to that nice, hefty paycheck. Of course, as my colleagues Ed Sohn and Joe Borstein have been shouting from the rafters, there are many non-law firm careers where lawyers can still make the big bucks. Writing, however, is not one of them.

No sane person goes into writing for the money. The pay, at least when you are starting out and probably for a long time thereafter, is to put it bluntly, not good. I knew that writing wasn’t a money-making operation, but when I first came out of law, the amounts I was offered — to borrow a legal term — shocked the conscience. And that’s if anything was offered at all. I’ve done a lot of writing completely gratis and I’ve taken more than a few assignments for less than my firm dinner allowance on Seamless.

And actually collecting on these relatively small amounts is not an easy business. Just this morning, I had to email an editor to follow up on the two hundred dollars her magazine agreed to pay me for an article I did several months ago. Chasing down this sum — and two hundred bucks is good for an online piece! — wasn’t exactly part of my post-law fantasy.

Needless to say, even on a diet of ramen noodles, trying to eat off of freelance writing is a difficult proposition. The question is, how do you support yourself while getting your feet wet in a new field or working at something that may never offer large monetary rewards?

In my case, for about 18 months before I left my law firm, I wrote in the mornings before work and on weekends. When I was ready to quit and give writing a shot, I’d built up a cushion to help fund my new endeavor. However, as some of the commenters have astutely surmised, my path into writing has been greatly eased by the fact that I am married to someone who earns enough to support us both. Because my husband has a job with a good salary and benefits, I’ve been spared the full financial consequence of my decision to leave law, and I’m able to devote myself to writing a novel without the distraction of figuring out how I’m going to pay the rent.

The problem of writers not owning up to their plum financial situations was the subject of an article by Ann Bauer in Salon. I wholeheartedly agree with Bauer that we writers do a “disservice to our community when we obfuscate the circumstances that help us write, publish and in some way succeed.” There is no question that my writing life is enhanced because like Bauer, I am “sponsored” by my husband. Writing isn’t simply a romantic pursuit with no relation to banalities like paying the bills; it goes easier when your mind is freed from worries about making ends meet. I’d think the same goes for any creative pursuit or any endeavor that requires a period of delayed earnings.

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I believe I would’ve found my way to writing no matter my financial situation, but I’d be kidding myself if I didn’t think it would’ve been a hell of a lot harder without the support of my spouse. I wouldn’t have been able to leave law as soon as I did and I would’ve undoubtedly had to find another job to cover expenses. The result would’ve been a much slower transition with a lot more temptation to give up along the way.

I know that some readers may discount everything I have to say because of my admittedly charmed circumstances. So take this for what you will, but my feeling is that money can sometimes play an outsized role in decisions to leave the law. It is a valid and easy reason for staying in Biglaw. Thinking, if I had another source of income, I’d leave the firm today and do whatever I want, is a fantasy many lawyers share. But by putting the financial part first, we never get to the question of what is “whatever I want.”

For some of us, money becomes a beard for not knowing what we want to do next. And I would argue that the question of what you want to do is really the hardest part of leaving law. Once that is settled, everything else, including the money piece, becomes a matter of execution.

I don’t mean to be glib and act like financing a post-law career is in any way easy, but I am suggesting that focusing exclusively on money can be another way we avoid questions about where our passions lie. (As I’ve written previously, I went to law school to avoid such questions.)

Putting all the emphasis on money also discounts the hard work required to enter a new field. While financial security is certainly a boon, no amount of money could allow me to avoid the many unglamorous hours I spend slogging away at my computer.

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Next time, I’ll be discussing how to dip one’s toe into the waters of another field while still working in Biglaw.

Leigh McMullan Abramson is a freelance writer whose work has appeared in numerous publications including The New York Times, The Atlantic, Town & Country, Real Simple, and Tablet Magazine. She attended Penn Law before working for several years in Biglaw and clerking in the Southern District of New York. Leigh is currently toiling away on a novel set in — you guessed it — a law firm. She can be reached at [email protected].

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