The Labor You Can’t See: A Manifesto for Writerpreneurs
I’m a writerpreneur because I live it every day.
When I say what I do, especially to those outside this world, I get a look. The look that says, “So you’re not really working.” Or worse, “Why would anyone pay for a list of jobs?” These reactions usually come from misunderstanding. Writerpreneurship doesn’t fit the old molds. It’s no 9-to-5, no clock-in, no predictable paycheck. It’s a lived-in, earnest hustle, building a business from trust, precision, and relentless care. The labor behind the scenes is endless, and still, no one sees it. I build spaces that hold other writers. I sift through noise, false promises, and endless job posts to offer a lifeline to those who, like me, crave a living made with words and dignity intact. This is the work I do. The work that’s often overlooked, misunderstood, and dismissed.
For anyone confused about why I charge for access to RWJ, this is the labor you’re not calculating. I’m a writer first. And this past year, I’ve been a writer struggling to find her way back to the page. Grief hollowed my rhythms. Made the work feel both urgent and impossible. Still, every day, I show up with something worthwhile and hard-won to add to RWJ. I vet leads with care. I make judgment calls. I advocate for writerpreneurship and creative autonomy.
This isn’t a hobby or a side project. It’s labor I carry with intention, powered by muscle memory and stubborn hope. It runs on hours, on instinct, on a standard I refuse to lower. And I no longer shrink around the fact that this work has value. That it’s become my livelihood. There’s no other resource like it. Not this precise. Not this faithful. Not built by a writer still betting on the worth of our work. So when someone unsubscribes the second they see a paywall, it registers deeper than I want to admit. Not because I expect everyone to pay, but because I’m doing this as one of you. More honestly, I’m steadying the ground for others while mine still shakes.
The hours I pour into curating Remote Writing Jobs, the deep dives to verify every listing, the conversations that vet who’s truly hiring, the careful filtering that keeps low-quality offers at bay. It’s real work. Work that demands my focus, my energy, my full attention. Work that deserves to be honored and compensated.
That paywall, what some hesitate at or question, isn’t a gate. It’s a boundary. A promise to myself and to the writers I serve that this space is worth something. That quality matters. That time is precious. I no longer feel shame about asking for support or apologizing for turning my labor into a livelihood. If one subscription helps a writer land a well-paying job, that subscription has paid for itself many times over.
Writerpreneurship means walking a tightrope: creating space for others while building a future I’m often told I shouldn’t charge for. Some expect the support without seeing the structure. They want the house, not the hands that built it. But these goals aren’t at odds, they’re stitched together. The care I give others is made possible by the care I give myself.
My work pushes back against the tired myths about what “real writing” looks like, who earns, and who should be grateful for scraps. It refuses the idea that writers exist to work for exposure or free labor. By naming this labor writerpreneurship, I open a door to those doing this vital work, often without recognition or respect.
So here I am. Proud and unashamed. Standing in the light of the work behind the work. Building, curating, connecting, and yes, earning a living from it. Supporting writers isn’t charity. It’s craft, commitment, and business. It deserves to be seen and treated that way.
If you’ve supported this work, thank you. You’re not just keeping a directory alive. You’re giving a fellow writer space to breathe, to grieve, and to keep showing up.
This is more than job curation. It’s the scaffolding that holds me up, too.
If you believe in fair pay for honest labor, if you honor the engine behind creative opportunity, then recognize this: writerpreneurship is real. It’s fierce. It’s worthy. And so am I.
Melissa Tripp, Founder of RWJ
Subscribe to Remote Writing Jobs and stand with me in building a space where our work and our worth is never up for debate.