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tranfree issue 17 - 1st August 2000
A Lonely BusinessBy John McCarthy It's a cliché, but translating is a lonely business. Most of us know how hard it can be to sit down and begin work - and how easily we can find an excuse for getting up and interrupting that work. There seems to be some perverse law operating which makes all the minor chores of our lives take on an aspect of vital importance the nearer we get to deadlines. As the days run out our homes become cleaner and tidier, long forgotten electrical appliances are enthusiastically repaired, our kids' bikes oiled and polished. On the eve of deadline day we find ourselves hunched, red-eyed and guilty, darning needle in hand, over an ancient pair of socks. Or, perhaps in a pathetic attempt to assuage our guilt by doing something work-related, we pore over a beginner's Russian or Portuguese. We've been meaning to add another language to our repertoire for years. What better time than the present - when there's absolutely no time left! All those activities we engage in as alternatives to work are, of course, thoroughly commendable. We'd have nothing to reproach ourselves for and have no cause to dread the disapproval of partners were it not for one inescapable fact: walking the cat and fixing the electric can opener and pumping up the kids' tyres tend, on the whole, to be entirely unprofitable endeavours. Ironically, perhaps, it is not those translators who are industrious or lucky enough to have a constant stream of work flopping heavily on to the mat or whizzing urgently to them through cyberspace who are most prone to this kind of procrastination. Such people tend, after a leisurely read of the paper or invigorating morning jog through the park, to sit down perfectly contentedly to begin the day's work. The reassuring murmur of Radio 4 or the soothing strains of Sibelius may be perceptible in the background as the enviably busy translator gently coaxes themself into remembering exactly where he left off yesterday. This translator is the epitome of nonchalance. Another day, another dollar. No big deal. Isn't it like this for everyone? Well, no. The problem with not having work to do is that there is this constant gnawing feeling that it is basically your fault. You haven't done enough, or whatever it is you have done you haven't done right. That's a big world out there, full of thousands of businesses and millions of documents that need to be translated.
How come, then, you have to write Then you have to write another five letters and make as many phone calls and spend sleepless nights riddled with self-doubt before you are grudgingly paid, three months later, your fifty quid (~$80 US). You know that dream, where you're eighteen again, have failed your exams and messed up everything forever? That's what not getting enough translation work is like. But if you're one of those who is doing all the right things and getting the work, you probably don't know what I'm talking about and probably never have that kind of dream. You might assume that a translator with little or very irregular work would inevitably hurry off to his desk at the slightest nod from a client. But this is not necessarily the case. He might equally be so... Perhaps there is a deeper motive for his reticence in getting started. If he has at least one job waiting to be done he can enjoy fantasising about what it is like to have a backlog of work. His pride, too, may play a part. Why should he scurry to pick up the few crumbs being thrown him? He knows it is only a matter of time before that $50,000 job comes his way. Money provides a good analogy here, as it does for most things. Next time you're in a bar, look at the people who are most free with it. It is generally those who have no idea where their next few pennies are coming from. The precariousness of their existence instils in them a desperate sort of recklessness, a refusal to be beaten by their terrifying situation. They should be saving every penny that comes their way. It might mean the difference between survival and starvation. But no, it is the middle class professional with the steady income and insurance policies who sits soberly with the sensible small beer. He understands that the only way to maintain and increase his wealth is through constant vigilance and steely self-discipline. The point is that to have an efficient, regulated working routine it helps to have regular work. When you know there is always something to be done you can plan your days, your weeks, your life around your work. A scenario: It's midday and you've been at your desk for three hours. You've translated two thousand words and your eyes are beginning to feel a little sore. Now's a good time to fix your son's brakes or clean the kitchen floor. You could do with a bit of physical exercise, and it will give you an appetite for lunch. While you're eating, you catch up with the news on the radio (a translator has to keep abreast of events). Then it's a nap. Nothing excessive, just twenty minutes or so. But that's one of the plusses of being a freelance - you don't have to pretend you're not tired when you are. Back to work in the afternoon, another two or three thousand words, then out for a run, or swimming pool with the kids, or your favourite TV show. Tomorrow the same or very similar. It's an altogether pleasant way of working - where you can be yourself to an extent that is hardly possible in the employed arena. And that's the way it's going to be for you some day. Just as soon as you get yourself properly organized to tell all those potential clients just how well you do what you do. Perhaps the first thing is to value your own time. Make a start now: forget the ironing and rearranging your bookshelves, and get on with that translation! John McCarthy lives in North London and translates/interprets from Spanish. He has also lectured in Translation at two London universities. He also writes reviews, articles and fiction.
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...lacking in routine because of the sporadic nature
of his work that he finds it a great effort to start the shortest
job.