This ego-centric rant is what comes of being holed up in bed sick for a week. I think I may have had too much time to think about me. Which, it turns out, is good, but now you have to read all about it.
I spent a good deal of last month reading Amanda Hocking, the whiz-bang self-publisher from my home state who has just signed a-very-healthy-dollar-amount-book-deal. Her books are entertaining; they need another edit or two and hopefully a book publisher will give her that. She sites on her blog that she wants to write; she doesn’t want to deal in the nitty-gritty business of writing. Kudos to her and anyone else who does self-publish, it scares the bejeezus out of me. I too hate promoting myself; heck, I don’t even always let my facebook page know when I have a new blog post. This is stupid; I should just get over myself and learn from Amanda Hocking, who has done an amazing job promoting herself. She’s not done with self promoting now that she has an agent, editor and publishing house though. In fact, I think she might be in for a little bit of a shock as she will, most likely, be working even harder now to meet deadlines while still promoting herself beyond what the publishing house is willing to do. But I get it Amanda; I too just want to write. Well, I want people to read what I write, and like it, and pay for it and support my writing habit – vicious circle!
I.AM.A.WRITER.
Amanda Hocking is someone I can relate to because her ideas and writing style are not that dissimilar to my own. It’s always a good thing when someone making a lot of money doing what you want to do is only as good as you are; or maybe you are even better. You feel slightly more confident in what you are doing then. Of course after I finished reading Amanda Hocking, I picked up HP 7 again and cried a little. JK, you are just so good at what you do. Amanda Hocking and JK Rowling are really not the same writer. They both write YA but there the similarities end. I’m always amazed at how clean cut and concise JK is. If I ever meet her I want to know how she managed to edit so precisely all the way through to the end with deadlines, movie set visits and publicity junkets. I realize I am already a decent writer when I read authors like Amanda and I strive to be a better writer when I read authors like JK; but never do I think I’m in the wrong profession or that I can really ever be anything besides a writer.
I.AM.A.WRITER.
This week I received an email from the Unemployment Insurance of MN office asking me to fill out a work survey and self assessment. Apparently, if you’ve ever been on unemployment and you did not report the finding of a full-time job, they will keep tabs on you and “help” you try to locate employment; whether they give you money or not. This is a good thing. I know that. This is why I always fill out the surveys and assessments. They, like myself, want me to be a productive member of society. Here’s the problem: The unemployment office doesn’t really take into account who I actually am; to them I’m merely a number or statistic. If/when I’m gainfully employed they can move my number over from the jobless to the job-full. Really, it just means the surveys and assessments try to push me out of my writing box and into any category of employment I can simply do. The silly thing is, I sometimes agree. I spend hours going over these surveys and then looking for and applying for jobs in any field I know I’m qualified for. A few weeks ago I spent 3.5 hours in an interview for a job that was identical to the one I left two years ago simply because they called and I thought I should re-enter the full time work world. I didn’t get the job, thank goodness! What would I have done then?
I.AM.A.WRITER.
I often get frustrated at the part-time job hobby – it’s not a bad job at all, but it’s not who I am. When people ask me what I do, I never think to mention the part-time job hobby unless in reference to researching for a novel. I don’t talk about it on facebook or think about it when I’m not there; I doubt I’ve mentioned it on this blog except in vague passing. And this may be what stops me from getting jobs in interviews. I have to talk about my current employment and in most cases it pertains – or I can make it pertain – to the job I’m interviewing for. I mean it’s not that far off from copywriting; I do all of the same things and bridge all of the same communication boundaries – just for one store instead of an entire corporation of stores. But ask me about my freelancing work, or The Loft, or the novel I’m working on, or this blog (all things at least mentioned on my resume) and I’m sure you can see the light shining in my eyes. All other jobs are just a stepping stone to my writing career. Honestly, if I can’t be a writer than what am I? Nothing.
I.AM.A.WRITER.
Every year since I graduated from high school I talk to one particular friend on my birthday (mid February) and again on his birthday (beginning of March) without fail. These conversations used to be in person or by phone, but life often gets in the way; so for the last decade they’ve been via email. I hope you all have at least one friend like this. I’m borrowing from L.M. Montgomery here, but a real kindred spirit; someone in your life who honestly cares about the trivial information you are willing to part with on a not-so-frequent basis. Time seems not to matter for either of us; we always just pick up wherever it is that we left off the year before. I tend to confess things in these emails that I don’t to anyone else in the world. There are some things you just don’t want to – or need to – burden your nearest and dearest with…heck, on at least 360 days of the year I don’t even want to admit them to myself. Then there are those other days – days I need to spill it and tell someone how inadequate I sometimes feel. It helps that the return emails are similar in their pessimistic awkwardness. Oh, I don’t mean we dump on each other and then we’re both better humans until the next year – we share plenty of dreams and daily life happenings as well; I promise, usually the good does outweigh the bad. This year found us both complaining about work (my friend is a doctor in the middle of his residency and not so much liking the 80 hour work week on top of being a husband and a dad – with a second child on the way!!). I wrote back with some soul-searching comments about trying to make it as a writer when the rest of the world seems to be pushing me into a career in retail or office space. After I sent the email, it really hit home just how much I try to be these two different people. One who feels that looking for full-time employment, because she lost a job during economic-crisis-time, makes her a productive member of society; the other one is excited to have a decent part-time job hobby she doesn’t have to care about and gets to write for a good portion of each day. Why do I continue to tear myself apart like that? I know who I want to be, which one makes me happy and content.
I.AM.A.WRITER.
I mean do you know that since college – about 12 years or so – I’ve weighed between 150 and 250 lbs. And I don’t just mean I started out at one end of those 100 lbs and slowly moved my way towards the other end; I mean I’ve yo-yoed up and down between them. That’s not healthy. Six months ago, so about a year after getting the boot at corporate job TM, I topped out at 227 and instantly had a small nervous breakdown. Once you see 250, you really, really don’t ever want to see it again. Truly, once you see 200, you really don’t ever want to see it again; and I’ve seen 200 about 4 times in the last five years. Every time I’m loosing weight I think, “This will be the last time!” I really hope this IS actually the last time, but here’s what I realized during this week of self discovery. The periods in my life where I’m loosing weight usually coincide with great feats in writing: A new job, a new project, heck even just a complete month of consistency in my writing regimen. So maybe it’s time to admit it to myself and stop trying to do all of this other stuff.
I.AM.A.WRITER.
I believe I’ve blogged plenty about living and studying in London at the end of my undergrad career. Many moments from that time – in part because I kept a decent journal while in London – seem crisp and clean in my memory. One of those moments stands out as a big dot on the Mariah timeline – marking crucial moments that are often not so momentous at the time. In this particular instance, Ruth, a lovely Irish woman who used random air quotes and rode her bicycle all around London town, simply asked me a question. She taught a British Drama course which mostly consisted of reading plays and seeing London Theatre productions that sometimes corresponded but often didn’t. During a lecture one day she stopped to ask us all what we planned on doing with our lives. At the time I was getting ready to graduate, take my LSAT and move far away from MN to attend law school. I mean this was a clear cut path, one I was not going to be deterred from. For some reason I didn’t give the answer already in my head; I said the first thing that came to my mind, “In a perfect world I’d be a playwright”. It didn’t happen overnight. I still graduated, took the LSAT, applied for law schools and got accepted to two of my top choices; but that random comment kept sneaking through my subconscious, laying its seeds of truth. I have no doubt that I could be practicing law in another state right now, making a lot more money than I do at the part-time job hobby – but would I be happy, content or less-stressed? No. Writing is in my blood; it’s who I am.
I.AM.A.WRITER.
You, blog reader, already know this about me. I’ve already hashed through most of this in similar blog posts. You know more than I do apparently, because I keep trying to do something else. I don’t even want to do anything else; I’ve never really wanted to do anything else. Writing is my identity and my purpose. It’s not the only thing I am, but it is how I want to be remembered. We all have such a small amount of time here and I often feel a sense of urgency coming through when I write, like I have to get it all down while I still can. I want you to read what I have to say, my take on the human condition and the stories that inspire me. Wow, does that sound like I have a god complex? I don’t. I don’t think you have to read what I write or like what I write; I just know I have to write it.
I.AM.A.WRITER.
Maybe all writers continue to go through this self-doubt stage. Maybe it’s a constant battle. Maybe the next time I sit down to work on my novel I won’t get up to wash clothes, scrub out the sinks and get caught up on my email correspondence. Maybe I’ll just sit down and write. More than likely I will have good and bad writing days; I will fill more blog posts with my needs and concerns about my lack of writing – or lack of putting down on paper all of the words and thoughts swirling around in my head, desperately trying to find their way out.
Writing isn’t just what I do, it’s who I am. And sometimes I need to remind myself by screaming it out loud…I.AM.A.WRITER!
