Like having to pee when you get off an airplane.
To put myself in the correct frame of mind to be a "full time writer" (and to prevent making everything else in my life a priority), I began letting others know that I was writing. I made it official on my LinkedIn account and made note of it on my Facebook. If someone asked me "So, what do you do?" I would answer, "I am a writer."
Generally this would lead to the response, "Oh. What have you published?"
And I would feel really embarrassed. Because I had not published a book. Or a short story. Or even an article. So I would say, "I really don't have anything published at this time." Then the other person would usually change the subject.
Cause you know you are not a writer unless you have been published.
But this conversation roadblock didn't stop me from writing. Those characters in my head were just a bit too demanding for that. I wondered if I should seek out therapy.
Even laundry, groceries, a house constantly under repair, and interruptions of a busy life with kids didn't stop me. Slowed me down a little, but never put an end to the words that spilled out on the page. Or rather spilled out on the blank screen. I seldom use paper when I write. My handwriting can be a handicap to a reader, even if it is just myself doing the reading.
With the growing urgency to write, also came the urgency to share what I wrote. Since I did not have a completed manuscript to submit for publication, I decided to start a blog and share my thoughts with the world at large. After finding a format that I found easy to use, I plunged in the public waters of blogging.
That was pretty scary. Not scary, like driving down a dark road in the mountains with no headlights on, or scary like discovering that last month's dinner leftovers had been pushed to the back of the fridge, but scary like going to a job interview for the dream position that you wanted all your life and are not entirely sure that you are qualified for.
What if no one liked my writing? Who would read my writing? What if no one read what I wrote? What the heck would I write in a blog? Okay, I already had an idea of what I would write. But the other questions remained real fears until I actually began to post to my blog. I not only discovered there were folks who would read my blog, but there were people who liked it. A few readers wrote encouraging comments. I had individuals who told me that something I wrote touched them. Still others contacted me and said that I made them smile. I welcome comments and feedback. Some of the subjects I write about are meant to start dialogue.
My ego was given that boost I evidently needed. Now I could proudly tell others that I published a blog. I really was a writer. There was now evidence.
Then some creep asked me if my blog generated much revenue.
At first, I was a little embarrassed, because no, it did not generate revenue. It was another conversation blockade. I was a little discouraged. Maybe a lot discouraged. If I were a real writer, wouldn't my blog generate cash flow? Wouldn't I have a bigger following? Shouldn't there be a ton of people signing up to follow me? Was this a sign that I should just quit? I thought about it. I started looking into topics that were selling in the blog world. I began to do more research on strategy, writing techniques, and formats. Then I got angry.
So now I wasn't a writer because I didn't generate any revenue? Really? Is that what defines a writer? Don't get me wrong, I would love it if my writing generated revenue. I hope someday that it does. But that was about as stupid as saying a mother wasn't a mother because loving and taking care of her children didn't produce income. Or that a person wasn't a golfer because they didn't pick up a pay check at the end of eighteen holes. Whose business was it anyway if I did or did not generate income from my writing? I had let myself become discouraged by an inquiry into my finances. An evaluation of my abilities based on my social-economic status. To make matters worse, I had let that person change how I defined a writer. How I defined myself.
Without the assistance of therapy, I took a deep breath and stepped back to evaluate my life. I decided to call it my Mid-Life Review.
Anyone thinking of doing this should probably consider getting therapy. Or a bottle of wine, maybe something stronger. It can be pretty scary to look at the big picture. Fortunately I lead a pretty simple life. My mid-life crisis had not resulted in a sports car. And when I started to take a close look at my new goals, I discovered that I had been on this path a lot longer than I thought. My blog was NOT my first publication - only my most recent. I had written training manuals and material that had been published within the companies I had worked for and distributed corporate wide. I had written chapter stories in the past (granted, for an audience of close friends) and they had begged each week for the next installation. I had created children's stories and shared them with my nephews and nieces as well as with my own daughter and her friends. I have been known to create some wicked memos. I have produced a number of resumes for family and friends and helped with cover letters. The projects I currently pursue are simply another offshoot of an already well trod path.
From that point, I decided to only value the opinion of someone who asked me what writing projects I was currently working on. I was not going to be embarrassed by a lack of a publication contract or a dearth of my works on display in the local bookstore. I was going to work with my whole being at doing what I feel I was meant to do, what I feel driven to do. It is like breathing. There are days when the crisp autumn air fills my lungs with life-giving oxygen that rejuvenates me body and soul, and there are days I spend gasping for breath through a stuffed up head and a runny nose, unable to smell the noxious fumes of the vapor rub lathered over my chest. My struggles with my identity were not fruitless, however, as some of my research proved quite useful in both my writing strategy and blog publications. I have learned a great deal about the current world of publication into which I am wading.
I am not sure how deep the water may be, nor too certain about the current, but as I have left shore without a paddle, I will have to make my way as best as I am able.
