Hello friends and welcome to another willful week of writing.
The last few weeks have been on the stressful side for me, but a reprieve at last approaches. Today is my last day writing for the marketing firm I’ve been freelancing with the last six weeks. I’ll be honest: I didn’t really care for the work and it definitely didn’t pay enough to be worth what I put into it, but I am glad I tried it. Now I know for sure it’s not for me. And I made a few bucks on the side.
With that behind me, I am feeling so light and free, and capable of anything. I mentioned a few weeks back that I felt like I had come to a turning point. It may have taken me a while to get back up to speed after making that turn, but with this unburdening coming after today, I am at last ready to go full throttle.
This confidence is due in large part to the mental labor (and it has been some serious labor) I have been putting into improve my perennial anxiety and relax frankly absurd expectations of myself. I am learning to accept that I cannot be the writer I want to be under present circumstances because I want to be a writer that stays at home and writes 12 books a year. I want to the kind of writer that has a podcast and a successful website where people congregate. I want to be the kind of writer that can subsist on creativity alone.
But, honestly, I haven’t done any of the work to earn that yet. As much as I want to be able to quit my job to write full time, I can’t. I have to put in the time and energy, blood, sweat, and tears, and a shit ton of hard work. And, yeah, sometimes it fucking feels like an oxymoron. How am I supposed to generate an income I can live off of by writing if I never have any time to write?
By paying my dues. And accepting that I’m never going to get anywhere if I keep spinning the wheels of anxiety against the mud of low self-esteem and sky-high expectations.
I’m a flawed writer. I hate drafting and I am always abandoning projects before they’re fully formed for the new shiny idea. If I don’t have a deadline, being productive feels like pulling teeth. I like talking about writing and listening to writers talk about writing sometimes more than actual writing.
I’ve spent the better part of the last five years fruitlessly trying to change all these things, and the only thing I’ve accomplished is a shit ton of disappointment and self-deprecation.
So, I’m abandoning the idea of change and embracing the concept of making my flaws work for me. Maybe, just maybe, if I spend the energy I’ve been wasting on trying to “fix” myself on more productive endeavors (like, you know, being creative), then perhaps I’ll finally see some movement in this long, arduous journey of becoming a full time writer.
And that’s my motivation this week.
I expect to have two drabbles for you tomorrow since I missed last week with all the stuff I had going on. Wednesday will mark (I hope) the first edition of WIP Wednesday, the new addition to my weekly blogging lineup, and Thursday I’ll be back again to talk about the last six months and how they’ve stacked up compared to the goals I laid out at the beginning of the year. Friday, I’m thinking of reviving Friday Feelings, and Saturday a new entry in The Ballad of Mercy May will go up.
If you think that’s a lot of blogging, it is. For whatever reason it helps me, and I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t.
Please look forward to it.