I am not a saleswoman. i want that bit out of the way from jump. i just want to write. And there is a rotund little character on my shoulder crying out, "But in order to be a writer AND eat, one must do the pesky chore of selling." I understand that it is not necessarily the art of selling my work, but it's selling myself. (And i don't even want to take me home, so how can i do that?)
*sigh* or *harrumph*
Where is the onomatopoeia for the sound my dog makes when she's annoyed?
Where is the onomatopoeia for the sound my dog makes when she's annoyed?
The days I don't write, I am perfectly fine just ignoring that bit about me. But the days I DO! ... I feel ... I just feel! And that's pretty fucking good.
My commute for a few days has provided time with my thoughts, and if i was a shout out kind of girl, a quick enthusiastic one shoudl be hailed upon my meds that are being consumed in regular intervals as prescribed.
And there's the math isn't it? ... My time is short because I work at a job that pays for necessities like yogurt and seroquel. But if i just spent some time writing more, i could put efforts into being a writer even on the days when i don't feel worthy of the title. (I only entertained the idea of having raconteur on my business cards for a day or two.) And truly, aside from the selling, I make a pretty good go at writing.
I write my stuff, freelance, ghost a bit, have more coffeee and struggle with my bills.
My commute for a few days has provided time with my thoughts, and if i was a shout out kind of girl, a quick enthusiastic one shoudl be hailed upon my meds that are being consumed in regular intervals as prescribed.
And there's the math isn't it? ... My time is short because I work at a job that pays for necessities like yogurt and seroquel. But if i just spent some time writing more, i could put efforts into being a writer even on the days when i don't feel worthy of the title. (I only entertained the idea of having raconteur on my business cards for a day or two.) And truly, aside from the selling, I make a pretty good go at writing.
I write my stuff, freelance, ghost a bit, have more coffeee and struggle with my bills.
(Struggle no more or less with numbers instead of words in my days.)
At the end of the day, if i sleep, i don't stress with the same stress as working at something that is clearly not my passion although it remains my skill.
I have this thought>> This jumble of melancholic wail over time and effort began because last night, i opened my computer to fill in all the brackets i jumped over during my yesterday commutes, and i was spent. I didnt' have it in me to key another word on the screen. But my mind raced and i had to get the words out before i forgot.
My brain was vomiting out the words and if i didn't sop up the mess right then and sort through the words, another minute would have come along with a wet vac and cleaned the whole mess away. (into a vacuum - i rather like that image of my brain being overstuffed with words that it must purge, with a minute jumping from horatio's timepiece and moving it to a place words have no sound - no story.)
I wrote a thing about being clean over on my heating a home page... and it sat on my phone in a 'note to myself' over a week. and this entry was actually started two days ago. I'm struggling with finishing things. I'm struggling seeing the end of projects and that punctuation on my sentences. I blame lack of time and lack of brain, sometimes lack of sleep and often lack of eloquence. but i have to finish. if i'm ever going to make the transition from not a writer to a writer, i need to finish.
I have this thought>> This jumble of melancholic wail over time and effort began because last night, i opened my computer to fill in all the brackets i jumped over during my yesterday commutes, and i was spent. I didnt' have it in me to key another word on the screen. But my mind raced and i had to get the words out before i forgot.
My brain was vomiting out the words and if i didn't sop up the mess right then and sort through the words, another minute would have come along with a wet vac and cleaned the whole mess away. (into a vacuum - i rather like that image of my brain being overstuffed with words that it must purge, with a minute jumping from horatio's timepiece and moving it to a place words have no sound - no story.)
I wrote a thing about being clean over on my heating a home page... and it sat on my phone in a 'note to myself' over a week. and this entry was actually started two days ago. I'm struggling with finishing things. I'm struggling seeing the end of projects and that punctuation on my sentences. I blame lack of time and lack of brain, sometimes lack of sleep and often lack of eloquence. but i have to finish. if i'm ever going to make the transition from not a writer to a writer, i need to finish.
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