(Disclaimer: This post is all about me and will do nothing for your writing career. I promise.)
I’m tired and cranky, so I’m stealing from mouse writers to come up with post titles. I’m also stealing MasterCard’s Priceless concept, as well as potentially inaccurate information and bridge images from Wikipedia. Sue me. Please. A lawsuit will be a nice diversion.
Hiring HELP last week was a wise move. Came just in time for the personal meltdown and family tragedies which have cluster-fucked me into a state of non-productivity so vast I lack the proper adjective. I’ve tried on lackluster and useless, but they’re both a little tight around the neckline.
For those of you not yet in the know, my week began with rushing my mother to the hospital. I’m grateful to say I don’t have to eulogize her yet, and that’s as deep as I’m going because I’m determined not to spend another day in tears. No. I will put on my big girl pants and go out to play with the big kids, just the way my Mommy taught me.
Speaking of big kids, I’m having self-delusional visions of quitting this whole freelance game to permanently hang out with my three-year-old niece. I’ve spent a lot of time with her over the past few days, and I’ve got to say that if anyone’s looking for a savior, she’s better than any drug. When I’m with her, the sky is a pancake and the trees have eyes. She’s autistic and can barely speak, but when she talks what comes out of her matters. And when she’s silent all you’ve got to do is look her in the eye to know she really gets this whole life thing. When she laughs I cry, because she’s so genuine. I wish I knew what it was like to be that happy.
I’m digressing into depression. It’s a bad dark place. There are monsters under my bed and skeletons in the closet, despite the fact that I don’t believe in demons and have no secrets. I don’t say this because I want anyone to feel sorry for me or because I seek consolation — because there’s nothing anyone could do or say to make me feel better — but rather because for every personal post I write I get dozens of emails from folks thanking me for letting them know they’re not alone. If my pain can be transformed into a lifeline, who am I to remain silent?
I know some of you may be thinking, “Is she ever going to stop talking about herself? Is she ever going to go back to writing something useful that will help me make money writing?” I know at least a few are wondering, because I’ve received a couple of not-so-kind emails to this effect. Honestly, I don’t know what to tell you, because I’m not sure where I’m going with this.
While I was laid up with mono a few months ago, I had a lot of time to think. I was too sick to do anything else, including post here. One of the things I thought was that it is stupid for me to have a website and blog about freelance writing. There are a billion sites and blogs about freelance writing, and I don’t have or know anything special that those other site owners and bloggers don’t have. Since this isn’t a money-making endeavor for me, and I don’t do this to bring in business, there’s really no point in wasting my time. I’m already overworked, and writing this blog was starting to feel like another job. I tell the dozen or so people per day who ask me if they should pursue this or that “if you enjoy it, go for it; if you don’t, let it go.” I thought it was about time I take my own advice. I decided to keep this blog but to personalize it. If you enjoy it, great. If not, there are thousands of other blogs you can read. It’s really as simple as that. I’m not here to impress anyone with my stats or to win contests.
Until this past week, I’ve been agonizing over decisions which now seem utterly stupid. The fear of death seems to be a human motivator, and losing loved ones seems to inspire action. Or so the Pen Men proved yesterday. Harry and James sometimes talk about rolling the dice to make decisions. I’m not a gamer, so I don’t have dice. But I do have coins, and this week I’m using them for more than buying bad coffee from hospital vending machines.
I know this post is all over the place, but my mind is out of segues, and I’ve never been good with structure. My point:
Sometimes the best laid plans get shot to hell. The hurricane hits your house. The kids get sick. The client who once loved you suddenly decides you’re a big fat loser. By all means, have a survival kit. Have the first aid supplies ready and the back-up army on call. But don’t be so rigid that you can’t cope with change. Because sometimes you don’t get a choice.
When that force of nature sweeps you off your feet, you may find yourself on the other side of a strange continent. You may wake up on the edge of an unfamiliar bridge, staring down into dark waters and the open mouths of sharks. Hopefully you’ll see the signs, and you’ll make the decision not to jump.
I keep telling myself if I jump, the consequences could be tragic. If it helps you, tell yourself that too.
