Sitting around like an elderly shut in this week, as my dear friend Eric so eloquently puts it, inspired me to think like one in a way. In addition to watching squirrels scamper through my yard and birds nibble at the feeder while anticipating the moment my neighbor would stop by to check in on me with items I'd requested from the store, I spent the past few days examining my life. Mostly, scrutinizing my career as a writer. What would I do differently if I had it to do all over again? I would take on something creative and thrilling and definitely not what I'm doing now.
Unlike the elderly shut in, I have a leg up (pun absolutely intended) on time; I can derail this train and blaze down another track. Yet this train feels paralyzed by subliminal self-doubt and palpable fear.
Awhile back things started heating up. I started to nuzzle my way into Chicago's journalism scene. We're not talking features in The Reader or anything, but I published multiple times in three publications that weren't my school paper. I felt it a commendable start.
Back to square one folks. I need to tap into Minneapolis-St. Paul media opportunities. I took the first job offered to me out of school. I'm making the cash, stashing some change away into my 401K and taking advantage of stellar health insurance. But my ambitions never emphasized those things. A "safe" career never meshed with my life philosophy, otherwise I would have become an accountant.
Obviously, there is time to change course. I graduated less than a year ago. I just need a catalyst. My procrastinating nature must be destroyed. I'm on deadline and need to kick it into high gear.
I'm leading a one-woman revolution against myself. I must write that book. I shall dig out every last brilliant story idea scribbled in my Moleskin the past six months and start working. No longer will a mourn the loss of the CTA and city sidewalk encounters that once fueled my creativity. I have to seek them elsewhere. I will set foot into the world and meet some folks from the MSP publishing kingdom.
This is my manifesto. These are the words of a crazy woman awakened. You're just witnessing it in text instead of gawking at her as she rants on the street corner. I need you, friends and loved ones whom I adore, to channel those positive thoughts this mad writer woman's way. Light a fire under my arse, as the people say.
17 August 2007
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1 comments:
The only possible way to be a 'crazy woman' is to BE a crazy woman. Therefore, my advice to you dear loved one, is to not bathe for at least three days, grab at least a pint of your favorite cheap whiskey (Early Times, Ten High, Old Crow, etc) take the bus to the edge of the shady part of town and sit and drink on a fire hydrant; broken leg and all. Don't forget to talk to yourself or sing your favorite country and western song at the top o' yer lungs (Patsy Cline's 'She's Got You' is a good one) as you watch the world go by. Maybe you might even interact with passersby. Or better yet, just hang out at the library or laundromat. It's safer and you don't risk damage to your leg.
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