During my brief attempt at unemployment, I had a lot of time to think. I quickly tired of that, and decided instead to channel my angst into writing. Just because I didn't cut it as a copywriter didn't mean I couldn't find my way to enjoying writing again (even though I was secretly scared that I my taste for it was permanently spoiled). So I plunged in, figuring it would be better to try than shut off that creative side of me. I not only dusted off the blog and banked a few entries, I opened my book and started editing again.
And, for the first time in months, I smiled as I wrote.
At first it was like I had dove into a freezing cold lake, so cold it took my breath away. But after swimming around in the pages for a few minutes, by body adjusted to the temperature and I felt...refreshed. Happy. Alive.
I started making sure I was writing at least a few hours a day. Hey, I had all kinds of time anyway, might as well take advantage. Whether I was blogging, editing, or journaling, I just wanted to put words on pages. I wanted to put words of my choice on pages.
It was way too easy to get distracted by all the awesomely (not really even awesome) re-runs on TV, so I decided on a change of scenery. Earlier in the week Dizzle and I had gone downtown to get some soup and sandwiches and had winded up in the storefront of Panera Bread - a chain of all places, on a street with an endless string of local shops. But you should have seen the view - a perfect birds-eye of all that makes up this quirky little city I live in. (And the broccoli cheddar breadbowl ain't bad either).
And so I've returned to this spot, soaking in the sights, getting some posts done and editing my novel. I have to say, with each passing paragraph I feel like the novel becomes more and more polished, more and more like something I would be proud to put out there and have people read, more and more FUN. It makes me happy to no end to know that this is still something I want to do. Even if I never do it full time. Even if I maybe shouldn't ruin it by trying to make money at it.
Watching all these people pass by, in all shapes and sizes, from all walks of life, I'm reminded that there's billions of stories out there. From the impossibly stylish ladies walking by in their designer clothes to the crunchy crowed of protesters carrying Occupy Wall Street signs to the families swaddled in scarves and hats to the homeless man picking cigarette butts from a trash can's ashtray, there are stories everywhere. Each one of these people is a character. They have families and friends and problems. There are things that they like and things that they don't. They are different from and similar to me. I want to write all of them. I want to capture them all in print and tie them all up in haphazard bows and give them all happy endings.
And maybe I just will.
And, for the first time in months, I smiled as I wrote.
At first it was like I had dove into a freezing cold lake, so cold it took my breath away. But after swimming around in the pages for a few minutes, by body adjusted to the temperature and I felt...refreshed. Happy. Alive.
I started making sure I was writing at least a few hours a day. Hey, I had all kinds of time anyway, might as well take advantage. Whether I was blogging, editing, or journaling, I just wanted to put words on pages. I wanted to put words of my choice on pages.
It was way too easy to get distracted by all the awesomely (not really even awesome) re-runs on TV, so I decided on a change of scenery. Earlier in the week Dizzle and I had gone downtown to get some soup and sandwiches and had winded up in the storefront of Panera Bread - a chain of all places, on a street with an endless string of local shops. But you should have seen the view - a perfect birds-eye of all that makes up this quirky little city I live in. (And the broccoli cheddar breadbowl ain't bad either).
And so I've returned to this spot, soaking in the sights, getting some posts done and editing my novel. I have to say, with each passing paragraph I feel like the novel becomes more and more polished, more and more like something I would be proud to put out there and have people read, more and more FUN. It makes me happy to no end to know that this is still something I want to do. Even if I never do it full time. Even if I maybe shouldn't ruin it by trying to make money at it.
Watching all these people pass by, in all shapes and sizes, from all walks of life, I'm reminded that there's billions of stories out there. From the impossibly stylish ladies walking by in their designer clothes to the crunchy crowed of protesters carrying Occupy Wall Street signs to the families swaddled in scarves and hats to the homeless man picking cigarette butts from a trash can's ashtray, there are stories everywhere. Each one of these people is a character. They have families and friends and problems. There are things that they like and things that they don't. They are different from and similar to me. I want to write all of them. I want to capture them all in print and tie them all up in haphazard bows and give them all happy endings.
And maybe I just will.