Image courtesy of digital art / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     I absolutely love the articles I find on lifehacker.com.  They provide great, useful information for everyone.  The best part of these articles is that they offer advice, tips and tricks in layman’s terms so they can be understood by anyone from a novice to a professional.  One such article by James Altucher focuses on how he makes his living writing and how anyone can do the same.  


     I’m not going to just regurgitate the article for you here, so click on the link above to check it out for yourself.  The advice is actually rather simple and Altucher not only tells you what you can do, but offers examples of how he does them.  In a nutshell, here is how you can make a living writing:

  1. You Are a Writer
  2. Read a Ton of Stuff 
  3. Get Rid of Prejudice
  4. Self-Publishing is not E-Books
  5. Bookstores are Evil
  6. Platform is Shit
  7. Blog
  8. Write Everyday
  9. Rewrite Everyday
  10. Can I Make Money Writing Articles?
  11. Write A Lot of Books
     Some of these things are a bit obvious and you will hear them time and time again.  Others may seem a bit contradictory, but that goes to point number 3.  Many of us have preconceived ideas of what it means to be a writer, but the industry has changed and is still changing, so we need to learn to change with it.

     The key to making a living as a writer seems to be volume.  The more you write, the more chance you have of making money and selling your work.  That seems like common sense right?  But many of us have been seduced by the success of authors like EL James and Stephanie Meyers who made it big off the success of a first book or series.  Not everyone will have that same success and so we need to write, write, write… 

     We also need to keep in mind that not everything we write will be written with the intention of publishing and selling.  Like any other art form, the way to improve your writing is to practice.  The more you write, the better you will get.  On days where you don’t seem to be inspired, write anything that comes to mind.  In Altucher’s example, he wrote 1500 words about bowel movements.  No, it was not for a medical journal or other such publication, it was simply because that is what came to mind and so that is what he wrote about.  

     Most of us think that if what we are writing is not awe inspiring, then it isn’t worth writing, but in truth, writing anything is better than not writing anything.  And the more you write, the better your chances of earning money doing what you love.
Image courtesy of Stuart Miles / freedigitalphotos.net

     Have you ever looked around and felt like everyone has their life together but you?  Like they figured out some secret to the universe that makes life a breeze?  With minimum to no effort, they receive the very things you have been struggling and scraping for, but you, you still have to jump through flaming hoops, walk barefoot across burning coals and swim piranha infested waters just to get anywhere.  That’s how I’m feeling right now.

     I used to think I had my life all figured out and for the most part, I was happy or at least content in knowing that while I wasn’t exactly where I wanted to be, I was at least on course.  If I could just make it through the rough patch, I would reach the clearing and everything would be daffodils and sunshine.  But instead, the rough patch seems to be growing rougher with each passing day and as I get older, the self assurance that I used to possess is slowly vanishing, causing me to feel lost.  My rational mind is still telling me that this is only temporary and will eventually pass.  But we human beings are anything but rational.  Add to that the fact that I am a female and you have a recipe for an emotional disaster.

     Knowing that my problems are trivial compared to what many others are going through should be enough to keep things in perspective, but it isn’t always.  Especially not when I deal with people waiving their good fortune in my face on a constant basis with little to no regard for my personal situation or my feelings.  That, coupled with how little they appreciate their good fortune, is enough to drive a person mad.  And have you ever noticed that the worst people tend to have it the easiest?  Sometimes, I wonder how I have managed to stay sane this long.  Other people have even asked me that question and the only answer I have is that I have always tried my hardest to look at the brighter side of things, searching for the silver lining no matter how thin or imperceptible it might be.  If something didn’t happen for me, then it just wasn’t my time.  If yet another obstacle was thrown in my way, it was because I had the fortitude to deal with it where others didn’t.  But there are only so many times you can look at the glass as being half full before you start noticing that it is half empty.

     For so long, I put the needs of others before my own.  As a parent, I tend to do this with my children quite often, not always understanding that sometimes the best thing for them is really for me to do what is best for me.  But I didn’t only do this with my children, I did it with anyone that I love because, that’s what love is, isn’t it?  When you truly love someone, you will move heaven and earth to make them happy, be it family, friends or a significant other.  Soon enough, I was buried under a sea of other people’s needs, left floundering around, trying to figure out which way is up.  And now, I don’t even know what I need.  All I know for certain is that whatever my needs are, they aren’t being met right now and the weight of that realization can be soul crushing at times. 

     I am thankful that I at least have my writing, although I don’t write nearly as much as I need to.  When the weight gets so heavy that I can barely breathe, I inhale as deeply as possible and exhale through my words.  Letting every emotion shape and color those words, so that they bleed out of me and onto the page, has to be the most liberating things I have ever felt.  Even now, as I write this blog, I feel slightly lighter than I did before I started.  So while I know my blogs have become less regular and more off topic, sometimes it just helps knowing that we are not the only ones going through certain things and the only way we can know this, is to share what we are feeling instead of swallowing it down and keeping it to ourselves.

For those of you that continue to read, thank you for your support, it means the world to me.

     A fellow Google plus user is issuing several “Done to Death” writing prompts throughout the month of December.  Every other day, he will be posting a writing prompt for a theme that has been done to death.  The first of these prompts was issued a few days ago, so I am a little late, but better late than never.  In response to the “Kissing in the Rain” done to death prompt,  here is my story:


     Miranda looks up at the clock for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes.  Time seems to have slowed down and she is finding it difficult to concentrate on anything the teacher is saying.  While she is physically sitting in the middle of her social studies class, her mind is a million miles away.

     Mentally cataloging every item of clothing she owns, Miranda mixes and matches outfits.  She has to find the perfect one for her date with Brian tonight.  It is their first date and she wants to make a lasting impression.  Her thoughts are interrupted by the bell.  Grabbing her things, she flies from the room, heading straight for her locker.

     “So, are you ready for the big date?” Stacy asks, falling into step beside her best friend on the way to catch the bus.

     “I’ve never been so nervous in my life,” Miranda confesses.  “My stomach is in knots right now.  Will you come to my house and help me pick out something to wear.”

     “Where else did you think I’d be this afternoon?”  Stacy nudges Miranda with her shoulder.  They get on the bus and slide into their usual seats.

     “I have nothing to wear,” Miranda flops down onto her bed which is covered in discarded clothing after rummaging in her closet for the last two hours.

     Stacy is still searching through Miranda’s closet.  “Why are you stressing so much?  He clearly already likes you or he wouldn’t have asked you out.  Here,” she hands Miranda a casual jersey knit dress.

     “That’s so plain.”

     “Yeah, but it’s also comfortable so you won’t be stressing over a wardrobe malfunction.  And we can dress it up with accessories.”

     Resigned to the belief that she has nothing better to wear, Miranda changes into the dress that Stacy has chosen for her.  Stacy moves on to selecting accessories, looking through Miranda’s shoes and belts before digging through her stash of jewelry.  Once the girls are satisfied with Stacy’s selections, they get to work styling Miranda’s hair.

     “So where is he taking you?”

     “We’re meeting at the theater.  I’m not sure…”

     “Whoa, you’re meeting him there?  He’s not picking you up?” Stacy interrupts.

     “Yeah, is that a bad thing?  I knew it.  I’m not going.  It’s probably just some Carrie type setup anyway.”  Miranda gets up and starts taking off her jewelry.

     Stacy grabs her by the arms and looks Miranda in the eye.  “Slow down there.  I’m sure there is a good reason he can’t pick you up.  Let’s not get too hasty.”  Miranda takes a deep, calming breath and sits back down on her bed so that Stacy can finish doing her makeup.  “What time are you supposed to meet him?”

     “He told me to meet him at 7:30.”

     “Good.  That means that you have another hour to get ready before you have to head out.  You’re gonna look so good that even if he thought about playing some kind of prank on you, he’ll change his mind when he sees you.”

     Finally, the time has come for Miranda to head out.  She is walking to the theater and wants to make sure that she has enough time to get there without working up a sweat from having to rush.  A block from the theater, it begins to drizzle.  Oh great, Miranda thinks picking up speed.  She doesn’t have an umbrella and the rain will wreck havoc on her hair if she doesn’t hurry up and get inside the theater.

     Out of nowhere, she is caught in a sudden downpour.  There’s no way I can let Brian see me like this.  Miranda slips under the awning of a nearby shop that is closed.  Across the street, she can see several of her classmates, but there is no sign of Brian anywhere.  Slipping out from under the awning, Miranda turns back, hoping to get home before anyone sees her looking like a wet mop.  She’ll just call Brian later and tell him she wasn’t feeling well or something.

     Up ahead, she sees Brian heading in her direction, but he doesn’t seem to be alone.  Miranda doesn’t recognize the girl that is chatting away with him, under her bubble umbrella, completely dry and looking gorgeous.  The knot that has been in the pit of Miranda’s stomach all day tightens and she thinks she might vomit.  Turning down the nearby alley, she leans against the brick building, breathing heavily, trying to make her world stop spinning.  She can hear their voices getting louder as they get closer.

     Moving further along the alley, Miranda slips into the shadow, hoping to remain hidden. To her dismay, Brian and the mysterious female turn into the alley instead of walking past.  The girl is giggling and the sound is like nails racking across a chalkboard, in Miranda’s ears.  She wants no part of whatever is about to go down, but she is stuck where she is if she doesn’t want to bring any attention to herself.

     Brian leans down towards the girl and Miranda squeezes her eyes shut, not wanting to see her date locking lips with another girl.  When she opens her eyes again, she sees the girl  has dropped her umbrella and is all over Brian, kissing on his neck, probably giving him a hickey, Miranda thinks in disgust.    She tries to move deeper into the alley, but bumps into a trash can, sending the lid clattering to the ground.  Looking behind her, she sees the lid spiraling in place.

     Worrying that the sound has drawn the attention of her unwanted guests, Miranda tries to slip out the other end of the alley without making any more noise.  She isn’t fast enough and feels a hand clamp around her wrist.

     “Miranda?”  She doesn’t want to look at him, but something about Brian’s voice seems off.

     “Just let me go, Brian.”  She tries to pull her wrist free, but it is no use.

     “Miranda,” Brian says again, but this time, her name comes out in a choked gasp.

     “Oh my god, Brian,” Miranda manages to free her wrist from Brian’s loosened grip.  Instead of the cocky, self assured smirk she was expecting, Miranda finds Brian’s wide, frightened gaze staring back at her.  His left hand is pressed against the right side of his neck.  Along with the rain dripping from his fingers, is something red.  Pulling Brian’s hand away from his neck, Miranda sees two small puncture wounds that are dribbling blood.

     She looks down the alley, but there is no sign of the strange girl that was there just moments ago.  Miranda slowly begins to realize that what she mistook for a kiss in the rain was something far worse.

Image courtesy of talliesin  morguefile

     I reached a point a little over a week ago, where I just couldn’t write anymore.  It wasn’t writer’s block or anything like that.  I still had plenty to write about.  But between work, NaNoWriMo and normal life stuff, I was wiped out.  When I’d sit down at my computer to write, I’d just sort of zone out; eye glazing over, mind shutting down, words dripping out so slowly that it would take hours just to get around a hundred words.  Even my body was screaming at me to slow down and take a beat.  So that’s exactly what I did.

     For one week, I didn’t write (not even for the blog), I didn’t read, I didn’t even keep up with social media. What I did do was rest my brain as much as work allowed.  Fortunately for me, this break came at the most opportune time.  With Thanksgiving thrown into the mix, I was afforded a rare, but much needed, 5-day weekend.  Five whole days of no work, where I was free to do fun things like spend time with my family, go to the movies, or go shopping.

     And then something happened.  Not only was I ready to get back to writing, I was finally ready to focus on that edit that I had been putting off for months.  I didn’t just want to edit it, I needed to.  I had abandoned my characters long enough and was actually starting to miss them.  A “visit” with them was definitely in order.  But I didn’t immediately get started.  I allowed my mind and body the time needed to finish relaxing and restoring.  The headaches that were coming virtually everyday were gone, the lower back and hip pain that had me walking around like an old woman were also gone.

     Finally, on Sunday night, I booted up the Mac, opened Scrivener and got to work.  By the time I was heading out to work on Monday morning, I had actually managed to get through four whole chapters.  My goal is to get this edit done so that the novel is ready for either another beta read or posting to authonomy.com.  Once I get this novel sorted out, I can get back to focusing on the rest of the series that had to be put on hold so that it didn’t get disjointed after all of the changes happening in book one.

     Sometimes, taking a break to get your mind right is more productive than soldering on to put words on a page.

Image courtesy of Stuart Miles  FreeDigitalPhotos.net


Image courtesy of Stuart Miles  FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     NaNoWriMo is about writing a novel in 30 days.  The rules state that you start writing a brand new novel on November 1st and after 50K words and/or 30 days, you should have a new novel.  But rules were made to be broken or at least bent.  Many participants use the NaNo challenge to finish a novel they have already started, because 50K words does not a novel make (at least not completely, for most genres).

     So if the rules can be bent to continue a novel already in progress, why can’t they be bent even further (or in the other direction maybe)?  The point is to get the writing done, right?  Why force yourself to sit and focus on something that inspiration refuses to participate in?  If I am bored writing it, then the reader will get bored reading it.  It will feel as forced to the reader and it does to me, trying to pull the words from someplace they don’t want to be found.

     More than 26K words in and I am still eking towards the real action in the story I am writing.  I’m actually only one scene away, but it’s like there is a wall preventing me from seeing or going any further.  There is a lot of lead up and a good chunk, if not most of what has already been written, will likely not make the cut when it comes time to edit (which is not until after November of course.)  But the closer I get to the good bits, the harder I find it to focus and produce the words I need to get there.  And no, there is no jumping ahead and writing the good bits first, because I only know the feeling I’m going for and a portion of how it will be achieved.  Getting through the lead up helps shape the story as a whole and without it, it would be like building a house with no foundation.  At least, that’s how it works for me.  Other writers will have different opinions and approaches.

     Yesterday, I was barely able to write over six hundreds words.  My mind and my heart just weren’t in it anymore.  So why force myself to continue something when inspiration is pulling me in another direction?  Simply to stick to the rules?  But then doesn’t that defeat the purpose of the challenge, to get me writing?  So as of this morning, I am going back to working on a short story I was writing before joining this year’s NaNo.  Anything new I write will be counted towards my daily word count since I am still writing, just not the novel I intended.  If I finish that and I still don’t reach the 50K word goal, then I will just go wherever inspiration leads me.

     It just doesn’t make sense to fight with my muse because he/she/it isn’t telling me what I want to hear and then later curse him/her/it out because they aren’t telling me anything at all.  Unfortunately, as many writers can attest, we are slaves to our muses and not the other way around.  So we need to be open to listening when they are speaking and that’s exactly what I’m choosing to do.

     As you most likely already know, I decided to participate in NaNoWriMo this year.  Although it is my fourth year participating, the entire experience feels different from previous years.  First, I was completely unprepared this time, no characters, no plot, nothing but a setting in mind.  Second, I have absolutely no notes on this newest novel, not a one.  Third, I’m trying something new with POV.  Fourth and most exciting, I have NaNo friends!

     I’ve stated in the past that my first go at NaNo found me floundering for a novel idea until the very night before.  But once the idea struck, I had everything I needed; characters, plot, conflict, etc…  I scribbled it all down like a mad genius and went to be satisfied that I now had a solid foundation to build on.  When I woke up the next morning, more than 2k words poured out of me and I was off to a great start.  

A picture is worth a thousand words so 50 should help me reach my goal.
Image courtesy of Jetkasettakorn / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     This year however, the only thing I had to work with was the idea that I wanted to write a horror story, potentially dealing with a young couple moving into a haunted house.  But I had no idea who the couple was, what they looked like, why they were moving into the house or why the house was haunted.  Then another participant mentioned using photo prompts to help them create 30 short stories in 30 days and I thought, photo prompts, that’s exactly what I need.  So I headed to Pinterest to create a board dedicated to my NaNoWriMo novel.  With each picture I found, the story began to take shape, morphing and evolving along the way.  While in its current state it is still a story about a haunting, it is no longer the story that I first thought up a little over a week ago.  For the first time, I can truly say that I am writing by the seat of my pants.

     In the past, I have had notebooks or Scrivener projects chock full of notes, character sketches and conversations that I’ve wanted to include in the novel.  I would use these to help keep me on track.  One year, I even attempted to do an actual outline in hopes that it would guide me on what to write next, keeping the words flowing freely.  

Swapped notes for photos
Image courtesy of pixbox77 / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     This year, the closest thing I have to notes are my photo prompts.  I have no character sketches and no real idea of how the story will end.  Somehow, the story seems to be writing itself this time around.  I just set my fingers on the keyboard and they do the rest.  There is no over-thinking, no second guessing and no constant need to edit this time around.  I even noted inconsistencies with POV and tense and just kept going with the knowledge that it would get fixed during the initial edit.  And if it gets missed in the first edit, there is always the second or the third or however many it takes to get it ready to share with the world.  This is a huge step for me.  When I first started writing, noticing something like that would have caused me to obsess, feeling the need to fix it right then and there, setting me back on my word count and making me lose the momentum that I had built up.

     I always prefer to write in the first person, present tense.  I know a lot of authors and even readers find this approach a bit odd, some even calling it unnatural.  But to me, this is what feels right.  The main character drives the story, explaining what is happening along the way, taking us on a journey.  This time around, I am still using the first person, present tense, but instead of one main character telling the story, there are two.  The novel is being split into parts; the first telling the story over a span of six months, from one character’s POV, the second telling it from the other character’s POV over the same six month period and the third part will give us the outcome (not sure how the POV will be worked in this part).  I’ve never written a story from two different POVs, nor have I ever written one with parts.  I’m not sure if the final product will still be structured this way or if I will find some way to merge the first two parts and just do a normal chapter book.  Only time (and maybe beta readers) will tell.

     And for the most exciting change in this year’s NaNoWriMo participation, I have other people that understand what it is to take on this beast that is NaNoWriMo.  In the past, I have always done this on my own and half way through, I would just start to fizzle out.  I’m hoping that this year, seeing all of my fellow participants soldier on, will be a motivating factor for me not to give up.  And when I feel my conviction start to waiver, I have people that I can turn to, who have been there and done that, to give me the metaphorical swift kick in the pants that I will need to keep going.

This time I’m not alone
Image courtesy of Ambro / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     So far, I am doing great, writing an average of about 1,700 words a day.  To find out what the novel is about and read an excerpt, click here.

Image courtesy of Stuart Miles  FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     For the last four years, I’ve been “trying my hand” at this writing thing.  I know that this is something I can truly see myself doing full time.  In the first month alone, I had amassed a collection of 7 short stories and poems.  Then just a few months later, I found NaNoWriMo and I actually created a novel, something I thought beyond my abilities.

     So, after four years, I should have a nice lengthy collection, right?  I should have short stories and poems coming out of the woodworks.  After participating in NaNoWriMo three years in a row, I should have three novels complete and simply needing polishing, right?  Wrong.  I didn’t know just how wrong until I came across authonomy.com, a site created by HarperCollins Publishing that allows writers to share their work with readers, editors and publishers with the possibility of getting published by HarperCollins.  The site requires any work that you share to consist of a minimum of 10,000 words.

     My first novel was shared with fellow writers earlier this year and, after their helpful feedback, requires a lot more editing before I am ready to share it on authonomy.com.  The second novel is only about halfway written and the third is, well only a third written.  I couldn’t finish the second and third because the more I wrote them, the more I found things that didn’t work with the first or that didn’t make sense.  So with the ever evolving first novel still incomplete, I chose to sideline the other novels and concentrate my efforts on the first novel.

     Without an actual novel to share, or even a part of one that I was willing to share, I decided to compile most of my poems and short stories.  With the exception of a handful, I loaded them all, one by one, each representing a “chapter”.  I watched the number climb; 7, 10, 13, until I had a total of 17 “chapters”.  I was feeling pretty good about this.  17 poems and short stories, that’s not a shabby number.  But the number that was shabby, the word count.  Somehow, all of those works only accounted for 6669 words.  All these years and all the writing I thought I had been doing and this was all I could scrape together?

     I already knew that I lacked focus and discipline.  I just didn’t realize how bad it was.  If writing is truly what I want to do, then why aren’t I doing it?  What am I waiting for?  These novels aren’t going to write or edit themselves.  

     Time to step up my game and get serious…

Image courtesy of nanowrimo.org

     It is officially NaNoWriMo prep season and everyone is busy gearing up for November 1st.  Everywhere I look, there are status updates and blog posts all about the ways in which everyone is getting ready.  With each strategy, brainstorm, and novel idea I read about, I feel the longing grow stronger and stronger.  You see, since I discovered NaNoWriMo back in 2009, this will be the first year that I will not be participating.  It feels a bit like being grounded on the night of the biggest party of the year and having to listen to everyone else’s excited chatter about what they will be wearing and who they will be going with.

     You might be asking why I don’t just sign up and join if I’m already missing it before it has begun.  The answer is simple.  Every year, for the last four years, I signed up, jumped headlong into a new novel and burned out about halfway through the month.  And this is when I had time to dedicate to my writing.  I’ve continued to join, even though I have yet to win, because NaNo pushes me beyond my everyday limits and gets me writing more than I do virtually the entire rest of the year.  I have always counted this as a win even if I don’t technically win the NaNo challenge of 50K words in a single month. 

Image courtesy of Ambro  FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     This year however, I am halfway through one of the longest, most tedious projects I’ve ever been assigned at work.  It is physically, mentally and emotionally draining.  By the time I get home each night, my mind is numb and my body aches.  Ignoring these feelings, I still try to get in some writing whenever I can because there are stories within me that are still waiting to be told.  There are characters that wish to be introduced to the world, places that need to be charted and events that need to unfold and they are all relying on me.  

     Despite my desire to do the writing, my body is so worn that I am barely able to keep my eyes open when I finally have the time to sit down and write these days.  I am lucky if I am able to eek out anything more than 300 words in a single sitting.  With that in mind, how could I ever hope to meet the 1667 a day minimum I would need to reach the 50K goal?  The saddest part of all is that this would have been the first year that I would have participated with a vast network of fellow WriMos that understand the insane journey that is NaNoWriMo and might have been the difference between me burning out and actually winning the challenge this year.

     Who knows, over the next three weeks I might just end up giving in to longing and join after all.  But if not, then I wish all my fellow WriMos good luck as I live vicariously through your posts on your NaNo progress.  Not to worry though, next year, I will be back in line amongst the ranks of sleep deprived writers!

Image courtesy of Photokanok  FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     Last week, I shared with you what my absolute dream job would be.  Since my dream of becoming a musician is unrealistic and unattainable, I thought long and hard about what I would love to be doing for a living, that I could actually do.  What would I like to spend my days doing that would make earning a living enjoyable?  

Living the Dream


     The answer, being a writer.  If I could spend my days creating stories, poems and novels that people can connect with, I would be a happy person.  I’d be free to always be me and people would chalk up any eccentricities to my being a writer, because writers are, by nature, quirky.  Or, at least, that is the general consensus.

     I imagine what my life would be like as a writer.  My mornings would be spent sending my kids off to school before I grabbed a cup of coffee and then sat down at my desk, surrounded by books, and set to work.  Hours would fly by as I wrote or researched or got lost catching up on my social media (because let’s be honest, you can’t ever just sign on for five minutes).  Then my kids would come home from school and I’d spend time making them snacks and finding out what they did that day.  I’d try to get in a few more hours of writing before it would be time to make dinner.  

     Some days, when the sun is shining and there is a nice warm breeze, I’d head outside to write while soaking up some sun.  I’d be able to chaperone school trips or catch all the recitals (both of my kids play violin) and plays that I currently miss out on due to my demanding work schedule.  I’d take walks to clear my head when I have a bout of writer’s block, stopping to smell the roses and take pictures that I always intend to take but never have the chance to right now.  I’d finally get to travel to all the places I’ve wanted to see, but never had the time, as I travel to various book stores while doing a tour.

Image courtesy of imagery majestic  FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     Sometimes, I even go so far as to imagine myself in a smoking jacket and ascot (weird since I’m a woman) with a tumbler of scotch or brandy in my hand, sitting or standing in front of a fireplace, mulling over a few ideas for my next book.  Or perhaps hobnobbing with other writers at various book release parties, discussing the trials and tribulations of life as a writer.  I think that perhaps this might be my alter ego and if I can come up with a name for this stuffy, upper crust, male version of myself, then I would have found my pen name.

     Maybe the reality of being a writer will be nothing at all like I imagine it, but simply doing something that I enjoy would make it far better than any other career options I currently have available to me.  Being able to set my own schedule and create a routine would offer me the flexibility to enjoy life before it passes me by while helping me focus more on my writing.  

     Right now, it seems that my ideas come to me at the most inopportune times, while in the middle of program testing for our new accounting system or reviewing financial statements and I can’t stop to jot down the notes because, well, that would be frowned upon.  By the time I have some “free time” to actually do my writing, I am physically and mentally drained.  Even writing this blog takes longer than it used to because in the middle of writing it, I start dozing off.  And yet, I haven’t stopped trying, haven’t put down my pen or shut off my computer because writing has become a part of me and without it, I’d be lost.

     Writing is like therapy for me.  Through all of the stresses of life, whatever crazy roller coaster ride of emotions I am on, I become grounded through my writing.  I purge my emotions onto the page, into the characters and the story or poem, giving them a depth that would otherwise be lacking.  I know that it will not always feel like a joy, there are times when it can feel like work, but if I could escape to a world of my imagining for hours on end and get paid for it, that would truly be a dream come true.  

Image courtesy of Photokanok  FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     I’ve often been asked what my dream job would be.  Apparently my varying interests (music, writing, baking, etc…) confuse people.  But the repeated question has gotten me thinking about what I would like to be doing with my life if I didn’t have the oppression of paying the bills weighing me down and keeping me from chasing my dreams.  After all, when you are a single mom trying to raise two kids, your dreams take a backseat to the needs of your kids.  And when you have kids at a young age like I did, during the period where most young people are busy finding themselves, you tend to lose sight of yourself altogether until one day you look around and realize you’re stuck in a job you hate because someone needs to pay the bills and keep a roof over your heads.  At least, this is what happened in my case.

     Several ideas of what my dream job would be have come to mind, some are nothing more than a dream at this point in my life and others are still actually attainable.  Narrowing down the list, my top two choices fall at opposite ends of that spectrum.  So to answer anyone who’s asked and to offer an insight into who I am, or rather, who I might have been, here is a glimpse of what I would like to have been “when I grow up”:

In Another Life


     I’ve stated many times before how big a part music plays in my life.  Sadly, I have no musical ability of my own to speak of.  I wouldn’t necessarily say that I am tone deaf, because when I listen to music, I can hear the changes in pitch (even American Idol and other Karaoke type video games tell me that I am “pitch perfect”).  I can actually even feel the music, like it reaches down into my soul and changes me with every beat, thump and thrum.  The problem, is that I hear myself differently; that is until I record my voice and play it back, then I hear the way I sound to the rest of the world and I cringe.

     If things were different, if I didn’t sound like a wounded animal or as though my jaw was wired shut and the world could hear me the way I hear myself, well, then I would have loved to be a musician.  A well rounded musician, with talent and melody oozing out of every orifice.  I envy the talent of musicians like Melanie Fiona whose voice and ear for music work together to create magic.  Seriously, if you don’t believe me, you should check out her cover of Wale’s Bad or Biggie’s One More Chance.  She doesn’t just mimic what she hears and regurgitate it.  With her amazing talent and voice, she completely reinvents it in a way that only she can, giving it a distinct sound this is her signature.  I don’t care what song she is singing, you can always tell that it is Melanie and hear her unique tone.

     That’s what my true “dream” job would be.  To be able to affect the lives of others, while doing something that I truly love and enjoy.  Music has a way of making people feel like they are not alone in this world, like there is someone else out there that understands exactly what they are going through and through music, they were able to connect.  It is like a friend or a warm blanket on a cold winter day, comforting and familiar.  Music is there for you through the good and the bad, the ups and the downs, the joy and the pain.

Image courtesy of domdeen  FreeDigitalPhotos.net

     When I was younger, I attempted to write a song.  I thought it was the best thing ever and kept it in my wallet for weeks until I lost it.  Afraid that I had lost it somewhere that it would be found by a particular person who I shall not name, I was completely embarrassed.  I started to think that maybe it was really cheesy and this person had found it, giving them a good laugh at my expense.  With that fear and humiliation came doubt and I stopped trying to write songs.  Who was I kidding, even if I wrote great songs, it’s not like they would have ever made it into the right hands, right?

     Recently, after embracing novel writing, I started thinking about how music influences my writing.  The combination of the writing and the music inspired me.  In an attempt to start writing songs again, I seem to have found a knack for poetry.  I was told by someone who read my poem Craving, that it would make a good song.  So maybe my dream of working in music isn’t completely unattainable after all.

     Are you working in your dream job?  If not, what would you rather be doing?  Check back next week for part II, where I offer insight into the dream job that I’m still striving towards.