Tag Archives: Books

Well, it took being fired a record three times in less than a year to come back to this space.

I’m happier to be here. I feel released into the wild, allowed to roam, make noise, climb, leap, saunter, nap.

And yet I keep looking back at the cage and thinking “but that’s where I’m supposed to be.”

Every time I’ve tried to break this cycle, I swing right back into it within a week or two. The disgusting chomp chomp of Doubt Monsters eating me from the inside overtakes all my senses and soon enough I’m saying ‘yes’ to work I have no business accepting nor any desire to do and I hate myself.

Complicating the matter further is genuine gratitude. I’m profoundly lucky and privileged. My family is provided for. I work as a writer. That’s what I am. A writer.

Though…not the writer I’d like to be or maybe not the writer I’m ready to say I am.

Yeah, that’s it. If Michael Scott can declare bankruptcy, I can declare my profession.

A Declaration in One Scene

(A nondescript female stands in the middle of a cul-de-sac. It’s unclear where she came from. She might live near by…or not…but she seems pleased with this spot she’s chosen. She takes a deep breath and begins to shout)

Nondescript Female: I am a writer! A writer who reads! A writer who writes about what she reads!

(She begins to leave but then remembers that’s not all and runs back to the center of the cul-de-sac, reclaiming her spot)

Nondescript Female: That’s not all! I write about other things, too! Most likely!

(She pauses to consider adding a disclaimer)

(Yes, she should add a disclaimer)

Nondescript Female: NOT SOFTWARE. Mostly movies and shit. Like experiences. And politics, maybe. Or parenting. Or, like, podcasts? I don’t know! I’m figuring it out!

(She sees a child on a bike, staring at her. The child is confused. Is this woman stranger danger or should he feel sorry for her? His parents told him it’s not polite to stare but it seems like they would understand his choice to if they were here)

Nondescript Female: Sorry I said shit.

(She exits. The child remains unsettled for another 15 seconds, then goes home and eats a granola bar, leaving crumbs everywhere. Asshole.)

The Part Where I Commit to the Void

Yeah, I’m doing this. I mean it this time. For real. Really real. It’s happening. Can’t be stopped. I lit a fancy candle damnit, so clearly I mean business.

I’ve wasted so much time whining about not being able to write what I want to. The only thing standing in my way was me.

I thought I needed permission or an invitation. I thought I had to wait until a spot opened up and then stand patiently in line until it was decided I was ultimately not wanted.

Why have I been afraid of my own words?

I’ve spent years trying to find my place, my spot. By freaking golly, it was my own backyard the whole time. Boy, that message flew over my head. Sorry, Dorothy.

Alright! Putting words out there! Yes! Resisting strong urge to issue an apology!

Unless you ask for one, in which case I will very likely apologize and probably send you a pizza or some other token of desperation.

One of Us, One of Us

What are your “should’s”? What are your “like to’s”? Why have you stayed at “I will”? Why aren’t you ready for “I am”?

Believe me, I know that’s a hornet nest we all avoid disturbing. I don’t know about you, but my excuses usually were along the lines of:

It took me far too long to admit that was all bullshit and the real answer was simple. I was afraid.

That’s…still true.

Join me?