Well, here we are. Back at this point where I pretty much know what I need to do but I don't have the first step. I know I need to meet people in the publishing business - where do I find them? I know I need to get my writing read - where to I send it? I need to get out there and get the experience, rub the elbows, sharpen the pencil, stand in the flow.
So I'll start here. I'll put the words down and open up to the possibilities. I do not have a vision that is clear enough to look like a step, or to feel like a direction. It's still so foggy. It's frustrating. It's stupid. It's mystifying. I keep wanting to turn back to bagging groceries. It's what I know. It's comfortable. I know how it turns out. I don't have so many questions, and I know who to ask them to.
I wrote an email to a publisher in Helena today. Not his secretary, but the man himself. Tomorrow I will write to another one. And I'll do that until I get some response, until something happens that lets me in. I want to feel more independent, like I have some integrity, like I can have things happen that make me happy and comfortable, like I can have money enough to spend, to share, and to look forward to. I want to spend time with people I like. I don't like very many people any more. And the ones I like are scattered all over, so it's hard to keep in touch, to do more than have fleeting memories dance by during the day and feel guilt for not being a better friend.
Even if all signs say that nobody has that any more. Where are the people who have that? Who do I know that is not at risk of losing all they have within just a few weeks if the job disappears? Who do I know that likes what they do and makes a good living at it? Who do I know that has time for work and time for play? Time for the kids and time for friends? I know those people, and they are nuts. I don't even like them. They have enough money to drink too much and listen to music with their phones and send an email from the car. I don't even like them.
Now I'm annoyed and annoying. I'm going to go watch football. I hate pity parties. Go home, all of you. Leave me alone, unless you can help me materialize a writing job.
So I'll start here. I'll put the words down and open up to the possibilities. I do not have a vision that is clear enough to look like a step, or to feel like a direction. It's still so foggy. It's frustrating. It's stupid. It's mystifying. I keep wanting to turn back to bagging groceries. It's what I know. It's comfortable. I know how it turns out. I don't have so many questions, and I know who to ask them to.
I wrote an email to a publisher in Helena today. Not his secretary, but the man himself. Tomorrow I will write to another one. And I'll do that until I get some response, until something happens that lets me in. I want to feel more independent, like I have some integrity, like I can have things happen that make me happy and comfortable, like I can have money enough to spend, to share, and to look forward to. I want to spend time with people I like. I don't like very many people any more. And the ones I like are scattered all over, so it's hard to keep in touch, to do more than have fleeting memories dance by during the day and feel guilt for not being a better friend.
Even if all signs say that nobody has that any more. Where are the people who have that? Who do I know that is not at risk of losing all they have within just a few weeks if the job disappears? Who do I know that likes what they do and makes a good living at it? Who do I know that has time for work and time for play? Time for the kids and time for friends? I know those people, and they are nuts. I don't even like them. They have enough money to drink too much and listen to music with their phones and send an email from the car. I don't even like them.
Now I'm annoyed and annoying. I'm going to go watch football. I hate pity parties. Go home, all of you. Leave me alone, unless you can help me materialize a writing job.
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