what i was
not so long ago, i was a writer who made her living from writing.
i had my writing published, every single week, in a national magazine with a readership in the hundreds of thousands.
for years.
i interviewed celebrities and creative types, i reviewed films, i wrote about TV and movies and actors and musicians and whether reality shows were worthwhile entertainment.
and i was really good at it.
i worked hard, and i multitasked like a master. i had daily and weekly deadlines that i juggled with ease. i stayed late and went into the office on weekends. i kept track of everything that needed to be done, and then did it. my desk held spiral-bound steno pads filled with notes and contact names and phone numbers and email addresses. and it felt good.
more than that, i was together. i was an organizational machine. i was on the ball. on top of things. sharp as a tack. i knew what i was doing and i was more than confident in my abilities.
and i had fun.
i loved the writing part of my job and the people or projects about which i wrote. i enjoyed the energy of the process. i was part of a team and i had my place. my spot. my routine. as they say in the rodeo, i got ‘er done. and i had a job that a slew of folks would have jumped at if given the chance.
but my professional life hasn’t been like that for me for a while. assignments have all but dried up, and this blog is the most substantial amount of writing i’ve done in ages. i feel myself shriveling up in so many ways, creatively and intellectually.
as i worked on my portfolio yesterday, copying old articles and looking through the massive stacks of my clippings, i realized how good i had it and how much i miss it.
not just the regular pay cheque, but the work. the sense of accomplishment, of having done something and finished something day in and day out, even if it was just a really awesome 150-word blurb about Bring It On or a clever photo caption.
i never went to bed wondering what i’d do the next day; i knew.
i would work.
i was a writer who made a good living doing something she loved.
and i so want to be able to do that again.
6 comments:
that sounds so good for you in so many ways (((vic))).
i seriously hope you run with this.
Run, Vickie, run. See Vickie run.
unfortunately, it's not that easy.
this is an entry about what was, and what isn't anymore... not necessarily what will be.
i'd love to find that satisfaction again, and to love what i'm doing and make a good living, but i'm struggling to figure out how to do so at the moment.
I know it is not easy, but I just SO want you to turn that struggle into action.
I want you to see what once was is a total possibility again. You have the same undeniable talent cursing through you. Your second sentence there is a little less positive than I'd like you to be.
I just want you to believe in yourself and be happy (((Vickie))).
thanks {{{{{{{{{{{moob}}}}}}}}}}.
and i do know it's possible... the hard part is figuring out how to get from here to there.
or even where "there" is. i'm not exactly sure i know.
I believe absolutely that you could step back into regular work as a writer, but that would ean there has to be such work. Around here--at the L.A. Times, for example--excellent writers are writing blogs and being paid by the number of hits their blogs receive in a week. Holy cow. the thing to do, it seems, is to comb the markets and keep an open mind. This is all so hard.
that is exactly the problem, lou.
no jobs to be had.
and, for most magazines, budget cuts mean that the freelance budget is the first thing to go -- so, the writing is all done in-house... and none of those folks will be giving up their positions in this economy.
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