Category: writing

Freelancing: the Ugly, the Bad, and the Good

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This leap has barely begun, and already, I’m learning that nothing is certain with freelancing. One month, I can have more work than I can handle, and the next month, there may be crickets. It’s an exercise in managing emotions. Don’t let yourself go crazy and spend lots of money when you’re working; don’t despair and panic when you’re not. One offer can change the month in an instant. But even with the fun of working for yourself, there are some tricky areas to navigate.

Scammers (The Criminally Ugly)

The most frustrating thing about freelancing is scammers. Once you learn their habits, they’re easy to spot — often, they didn’t verify their method of payment. However, they’ve evolved as the freelancers learned to avoid them. Now, they will verify a method of payment, but if you look at other details, you begin to see a pattern. It’s always the first time they’ve posted an ad and have never spent a dime on the site. It’s always entry-level work for more than others are paying. Another tell-tale sign is a similar list of job responsibilities or requirement bullet points in the ad.

What is infuriating is that these scammers target people simply trying to earn a living. None of us are likely wealthy, and none of us can afford to lose what little we have, yet that is exactly who these criminals go after.

Exploiters (The Legally Ugly)

But in some ways, they are not the biggest criminals on the site. That falls to the people who want you to edit their 100K word manuscript for $70. When you break that down to the number of hours you would have to put in on a project that size, you would make pennies an hour. Would the writer/publisher of this book be willing to work for so little? Then why ask others to do that for you. It should be a crime.

Shifting Sands (The Bad)

There are other frustrations. For a while, the recommendation was to always use AI to write your cover letters, as they would stand out and have all the keywords from the application. I’ve been doing that, with heavy editing, of course, until I got rejected from an application because it was written with AI. Things are always shifting, and they never seem to favor the freelancer.

Growing Creativity and Opportunity (The Good)

While working in the freelance world, I came up with a business idea that won’t let go. It’s a mobile phone app for something useful and needed, and there is nothing like it on the market at the moment.

I researched and found that apps can be costly to develop and launch. Many times in my life, I have had an idea but no way to get there, then watched someone with more resources reap the rewards and accolades for the thing I could not do. Once again, it seemed a way forward might be impossible, but there’s a part of me that isn’t going to let that happen this time. I found a developer on Upwork that is still financially out of reach for me but is closer to my reality. I have invested some money into developing the app, will create a business plan, and hope to find a couple of investors who might want to make a little money while also allowing me to find some financial freedom. Once the investors are in place, I will complete the app development and get it on the market.

As ugly as freelancing can feel at times, I’m still loving it. My work in June got me a Top Seller badge, which should help with getting hired in the future. My creativity is flourishing. I have time for personal development. I have time to enjoy life. And even with occasional moments of terror where I’m not sure I will make this work, for the most part, there is joy. It’s nice to finally be in a place where things are happening. While crashing at the bottom of the canyon is still a very real possibility, the excitement that I may not, seems to be winning.

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Joy

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It’s been over a month since I left my job. I had decided I was going to use April to unwind the years of stress I had been under and relax.

At first, I panicked. I can’t afford to take time off! I need to get things moving! My financial survival is on the line! And with the next breath, I realized that panic was exactly why I needed to take time off. For so long, it felt like I had been hanging on by my fingernails. I needed my fingers to un-cramp.

I needed to drop the load of obligations and shoulds I had been carrying and remember who I am and why I am here. I’m not here to make other people’s dreams come true or put other people’s fires out. It’s not the time to be other people’s support; it’s time to support myself. It’s time for my dreams. It’s finally time to focus on what I want and need to do.

Oh no!

It wasn’t always easy. Thoughts of “what have I done?!” bounced through my brain. “You should be doing x, y, or z!” “Don’t get too comfortable with this!” “What if this doesn’t work? You’ll lose everything and be a total failure!” It’s hard work unwinding stress.

Starting out, I slept. And slept. And slept. I continued to go to bed early but found myself sleeping solidly through the night, no longer waking up to worry about work. It was often 8-10 hours a night. Plus, there were naps. I so love naps. I knew I’d been tired. I don’t think I realized quite how tired.

Joy Creeping In

I began to notice more subtle things. I was finding joy in being present. Tasks that I used to rush through, trying to get them done so I could move on to something else, became enjoyments in themselves. I had the time and energy to be more social. After hours of being extroverted every day at my old job, I used to retreat into my home and hole up until I had to be out again. Now, after being holed up at home all the time, I love getting out and connecting with people, but now in a social setting.

All these little joys began to have an effect. One night I was heading out to meet up with some people and it hit me, I wasn’t taking April off to rest and recover, I was taking April off to find my joy again. And surprisingly, it was still there, peeking out and waving ‘hi.’  What a delightful discovery.

Back to the Hustle

But now that time is over… sort of. Until I start getting more editing and writing work, I will still have more free time than I’m used to. I’m building a rhythm of looking for work, taking online courses, and, hopefully, very soon, carving out time every day to write. Talk about joy!

This is the life I want. I just have that little issue of surviving to deal with. But as one friend has pointed out multiple times, I always land on my feet. I will find a way to make it work. I know this because I found my joy again.

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A Life of Leaping into the Unknown

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My life has been a series of leaps of faith. I started leaping at just 20 when I transferred to a school in Hawaii I’d never even visited. The school wasn’t quite what I expected, and I left after a semester. Still, I continued to live and work in Hawaii for another year. I didn’t stick the landing, but I did land. It was a fun adventure, and many lessons were learned about a new culture and what it was like to be a minority.

Leaping to Yellowstone

I leaped back home, with a soft landing because of friends and family. I had a solid job in Sioux Falls, but I was miserable. I wasn’t pursuing my dreams. I was living a life of quiet desperation. So I quit my permanent job for a seasonal job in Yellowstone with no promise of work after a few months. Foolish, but I leaped anyway and nailed the landing. I had the summer of my life, meeting a lifelong friend in my roommate and realizing this leaping thing could keep going.

Heading to the Grand Canyon

Together with my roommate, we leaped to the Grand Canyon. Yet another seasonal job with no promise of work after a few months. This one would leave me a long way from home, unemployed. Oh well, there I went. The culture at the Grand Canyon was so different than the adventurous one at Yellowstone, so there was no interest in sticking around. While my roommate leaped back to Yellowstone, I kept skipping west to California.

The Giant Leap to California

Until that point in my life, whenever I’d leaped somewhere, I’d had a dorm or friends to get me started in a new location. My first genuinely huge leap of faith was when I moved to California. I had no one. If I was going to succeed there, it would be 100% on me. I remember being absolutely terrified the night before I moved into my tiny, cockroach-infested studio apartment in Hollywood. No job. No experience. I grew up in a town of 420 people. How was I supposed to function in the 2nd largest city in the country? I held the massive Thomas Guide, with hundreds of pages of city streets, and knew I was in over my head. But then I decided I knew how to get to the apartment I’d rented. I would learn the blocks around it and the blocks around those blocks until I knew the city. And that’s how it worked, except for the first day when I went in search of a store to buy a telephone and, once there, realized I had no idea how to get home. This was 1990, before smartphones. I eventually figured it out and went on to stick the landing in California, with a 25-year career in film and television, which included winning an Emmy with some really great people.

Backflip to Missouri

But you know, once you start leaping, I guess it’s hard to quit because then I did a backflip to Missouri. That was also pretty terrifying. It was a new culture and a very red culture. (If I’d had any idea what was coming in 2016, I wonder if I would have moved here.) Thankfully, doors opened, and I feel like I pretty much stuck that landing with a wobble here or there. It feels like home.

New Doors Open

The pandemic was hard, but it also opened a door. Sites like Fiverr and Upwork made the world of freelance remote work available to anyone with the Internet and a bit of skill with words. Finally, what I wanted to do most seemed within reach, just in a different form. Surprisingly, the editing and writing work I have been getting has been less on those sites and more through word of mouth here in town. Those jobs have allowed me to leave my library job behind. But I’ve still felt crunched for time with a full-time job and freelance work, leaving little time to line up new work. So it’s time to leap again.

Just a Hop

This time it’s a little leap. I’ve reduced my hours to part-time at my day job. I have some income, but not enough on its own. Eek! Freelancing is a never-ending hustle. There’s a reason I jumped at a chance at a network show back in LA when it was offered. Had I known it was a dead end, I might have reconsidered. Still, all I knew was that it was a break from constantly wondering if you’d work the next week or from working so much that you weren’t sure if you’d get a night of sleep that week, so I grabbed it. I used to say I gave up my dreams for security, and ended up with neither. This time I’m risking my security for my dreams. We’ll see how that turns out.

Embracing the Hustle

Thankfully this time I have a fantastic mentor, which I’ve never had before. More free time will allow me to get my online sites firing on all cylinders. It will allow me to have the time to do whimsical things that feed creativity – go to a movie, walk over to the art museum, or meet a friend for a meal. And that will allow me to start working on my own writing again.

So, here I go… see you on the other side.

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Hanging on and Screaming My Fool Head Off

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Life is definitely a roller coaster ride. The last year or two has felt like I’ve been in a terrifying free fall. But, in the long straight section at the bottom, I began to make plans and adjustments to avoid a big crash.


So, during the last few months of the year, what little free time I had was spent either taking online courses or applying for jobs on Upwork. It was tedious and demoralizing. One job paid all of a dollar. Another paid a whopping $10 ($8 after Upwork gets its cut), but I spent so much time on the job it probably brought my pay to .50 an hour. This is the price you must pay on a site like Upwork, where you must develop a reputation before anyone is willing to pay a decent rate. Nevertheless, I pushed ahead, knowing I had to pay my dues to get where I wanted to go. It didn’t seem like I would probably have much financial success in the first year, so it seemed best to put my nose to the grindstone and muscle through.


In the meantime, I talked about my business venture to anyone who would listen. I called the local university writing center, emailed the local writer’s guild, and mentioned it to friends, acquaintances, and clients. One of those conversations led to me being hired on a small team of writers and editors, rewriting and republishing a self-help book. This project will last through the summer. Suddenly I wasn’t scrounging for .50-an-hour jobs; I had a real gig.


As I got to know the team leader better, I realized she was successfully doing exactly what I hoped to do. My whole life, I have craved a mentor. I have the skills but lack the confidence and know-how to move forward. Despite being told throughout my life that I am a talented writer, I have permanent failure to launch issues. That is something a mentor could help me with. Our team leader was someone I clicked with and who had the skills I needed. So I summoned my courage and asked her to be my mentor. She quickly agreed, and suddenly I have someone in my corner who can help me through this confusing maze.


So after a year or so of struggling with finances, trying to find a path forward, and barely maintaining any hope things would ever get better, the needed changes are finally falling into place. Besides the book, I have smaller jobs with blogs and a podcast. With any luck, the current work will lead to more work, and my business will be off and running. Today I filed the articles of organization with the Secretary of State for my new LLC. Tomorrow I will get the EIN and register my business with the state. It feels momentous. It feels freeing.


Whoo, doggie, this section of my roller coaster ride has had some rapid elevation changes. Although I am now climbing, inching up slowly with clickety clacks along the way, I need to remember there will likely be a drop ahead, and I need to hang on. The wild ride isn’t over yet. Not until they put me in the ground.

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Falling Back on What I Love

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It’s the first day of 2023. It is a good day to post another blog. I’ve been silent for months. Last year, my goal was to write a blog post every month. I succeeded for a few months, and then I just stopped altogether. Looking back, the blogs stopped when I took a second job.

Also at that time, depression began to suck me down into the muck. Now some of that was related to a failing thyroid, but it was more than that. The last few years have taken a serious toll. The first few years I lived in Springfield, it felt like heaven. I loved the community and my close circle of friends. I loved the work we did. I loved the pace of my life and the ability to spend large swaths of time writing. I relied on savings to keep that pace slow, but I had faith that something would come my way before I ran out of money.

And then the pandemic hit. I was one of the ‘lucky’ ones who didn’t lose work. I became busier than ever, with more responsibilities and stress. However, while there was plenty of work, fun came to a screeching halt. There were no more girls nights. There were no more movies or meals out. No galas. No concerts. No shows.

There was no fun. There was only work and stress for years on end. And we all know that’s not a good combination. While other people were paid to stay home and used that time to publish their first novel, there was no room in my head for stories. Everything that gave me joy was gone. 

Then the financial blows came. The house continued to need significant repairs that I had hoped would wait a few years. And, of course, there was inflation. Suddenly the saving account that had allowed me some safety was gone, and debt began to pile up.

I saw no route out of this mess, at least not in the middle of a pandemic, living in a city with a lower median income than many other cities, in a state that already has a low median income. Even a second job wasn’t cutting it, leaving me weary and still sinking further into debt.

Eight years ago, I took a leap of faith, leaving Hollywood behind and moving to Missouri. Now, for the first time since moving here, I suddenly see the ground rushing at me. It is terrifying. 

I’ve developed a reputation at work as a fix-it person. If there’s a problem, call Lynette, and she’ll fix it. I’m seen as competent and resourceful, so the go-to person to fix anything. But lately I have begun to wonder, who’s my fix-it person? Who do I call that I can always count on to handle it when I have a problem? The answer that resounds with deafening silence is ‘no one.’ As a single person, no one sees me as their priority. There’s no one with a dog in the fight to work things out with. There’s no one saying, “I want to help her succeed.” So, if I’m going to get out of this mess, I’m the only person who will make it happen. 

After that epiphany, I began work on figuring out how to survive. I’m almost 60, and I’m running out of time. The window to the life I dreamed of is closing rapidly. I have very few liquid assets, there’s an impending recession, a mountain of repairs needed on the house, and I feel completely burned out. So how do I fix that?

I am choosing to fall back on what I love, which is words. I’m hoping to stop my rapid descent by catching an updraft and starting Updraft Proofreading and Copyediting. When I’m editing, it feels as if it’s what I’m meant to do. I love spending my days teasing apart someone’s writing and making it shine. If I can begin to earn a living from that work, I won’t even care about ever getting published. I will still be doing what I love and creating a lifestyle I love. Even better, it’s something I can do into old age.

So this is what I’ll be focusing on in the coming year. Anything I’ve ever wanted in this life, I’ve had to figure out how to get on my own, and I can do it again. I’m a farm kid who had a 25 year career in Hollywood without experience and connections. I will do it again. I have no other choice, just like I felt like I had no choice back then.

The future of this blog is in limbo. I will endeavor to write here, perhaps detailing my work as an editor. But I make no promises. When you work over 60 hours a week at three different jobs, finding time for blogging is hard. 

Until I get another website built, if you would like to inquire about my services and rates, leave me a comment with your contact information.

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Stumbling Along the Writer’s Way

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The group of us doing The Artist’s Way program are just over half way through the book. I wish I could say it’s led to a breakthrough, but it hasn’t. Each chapter I think, “Yes, this is the one that will make the difference.” And each time I find myself disappointed. If I were doing it alone, I would have quit long ago, so it’s a good thing there’s a group of us. I don’t see much benefit to the morning pages, though I do like starting the day out more slowly. And so far most of the artist dates have felt like an obligation and not a joy filled experience.

It has, at least, helped me to recognize some of the roots of this block. I found myself unable to write from the point I was forced to move last summer. I haven’t been sure why since I do, for the most part, love where I moved. I miss the view of the park I had out the window of my last office, but I think I love the new office more. It’s a cozy place to write. But ever since the move, I have been almost paralyzed over money. It is dwindling away as more and more repairs are needed. How am I going to get through inflation and gas prices. I feel like I’m in way over my head. That is not a good place from which to try to write.

Sadly, I don’t find a lot of advice to help me through those feelings in The Artist’s Way. But I continue to plug away and hope that eventually, something will break through and unleash the stories again. Today I at least took a stab at writing a short story for an upcoming writing contest. I’m not inspired, but I’ve got some words on the page. We’ll see where it goes.

My mind is filled with worry about Ukraine, Europe, and World War III. At the beginning of this I worried the war would spread and we needed to do everything we could to keep that from happening. But as each day passes, and I understand more, I worry the US will once again take too long to get involved. Hitler was redressing Germany’s humiliation and the world appeased him at first and let him annex countries. Putin is redressing the USSR’s humiliation and the world appeased him at first, letting him annex countries. If he gains anything from this invasion, it will be seen as a victory, and will give him the encouragement to keep attacking his neighbors. If we wait, millions will die, and we will still eventually get dragged into it. Perhaps we need to step in now and shut his aggression down. A terrible realization for someone who considers themselves a pacifist. And it’s a terrible realization of what that will mean for the world.

With all this on my mind, I am supposed to write? Yes, yes I am. And I’m trying. I hope eventually get back to it, but I think I’m done beating myself up over it. The stories will come back some day, if I and the world live long enough.

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Finding my Way With The Artist’s Way

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Over the past month I have had moments where I almost get back into a writing flow. Then I sit down, try to do the work, and quickly give up. It’s been frustrating!

After much thought, I have begun to understand that I am, for the first time in my life, dealing with… (duh duh duuuuuuh)… Writer’s Block. I always thought writer’s block was when you couldn’t think of anything to write. There are lots of things to write, I’m just no longer sure there’s any reason to bother. 

Even my imagination isn’t helping. One way I used to fall asleep easily at night was to start imagining a story. Before long sleep would take me. But now when I try to do that, I quickly revert back to thoughts about my own life. I used to spend about 80% of my time in my imagination as a kid, and now I can’t get it going at all. 

Imagination drove stories and hope for me. I could see the possibilities of life out there, and they made for good stories. But as I’ve been worn down by life, the possibilities seem less and less. 

For the past two years I have gone to work, while others were paid to stay home. And for the past two years I have stayed home, while others went out to play with little regard for the role that might have in transmitting a virus that was deadly to some. So all work, and no play, has led to a blocked me. Covid, my finances, my age… all are working against me, and my ability to see possibilities. 

In trying to figure out how to combat this situation, I pulled out my copy of The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. I had first used it in the 90s. It had survived my yearly culling of books, and still sat on my shelf. I decided it was time to return to the program. It mentioned that you could do it on your own, or with a group of people, and suddenly doing it on my own seemed empty. I got a group of friends and we invited a few others, and we now meet weekly on Zoom to discuss what we’ve learned and the progress we’ve made. It’s so fun to share this journey.

We’re on week one, and already I feel a lightening of spirit and a sense of play I’ve been missing. I bought a paint by number kit, which I know isn’t really artistic, but it’s something I’ve never done as an adult. Also purchased, some watercolor and acrylic paints to try to make some original art when the paint by number is done. My final purchase… decent snow boots so I can take walks even when it’s cold and snowy. Imagining doesn’t feel quite so futile. It feels like there are things I want to accomplish. It feels like maybe I could accomplish them. I’m finding my way with The Artist’s Way.

Have you ever had writer’s block, or whatever art you practice? What did you do to get out of it? If you’re blocked now, give The Artist’s Way a try.

authors, blogging, change, self help, Uncategorized, writing

Trimming the Sails

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Happy New Year! The new year is always a time for reflection, and sitting at home, waiting for the results of a covid test to see if I had a cold or omicron, gave me even more time to reflect and think about where I’m going. So let me post about what I’ve reflected on. Perhaps you can find some parallels to your struggles.

Last year everyone was so happy to put 2020 behind them. I kept wondering why they thought 2021 would be different. It wasn’t. More masks. More misinformation creating more division. More financial struggles. 

My personal year was a mixed bag. I started out with the high of planning to self-publish my first novel. I hired an editor and went back to work on the manuscript. Just as I finished that, I was suddenly forced to look for housing in the worst market in decades. I got lucky and found a place not yet listed, but because of the rushed need for a place to live, I didn’t look into things as well as I should have, and am stuck with a house which I love, but has some real problems that will cost me a great deal of money down the road. Money I don’t really have. It was an emotional blow.

The pandemic began to take its toll. I wanted to reconnect socially – have some fun and rediscover the joy of living. But every time I considered a solution, because of my work with vulnerable people, covid seemed to stop me. The desire to write seemed to fade away for the first time in my life and I decided to let it go.

A slide into depression followed. I felt disconnected, distrustful, defeated, exhausted, and hopeless. Little slights were magnified. I lost all confidence in myself. It isn’t the first time I’ve struggled with depression (I am Scandinavian after all), and thankfully I’ve developed tools to recognize and deal with it. It took time and there were more lessons learned from this battle. Even after the depression faded, I found it almost impossible to write, though ideas kept forming… niggling… speaking quietly that my calling hadn’t left me.

On the first day of 2022, the test came back negative. Despite my sniffles, I am once again free to move about without worrying about the consequences for others. I am now poised for action and while I can’t say I make resolutions, my time of reflection made me realize I do want to trim the sails on my boat and capture the wind to move in a different direction. 

One priority is my health. I’m starting out with a reset for my liver and taste buds with a cleanse. (I hate the click bait title, but the cleanse is great.) I want to eventually get the pandemic stress weight off and go back to where I feel good in my body. I don’t want to overwhelm myself with the end goal. I want to think about today and what needs to be done today.

Another priority is my writing. Yesterday I pulled up my first book and looked at the editor’s notes. There was so much positive. I started to edit again and felt the embers flicker into a small flame. The love is still there. There are several ideas I’d like to flesh out a little more and perhaps get started on them as well. I’ve realized that self-publishing is the way to go. I want two things. I want to write. And I want my stories to be read. Self-publishing accomplishes that, without the stupidity of the publishing industry.

And my last priority for 2022 is social. I have to find a way to reconnect. One barrier to that is the very, very thick walls I’ve constructed after years and years of hurt. This last depression revealed how easy it is to reopen old wounds and those walls do nothing to prevent that. I need to figure out how to take the walls down and find a way to trust, and I believe forgiveness is the key to that so that I can form closer bonds. I’m hoping that omicron will bring the end of the pandemic and make it an endemic disease that isn’t nearly so serious for so many. I want to get out there and have fun with people. Find joy, fun, spontaneity. 

With the sails trimmed, I hope my boat sails through whatever 2022 throws at me.

That’s my year in review and what I’m looking forward to. What have you learned from 2021? What do you hope to do in 2022? Leave me a comment and share your experience. 

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Lost

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Lost. That’s how I’d describe myself right now. Lost, but not hopelessly. The day after I posted the last blog, I had an inspired idea for the fall writers contest. But I wasn’t writing anymore, so what was the point? The problem is, when I have a good story idea, I can’t just banish it. It pings around in my head, and I write sentences, scenes, dialogue, and then rewrite them over and over. It won’t stop until I put it on the page. So I finally did. It’s not my best. Nor my worst. It’s a good story.

Still, when I thought about picking up my finished novels, and editing them, there’s nothing but resistance. It feels like relief not to have to try to get them out into the world. But then I hear about a waitress who was laid off during Covid, wrote a book, and got published. She’d never wanted to be a writer. Never spent years practicing and getting better. Just wrote a book, and wham! Published. Or a 9 year old who published two books during the pandemic. It’s just that easy apparently, which makes me a complete failure. Granted,I never really had time off to write, as they did, but still. The irritation and jealousy that rears its ugly head means I’m clearly not done with writing, just as the fact that a story pestered itself into existence, tells me that writing is clearly not done with me.

At first my grim prognosis of the world didn’t seem to actually depress me. Nor did me not wanting to write. But as the days have gone by, I’ve watched my mental health decline. I’ve become more insecure, more numb, more unhappy. Not writing is not the answer.

That caused me to look at why I don’t want to write. After some reflection, I believe the problem is two-fold. 1) I’ve lost confidence in my writing ability. Sending out a manuscript over and over, revising over and over, and still never getting one person who was interested enough to request more pages, inevitably leads me to think I simply can’t write. I mean yes, I have talent, but I’m missing something that successful writers have, and until I figure out what that is and fix it, it’s all pointless.

And 2) I’ve lost the joy of writing. I’ve heard other writers talk about how much they hate the process of writing. That seems insane to me. If you don’t like doing it, why do it, even if you’re good at it? For me, losing myself in a story was pure joy. It’s what drove me to want to spend my weekends sitting at a desk in front of a computer. What could be better? But the joy is gone. It’s work. Work that I no longer think I’m particularly good at. And now I look back at all the social events I said ‘no’ to because I wanted to write. What a waste, because those invitations come far less often now, after years of ‘no’ and what have I got to show for it?

I’ve identified the problems, now I need to find the solutions. Writing is a lonely, solitary endeavor, and it’s easy to start listening to the doubts when they’re the only voice you’re hearing. One thing I have always wanted, but never found, is a mentor who has been down the writer’s road before. Someone that takes enough interest in me to want to see me succeed in some aspect of my life. Someone to guide me where I want to go, to slap me (figuratively) when I need it, and encourage me to take risks when necessary. The only reason I’m posting this here, is to put it out into the universe. I’m not saying I’ll get one through this blog post but you don’t get what you don’t ask for, so I’m asking. I think that could help me with issue #1) lack of confidence.

As for #2) lack of joy? My initial thought is that I want to start saying ‘yes’ to social activities in hopes that it will recharge my joy battery. It may not be the ultimate solution, but it is a place to start.

And that’s why I say I’m not hopelessly lost. Just a little lost. Or maybe not lost at all. Maybe this is just a part of my writer’s journey.

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Uncharted Territory

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After my last post, I thought it was full steam ahead. I was ready to delve into another pass on Fear Unleashed before self-publishing. There was book two of the series to finish. Plus I have two other books to edit, and another book started. And there were short story contests. I was ready to throw myself back into all of it. And then… I found myself in uncharted territory.

For the first time in my life, I had lost my desire, drive, and inspiration. The short story I tried to write for the summer contest was flat. The one I’m working on for the fall contest also feels flat. I just didn’t feel like there is much to say. I’d never felt that way before.

On Labor Day weekend, I gave myself permission to hole up, read, and contemplate life. With time to think, I began to see why I no longer felt like writing.

From recent events, It’s clear that we’ve passed the tipping point with the earth. It’s not to say that we couldn’t still stop climate change, but we won’t. As fractured as society is, there simply isn’t time to get those who are reluctant to see the obvious, to change their ways. And without everyone on board, the task is probably impossible. Violent natural disasters will only increase, causing suffering for humanity.

We are seeing a return to authoritarianism across the globe. While we managed to hang on to our democracy in this last election, the undercurrent of the cold civil war is taking us towards insurrection and violence. With two different sets of “facts” and two different realities, it’s hard to see how we can ever be the “united” states again. Every opportunity for unity is manipulated for political gain. Greed and selfishness have replaced our former American ethos of loving our neighbor and coming together as one. Again, can this country be saved? Absolutely? Will we? Doubtful. We have become too tribal.

The pandemic was one such issue used to divide us, when it could so very easily have united us. It has left hundreds of thousands of Americans dead. Sadly, we’re no where near the end, because we refuse to do what’s needed. We brought this suffering on ourselves, and if we think it’s the last pandemic we’ll be dealing with, we’re wrong. As the environment is destroyed, disease only increases.

With a stream of disasters and our shift towards societal collapse, writing seems like a silly endeavor. I’m writing for a world that no longer exists. And while I’ve read impassioned pleas for the arts to continue in the midst of such chaos, highlighting the great works of art that come out of such periods, I feel I’m not up to the task. I’m good with words, yes, but I don’t know that I’m talented enough to narrate the collapse of civilization. There are others who are clearly more skilled than I am who can handle that task. I suddenly feel led to do nothing more than be in each moment, experiencing what life has to offer. That seems like enough.

I have no idea if this state will continue. I don’t know if it will recede as mysteriously as it came over me. Perhaps this is just the eye of the storm, and soon the winds of story will howl through and around me. I only know that right now, just being is enough. So I will be, and maybe being will come to include writing again.

I look forward to finding out.

And I’ll keep you posted.

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