funk.
I can't let three weeks go by without an entry here. In truth, I was in a funk up until yesterday. In the least three months, I have sent query after query of whay I deem to be absolutely FASCINATING material to many many publications in hopes that an article would be accepted. Until yesterday, all I had received back was one rejection and one possible bite of interest which was followed up with some chirping crickets. I was starting to think that maybe this whole writing thing wasn't for me; maybe I had too much on my plate or maybe, just MAYBE my stories weren't nearly as fascinating to other people as they were to me.
And then, I got a letter that said "go ahead and write this article, it sounds worthy of publication."
SUH-WEET!
I managed to refrain from jumping for joy, mostly because the next sentence had clearly been written by a lawyer: "requests for submissions are in no way guarantees of publication." Still, it's something.
So here I sit at the computer, attempting to write an account of my decision to study abroad several years ago. And suddenly, I cannot find my voice. This is a story I have told hundreds of times, and for some reason the words will not come. I have been sitting here for an hour and a half. I have written and erased, written and erased, and written again. Every few minutes, the funk creeps back in. Why am I doing this again? I have two jobs that pay very well. Why am I trying to freelance for crap pay when I could be using this rare moment of free time to indulge in one of my guilty pleasures (like Viva Pinata, or Disney Cruise forums)?
But then I remember that I had a dream. I wanted to do something with my need to write it all down. Something that one day could help me stay at home more with the (unborn) kids, something that could help me work more from home and less at the hospital. Something that would be an creative outlet for me that I actually got paid for. And to get that something, one has to start somewhere.
Apparently for me, that place is here in front of the computer battling nervous new-writer's block.
And then, I got a letter that said "go ahead and write this article, it sounds worthy of publication."
SUH-WEET!
I managed to refrain from jumping for joy, mostly because the next sentence had clearly been written by a lawyer: "requests for submissions are in no way guarantees of publication." Still, it's something.
So here I sit at the computer, attempting to write an account of my decision to study abroad several years ago. And suddenly, I cannot find my voice. This is a story I have told hundreds of times, and for some reason the words will not come. I have been sitting here for an hour and a half. I have written and erased, written and erased, and written again. Every few minutes, the funk creeps back in. Why am I doing this again? I have two jobs that pay very well. Why am I trying to freelance for crap pay when I could be using this rare moment of free time to indulge in one of my guilty pleasures (like Viva Pinata, or Disney Cruise forums)?
But then I remember that I had a dream. I wanted to do something with my need to write it all down. Something that one day could help me stay at home more with the (unborn) kids, something that could help me work more from home and less at the hospital. Something that would be an creative outlet for me that I actually got paid for. And to get that something, one has to start somewhere.
Apparently for me, that place is here in front of the computer battling nervous new-writer's block.