by Jennifer Flaten
A few days ago, I finished my usual day of writing. I was proud of myself I completed almost all of my to-do items. This is a big deal for a procrastinator like me.
One item scratched off my list, a short profile piece on Patsy Cline.
As I clicked send on the piece, I realized I really enjoyed writing it. Not only did I learn about Patsy, but also I thought I managed to make the profile interesting, not dry.
It was fun and I looked forward to doing another one.
Later as I was telling my husband about my day and talking animatedly about my work, I realized just how much I liked what I did.
It was a wonderful feeling. Too bad, it had been missing for so long.
Prior to writing, full time I worked as an office manager/administrative assistant.
I loved what I did. My heart went pitter-patter at the thought of spending the day wrestling bank statements into submission and making journal entries.
I knew I was good at what I did I always came home with sense of accomplishment.
Then one day I was laid off. In an instant both my job and identity vanished along with my steady paycheck.
I turned to my writing which up until that time, was a little sideline that I did for fun and spending money. Now I was trying to turn my writing into my full time job.
I spent a lot of time building relationships with clients, looking for gigs and writing pieces that paid money but I wasn’t enjoying myself.
There was this little voice was whispering in my ear that I wasn’t a “real” writer. I worried about “making” it, about being a “real” writer and being good so I could get more work.
I wasn’t having fun. Each day I just worked away with no sense of love or feelings of accomplishment.
Even publication didn’t lessen my feelings. If I was published I still worried it wasn’t good enough. I wondered would a real writer read it and think Pffft who gave this woman a keyboard.
I couldn‘t shake the worry. I was drowning in what ifs-what if this isn’t good enough, what if this leads nowhere.
I still felt like I was pretending to be a writer.
Then came that fateful day, when I finished a piece that I really had fun writing that I knew was good piece.
I realized that-Hey, I am pretty good at this and I like it.
This came in the same week that I had some other small, yet exciting, offers come my way.
All of sudden I knew that I really liked what I was doing. I wasn’t just pretending to be a writer I was a writer.
Jennifer lives with her husband, twin daughters and son in Wisconsin. She is a freelance writer. She has found the kids provide and endless source of amusing and not so amusing topics. When she is not in front of the computer, she and the kids can be found baking, cooking or playing outside. Read her work at Baby Chapters, Life123.com, Examiner, and Grubstreet.
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