On the occasion of the fifth anniversary of my switch to full time freelance writing, I can officially say that the worrying never stops. Today was my first day of not having an assignment in months and, though I had prepared mentally for this day, I found myself thinking, "Is this it? Perhaps I've filed my last story or seen my last accepted pitch."
Today, I kept waiting for the magical email or Facebook message that never came. I checked all my recently completed assignments and assignments to come and stalked all my favorite writing sites, but there was no incredible convergence that resulted in a magical gig landing in front of me.
Until 2:17pm. A project manager offered me an editing gig for the rest of the week. Which is why I really must say right here, right now, that it takes a kind of thick-skinned, roll-with-it, Zen master of a personality to be a freelance writer, and I have learned to pretend to be that kind of person.
It turns out that freelance writing and editing demand a good amount of pretending.
Like pretending to take a picture of my precious son when I'm really photographing something right behind him that I need for a story.
Or saying I spoke to someone who said I could do this or go there or take that--oh, it wasn't you? Then it must have been your boss.
Something I never find the need to lie about, though, is the unglamorous nature of my chosen career. I've filed stories from the dark bathroom of a Tucson Motel 6 and from a video poker parlor at a Virginia truck stop. I've said yes to wild deadlines, like ghostwriting three chapters of a technical book in three days. In fact, the wilder the deadline, the better I seem to perform, that little anxiety pumping down my arms and to my fingertips as I type.
So I'd like to think five years of having my own freelance writing business means I have some kind of proof that I can do this, that it means it's a viable choice for the next five years. But the days of slow work prompt me to wonder about making it for even the next five days.
Then there is the deeper question: Does that little bit of fear keep me hungry? Without the fear perhaps I'd be without the gigs. I'll ruminate on this and let you know what I think on the six year anniversary of my freelance career.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Monday, March 04, 2013
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
Get Up, Stand Up Day 1
I've been a full-time freelance writer for over four years now. I never imagined I could sustain a full-time business and make a competitive rate, all while enjoying my work.
However, there was a problem. Making money means sitting down, and sitting kills.
I could feel it in my body, even when I exercised, even when I did interval bursts to punk music throughout the day to spike my heart rate. There was this slumping, this collapsing. I'd buzz along with my assignments and look up after 120 to 180 minutes pleased with my productivity and hourly wage and dismayed with the realization I had not moved anything more than my fingertips for the whole time period.
I had gotten wind of treadmill desks and similar inventions, in which you stand and walk at a raised desk while working. The consensus is that walking a slow one mile per hour for your workday does not impede your work tasks and can actually increase your focus and productivity.
Like any good idea, there are ways to spend a lot of pesos to implement such a system. But I can't or won't spend the money for a fancy raised desk, an adjustable desk, and a commercial-grade treadmill to create an active work station.
Instead, four hours ago, I put a vegetable crate on the kitchen table. I wrote while standing the entire time. I wasn't sure it would work for me, as I'm more likely to walk a long distance rather than stand still for a prolonged periods. But the writing captivated me enough that I actually forgot I was standing for large segments of time.
I maintained my words per hour and thus my hourly rate. After four hours in my bare feet on the tile floor I can say I feel a similar leg and foot tiredness I used to feel after a day of teaching.
I could see placing a blanket or mat under my feet to cushion them. Or how about this? Or get a little more cardio in with this?
I could also see sitting part of the day, but balancing on an exercise ball.
I'll write an update in a few days to explore this idea further and report on any complications. And so ends my first blog entry written while standing.
However, there was a problem. Making money means sitting down, and sitting kills.
I could feel it in my body, even when I exercised, even when I did interval bursts to punk music throughout the day to spike my heart rate. There was this slumping, this collapsing. I'd buzz along with my assignments and look up after 120 to 180 minutes pleased with my productivity and hourly wage and dismayed with the realization I had not moved anything more than my fingertips for the whole time period.
I had gotten wind of treadmill desks and similar inventions, in which you stand and walk at a raised desk while working. The consensus is that walking a slow one mile per hour for your workday does not impede your work tasks and can actually increase your focus and productivity.
Like any good idea, there are ways to spend a lot of pesos to implement such a system. But I can't or won't spend the money for a fancy raised desk, an adjustable desk, and a commercial-grade treadmill to create an active work station.
Instead, four hours ago, I put a vegetable crate on the kitchen table. I wrote while standing the entire time. I wasn't sure it would work for me, as I'm more likely to walk a long distance rather than stand still for a prolonged periods. But the writing captivated me enough that I actually forgot I was standing for large segments of time.
I maintained my words per hour and thus my hourly rate. After four hours in my bare feet on the tile floor I can say I feel a similar leg and foot tiredness I used to feel after a day of teaching.
I could see placing a blanket or mat under my feet to cushion them. Or how about this? Or get a little more cardio in with this?
I could also see sitting part of the day, but balancing on an exercise ball.
I'll write an update in a few days to explore this idea further and report on any complications. And so ends my first blog entry written while standing.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Altared States
My favorite time of the year approaches--Dia de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead. I wrote "Altared States," a piece about Oaxaca's unique take on the holiday as well as some of the traditions around it. Go Galavanting, an online travel magazine geared toward women, published my article. Here's the link:
Altared States
Altared States
Monday, May 18, 2009
Get on the life rollercoaster
A day of ups and downs. It began with Geni's teacher encouraging me to come to flag ceremony to see Geni in action, marching to the patriotic song. I show up, only to see Geni firmly placed on the sidelines, not participating, while her classmates march and sing. I felt bad for her, even though she was happily playing with her shoe, because I worry about her being left out of things. She's behind in language and in her motor skills, and I perceived that the teacher might find it easier not to include her. I walked home feeling down, but found my newest green juice lady, which generated some cheer.
I got home and finished my article on Japanese artist Kenichi Yokono for Hi-Fructose, which was a blast. Then, I found out my tutorial "How to Make Out with Pop Rocks" got published, albeit not where I had hoped (I wanted it on Cracked.com, but it's on eHow). Here's the link so that you, too, can start making out with pop rocks.
http://www.ehow.com/how_5024347_make-out-pop-rocks.html
It's actually quite informative, I assure you.
Then, we got to take Geni to the early childhood stimulation center, if that's how it translates to English. This was her first appointment. The psychologist is hoping that she can boost Geni's motor and language skills via her method of rehabilitation. Geni loved the session, and will continue going three times a week.
So Geni's happy, but I can't get over this possible snub. I tried removing myself from the emotion of it, to look just at the pure series of events, but it still seems like she was excluded. She loves Colegio Teizcali, to the point where she waits at the door every morning with her backpack in hand, asking "Maestra? Maestra?" She runs into her classroom without looking back. This is what I tell myself: This is what matters. Her perception of events are more important than mine here, right?
I needn't live her pain when she has had no pain but, the crux of it is, if she's can't express herself to me, how will I know the depth of her feelings? I remember a mother posting on a forum about her silent child. She said, "I long to know his inner world."
I got home and finished my article on Japanese artist Kenichi Yokono for Hi-Fructose, which was a blast. Then, I found out my tutorial "How to Make Out with Pop Rocks" got published, albeit not where I had hoped (I wanted it on Cracked.com, but it's on eHow). Here's the link so that you, too, can start making out with pop rocks.
http://www.ehow.com/how_5024347_make-out-pop-rocks.html
It's actually quite informative, I assure you.
Then, we got to take Geni to the early childhood stimulation center, if that's how it translates to English. This was her first appointment. The psychologist is hoping that she can boost Geni's motor and language skills via her method of rehabilitation. Geni loved the session, and will continue going three times a week.
So Geni's happy, but I can't get over this possible snub. I tried removing myself from the emotion of it, to look just at the pure series of events, but it still seems like she was excluded. She loves Colegio Teizcali, to the point where she waits at the door every morning with her backpack in hand, asking "Maestra? Maestra?" She runs into her classroom without looking back. This is what I tell myself: This is what matters. Her perception of events are more important than mine here, right?
I needn't live her pain when she has had no pain but, the crux of it is, if she's can't express herself to me, how will I know the depth of her feelings? I remember a mother posting on a forum about her silent child. She said, "I long to know his inner world."
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
We Need a Pitcher Not a Belly Itcher
I have been feeling way too dependent upon my weekly writing gig, which offers tons of work at mediocre pay. So, I've been trying to branch out.
I do the usual, applying cold through ads, putting in some bids, writing notes to my contacts, but I avoid writing pitches, and I can't figure out why. I have a list of good magazines to pitch, and a ton of ideas, but I've become lazy, I think, with all the work, and the idea of going through the whole pitch-and-get-rejected process seems insurmountable.
I'm stuck in this syndrome of writing for short-term goals, but not looking at the long-term and broadening my client base.
Two months ago, I was on the beach, and found this man selling extraordinary paintings on the street. I interviewed him on the spot, bought a handful of paintings--he was the ideal outsider, visionary artist, taking a traditional Mexican art form and completely reinterpreting it with his visions. His work just jumped out at me, and I wasn't the only one. As I talked to him, almost everyone who passed by stopped to take a look at his work. I took a bunch of pictures and knew I had a story. I assembled a list of alternative art magazines, but the pitch drifts somewhere out of reach. How can that art and the potential article about it keep me up all night with excitement and, by day, elude me because I don't want to write the pitch?
The good news is that I've garnered some excellent gigs in the past couple days, including a quick tutorial on "How to Make Out with Pop Rocks Involved", a review of an art show inspired by monster movies and, my favorite, a piece on Stacy and Clinton of "What Not to Wear". Pop culture paradise.
Somewhere, in here, is a lesson for me, but I'm not ready to learn it.
I do the usual, applying cold through ads, putting in some bids, writing notes to my contacts, but I avoid writing pitches, and I can't figure out why. I have a list of good magazines to pitch, and a ton of ideas, but I've become lazy, I think, with all the work, and the idea of going through the whole pitch-and-get-rejected process seems insurmountable.
I'm stuck in this syndrome of writing for short-term goals, but not looking at the long-term and broadening my client base.
Two months ago, I was on the beach, and found this man selling extraordinary paintings on the street. I interviewed him on the spot, bought a handful of paintings--he was the ideal outsider, visionary artist, taking a traditional Mexican art form and completely reinterpreting it with his visions. His work just jumped out at me, and I wasn't the only one. As I talked to him, almost everyone who passed by stopped to take a look at his work. I took a bunch of pictures and knew I had a story. I assembled a list of alternative art magazines, but the pitch drifts somewhere out of reach. How can that art and the potential article about it keep me up all night with excitement and, by day, elude me because I don't want to write the pitch?
The good news is that I've garnered some excellent gigs in the past couple days, including a quick tutorial on "How to Make Out with Pop Rocks Involved", a review of an art show inspired by monster movies and, my favorite, a piece on Stacy and Clinton of "What Not to Wear". Pop culture paradise.
Somewhere, in here, is a lesson for me, but I'm not ready to learn it.
Friday, April 24, 2009
What happens to a story killed?
Does it dry up
like a Lindsay Lohan in rehab?
Really, it's just sagging like a heavy load right now. And the story just sits there, killed.
I should figure out the way to negate this having happened, like send out 10 pitches and apply for 10 gigs next week.
But, right now, a bad movie on cable will do the trick.
like a Lindsay Lohan in rehab?
Really, it's just sagging like a heavy load right now. And the story just sits there, killed.
I should figure out the way to negate this having happened, like send out 10 pitches and apply for 10 gigs next week.
But, right now, a bad movie on cable will do the trick.
Monday, October 06, 2008
Come Together, Right Now
The vocho is fixed and, for once, the mechanic did not come back with a bottomless pit of things wrong with the car. How cool to have a mechanic we like that works on our block.
I just got another group of articles approved, so I'll be busy writing about Day of the Dead, Oaxacan chocolate, and, yes, "Desperate Housewives" this week. Should be interesting.
With the car and the writing both going well, I feel like things are just about...right. I almost hesitate to say it, for fear I'll jinx it. I'd like it if these articles paid better--good, there's a complaint! Aha, another problem: Geni has a cough, though it's getting better.
I am really thinking Obama could win this, but is that just a perspective from someone who lives out of the country and can indulge in wishful thinking without too much reality getting in the way?
We bought a great surreal painting by our friend Humberto Batista. There is a papaya and a pear and a massive Olmec head statue, against a flat blue horizon. I'll post a picture soon.
Max wants to be a pumpkin for Halloween. I keep trying to persuade him to be a devil or a skeleton, because these are the two costumes that are traditional to Mexico and its comparsa ritual, which is like a manic dance parade where everyone wears one of these two outfits. Geni will of course be the devil.
I just got another group of articles approved, so I'll be busy writing about Day of the Dead, Oaxacan chocolate, and, yes, "Desperate Housewives" this week. Should be interesting.
With the car and the writing both going well, I feel like things are just about...right. I almost hesitate to say it, for fear I'll jinx it. I'd like it if these articles paid better--good, there's a complaint! Aha, another problem: Geni has a cough, though it's getting better.
I am really thinking Obama could win this, but is that just a perspective from someone who lives out of the country and can indulge in wishful thinking without too much reality getting in the way?
We bought a great surreal painting by our friend Humberto Batista. There is a papaya and a pear and a massive Olmec head statue, against a flat blue horizon. I'll post a picture soon.
Max wants to be a pumpkin for Halloween. I keep trying to persuade him to be a devil or a skeleton, because these are the two costumes that are traditional to Mexico and its comparsa ritual, which is like a manic dance parade where everyone wears one of these two outfits. Geni will of course be the devil.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Art Crap!
I am writing an article on artist statements, and I found a great crap-o-meter tool that generates fake art statements. Here's the statement I created:
Work of Meta-Art in the Age of Symbiotic Reproduction
Serena Makofsky's work investigates the nuances of vibrations through the use of stopframe motion and close-ups which emphasize the Symbiotic nature of digital media. Makofsky explores abstract and cutting scenery as motifs to describe the idea of hyper-real hallucination. Using surreal loops, cathode rays, and allegorical images as patterns, Makofsky creates meditative environments which suggest the expansion of art...
Work of Meta-Art in the Age of Symbiotic Reproduction
The vortex creates, the chaos profligates. In the trans-gender hallucination, art objects are resurrections of the musings of the vortex -- a vortex that uses the chaos as a zeitgeist to enmesh ideas, patterns, and emotions. With the devolution of the electronic environment, the vortex is superseding a point where it will be free from the chaos to consume immersions into the machinations of the delphic hallucination. Work of Meta-Art in the Age of Symbiotic Reproduction contains 10 minimal flash engines (also refered to as "soundtoys") that enable the user to make brilliant audio/visual compositions.
measuring chains, constructing realities
putting into place forms
a matrix of illusion and disillusion
a strange attracting force
so that a seduced reality will be able to spontaneously feed on it
Serena Makofsky's work investigates the nuances of vibrations through the use of stopframe motion and close-ups which emphasize the Symbiotic nature of digital media. Makofsky explores abstract and cutting scenery as motifs to describe the idea of hyper-real hallucination. Using surreal loops, cathode rays, and allegorical images as patterns, Makofsky creates meditative environments which suggest the expansion of art...
Thursday, September 11, 2008
My Crazy Sexy Cool Career
Divining the depths of Craigslist for writing gigs can be a downer of an endeavor, considering that many ads suggest that the writer get paid nothing. Or close to nothing. Of course, I live in the land of low wages. Mexican minimum wage is, I believe, five dollars per day. Most people make more than that, far more than that, but the kids at the tortilleria down the street? Probably 50 pesos for a day's work. Which is about what some of these writing jobs pay--one cent per word, including all research and editing time.
I saw a funny response to one of these low-paying jobs on Craigslist:
Reply to: gigs-836217168@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-09-10, 11:08PM PDT
So,
You are looking to hire a person with extensive knowledge of horse racing and excellent writing skills. You want to pay $0.01 per word through paypal.
This might become a long term gig.
OK ... lets me get this straight - YOU WANT TO PAY ONE CENT PER WORD.
Since I am a writer, I am terrible at math. Hang on, let me get my calculator...
......
Back ... OK, for a 1000 word article, you are willing to pay $10.00!
You have a deal! Here is my first article:
And the Horse You Rode In On.
Please credit my 7 cents to ... pay_me_you_cheap_bastard@yahoo.com
Please let me know when you are ready for my second article.
I saw a funny response to one of these low-paying jobs on Craigslist:
IN RE: Horse Racing Article Writer Wanted
Reply to: gigs-836217168@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-09-10, 11:08PM PDT
So,
You are looking to hire a person with extensive knowledge of horse racing and excellent writing skills. You want to pay $0.01 per word through paypal.
This might become a long term gig.
OK ... lets me get this straight - YOU WANT TO PAY ONE CENT PER WORD.
Since I am a writer, I am terrible at math. Hang on, let me get my calculator...
......
Back ... OK, for a 1000 word article, you are willing to pay $10.00!
You have a deal! Here is my first article:
And the Horse You Rode In On.
Please credit my 7 cents to ... pay_me_you_cheap_bastard@yahoo.com
Please let me know when you are ready for my second article.
Friday, September 05, 2008
The Real September Finally Arrived
I try to have faith in what Steve tells me. For example, when he said freelance gigs slow down in late August and don't pick up until after Labor Day, I decided I could deal with that. But then, when the day after Labor Day came, and the day after, and I wasn't hearing from any of my regular editors nor from any news ones to whom I had pitched articles, I decided, "No, it's not the Labor Day thing. There's a problem here. The economy in the U.S. is down. At least half my clients are in the U.S., and they're not buying right now."
I went on a pitch frenzy, and sent out resumes left and right.
Suddenly, today, I got two new jobs. And then two of my regular editors contacted me. I realized Steve was right. I'm only six months into freelancing full time as opposed to doing it as a supplementary gig, so I haven't lived through the cycles of it yet. I have to remember that freelancing is like chaos theory, so if I can hit an average amount of gigs/money over the course of a month, I needn't worry. Now if I can only tell myself this is January and February, which Steve claims is another tough stretch.
Enough blogging, I have writing to do!
I went on a pitch frenzy, and sent out resumes left and right.
Suddenly, today, I got two new jobs. And then two of my regular editors contacted me. I realized Steve was right. I'm only six months into freelancing full time as opposed to doing it as a supplementary gig, so I haven't lived through the cycles of it yet. I have to remember that freelancing is like chaos theory, so if I can hit an average amount of gigs/money over the course of a month, I needn't worry. Now if I can only tell myself this is January and February, which Steve claims is another tough stretch.
Enough blogging, I have writing to do!
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Good times
A couple of great days amid a rather sleep-deprived summer. Yesterday, I got the stitches out of my head. It took two seconds and cost two bucks. Max and I walked to the children's library where he stacked up 20 books in Spanish and read through them all. I felt a little useless, my favorite feeling to have around children. Autonomy!
Max got a chemistry set and Steve was very funny, getting very controlling about it. So I took over and everyone was happier. Max loves holding test tubes over candle flames, watching the substances bubble. Then we played a round of the Mad Magazine game. We'd lost the dice, so we had to hold out fingers on the count of three, add it up, and make our moves. Yeni decided to use her potty, singing "yayayayay" after each visit.
We hit Dr. Manuelita's office for a little pendulum-swinging to determine Yeni's bedtime rebellion. The diagnosis was that something frightened her. We got some natural remedy and Yeni went to bed in 5 minutes. Coincidence?
Today was more experiments, more potty, and a visit to pay the water bill. Mexico's largely a cash economy, so you don't send checks to pay bills. You go to the office and pay. So we braved downtown traffic and double-parked in front of the water bill office to pay our $2.60 bill. And it was right next to a great sock store, so Max y Yeni loaded up on cartoony sox, 12 for $6 on sale.
Still typing with one hand, but getting around better. August is slow for writing jobs so I've decided it's a good month for a writer to break her arm.
Friday: Ocotlan with Leslie, my old Worldview partner-in-crime!
Max got a chemistry set and Steve was very funny, getting very controlling about it. So I took over and everyone was happier. Max loves holding test tubes over candle flames, watching the substances bubble. Then we played a round of the Mad Magazine game. We'd lost the dice, so we had to hold out fingers on the count of three, add it up, and make our moves. Yeni decided to use her potty, singing "yayayayay" after each visit.
We hit Dr. Manuelita's office for a little pendulum-swinging to determine Yeni's bedtime rebellion. The diagnosis was that something frightened her. We got some natural remedy and Yeni went to bed in 5 minutes. Coincidence?
Today was more experiments, more potty, and a visit to pay the water bill. Mexico's largely a cash economy, so you don't send checks to pay bills. You go to the office and pay. So we braved downtown traffic and double-parked in front of the water bill office to pay our $2.60 bill. And it was right next to a great sock store, so Max y Yeni loaded up on cartoony sox, 12 for $6 on sale.
Still typing with one hand, but getting around better. August is slow for writing jobs so I've decided it's a good month for a writer to break her arm.
Friday: Ocotlan with Leslie, my old Worldview partner-in-crime!
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Buckets of Water
I can't believe I left the cliffhanger just sitting there like that. We're almost all healthy now, and the party seems like so long ago. Over 30 people showed up--all of the no-shows were expatriates, and all of the early birds who stayed the longest were the Oaxaquenos--and my lasting memory of the event was watching one of our guests hauling a bucket of water up to the toilet so she could flush it. Ah, well. Steve's enmoladas went over well, or everyone was polite about it, who knows which?
The Monday after the party, the strangest thing happened. I was picking up Maxito and Geni at school, and talking to another expatriate mom. She said, "My sister's in town" and I looked over and saw the sister, and jealousy washed over me. It has stayed with me now for almost two weeks. The sister was holding her niece like she was her own child and I knew that's what Jenny would do with Max and Geni. It makes me grind my teeth when I imagine it.
I've been distracted, too, because I got a writing assignment to write about all various and sundry topics that were favorite obsessions of the "Have You Seen the Dog Lately?" of old. It's been good to be immersed in projects about Mexican wrestling, ex-voto painting, fringe theater, movie musicals, and artist trading cards. It's clear I've been typecast as their "alternative culture" writer, because they only pick up my more eccentric pitches.
Jenny, I love you!
The Monday after the party, the strangest thing happened. I was picking up Maxito and Geni at school, and talking to another expatriate mom. She said, "My sister's in town" and I looked over and saw the sister, and jealousy washed over me. It has stayed with me now for almost two weeks. The sister was holding her niece like she was her own child and I knew that's what Jenny would do with Max and Geni. It makes me grind my teeth when I imagine it.
I've been distracted, too, because I got a writing assignment to write about all various and sundry topics that were favorite obsessions of the "Have You Seen the Dog Lately?" of old. It's been good to be immersed in projects about Mexican wrestling, ex-voto painting, fringe theater, movie musicals, and artist trading cards. It's clear I've been typecast as their "alternative culture" writer, because they only pick up my more eccentric pitches.
Jenny, I love you!
Monday, April 07, 2008
Bloggy!
Hilair wrote to me that it's easy keeping up with me, because I'm so bloggy. That made me happy. I have been blogging more because I recently picked up an old travel journal and read through it, and was stunned with all I had forgotten.
I hope blogging can help me hold onto some of the details that time tries to erase. But perhaps it's not enough like a travel journal, not filled with the same little strange details and sketches in the margins. It's very tiring to think that I might have to keep a handwritten journal as well.
Even though I purposely keep this blog theme-free and try to stay as stream-of-consciousness as possible, don't I still sense that I'm writing for an audience? Can anybody really share their private ruminations with the online world?
But I guess nothing matters other than some words get written. These days I'm thinking about solar panels, Genevieve's boingy curls, growing a vegetable garden, how I miss the beach, Japoneses (delicious coated peanuts spiked with a tiny bit of spice), and, of course, money.
Another bit of blog happiness: Pickel of "My Two Boys" has hosted my blog on the Carnival of Family Life: http://adopttwoboys.blogspot.com/2008/04/april-2008-carnival-of-family-life.html
I hope blogging can help me hold onto some of the details that time tries to erase. But perhaps it's not enough like a travel journal, not filled with the same little strange details and sketches in the margins. It's very tiring to think that I might have to keep a handwritten journal as well.
Even though I purposely keep this blog theme-free and try to stay as stream-of-consciousness as possible, don't I still sense that I'm writing for an audience? Can anybody really share their private ruminations with the online world?
But I guess nothing matters other than some words get written. These days I'm thinking about solar panels, Genevieve's boingy curls, growing a vegetable garden, how I miss the beach, Japoneses (delicious coated peanuts spiked with a tiny bit of spice), and, of course, money.
Another bit of blog happiness: Pickel of "My Two Boys" has hosted my blog on the Carnival of Family Life: http://adopttwoboys.blogspot.com/2008/04/april-2008-carnival-of-family-life.html
Monday, March 31, 2008
Karma Chameleon
I just finished watching Ray Reyes of Menudo fame covering Boy George's "Karma Chameleon", and I have to say, go man! What a supreme cutie.
And those lyrics hit home: "Every day is like survival..." I've been up nights obsessing over house/money, money/house and then stopping myself because who cares?
Today set my teeth on edge. I called Bank of America to initiate the international wire transfer. I knew about the $35 fee, but it was too good to be true that it would end there. They quoted me an exchange rate that had me paying them another $1500 commission. Just to get my money. I banned Steve from even discussing this dismal development, because it compelled me to eat an entire tube of Chokis, the delicious chocolate chocolate chip cookies we scored last weekend.
I do love Chokis.
I am a split personality on this money thing. I am quite possibly the most careful, nitpicky person in the world about finances and spending. But the other side of me says that, at some point, you have to let go, or else you're making money your ruler. My dad the commie has always said that his childhood dream was to be like Scrooge McDuck in the old cartoons, sitting amongst stacks of gold coins. I sympathize.
Then I received a fortuitous email this afternoon. I just landed an excellent six-month writing contract. And the editor picked up every one of my 12 pitches (I had been worried I'd gone a little pitch-happy, but thankfully no). So maybe the Karma Chameleon smiles at me now, saying that what Bank of America steals from me I can compensate for. Still...that bloody bank!
And those lyrics hit home: "Every day is like survival..." I've been up nights obsessing over house/money, money/house and then stopping myself because who cares?
Today set my teeth on edge. I called Bank of America to initiate the international wire transfer. I knew about the $35 fee, but it was too good to be true that it would end there. They quoted me an exchange rate that had me paying them another $1500 commission. Just to get my money. I banned Steve from even discussing this dismal development, because it compelled me to eat an entire tube of Chokis, the delicious chocolate chocolate chip cookies we scored last weekend.
I do love Chokis.
I am a split personality on this money thing. I am quite possibly the most careful, nitpicky person in the world about finances and spending. But the other side of me says that, at some point, you have to let go, or else you're making money your ruler. My dad the commie has always said that his childhood dream was to be like Scrooge McDuck in the old cartoons, sitting amongst stacks of gold coins. I sympathize.
Then I received a fortuitous email this afternoon. I just landed an excellent six-month writing contract. And the editor picked up every one of my 12 pitches (I had been worried I'd gone a little pitch-happy, but thankfully no). So maybe the Karma Chameleon smiles at me now, saying that what Bank of America steals from me I can compensate for. Still...that bloody bank!
Monday, February 11, 2008
Bringing Down the Evil Louis Vuitton Empire
My story, "My Life is a Charade", about Jenny and I getting accidentally caught up in a Louis Vuitton handbag reselling ring in Paris, won story of the month at Expat Women! You can see the site and my story here.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
The Great Wide Open
I think "The Great Wide Open" is actually a song by Tom Petty but, these days, it's the soundtrack of my life. With Genevieve at school (sort of) in the mornings and no teaching hours, I decided to make a go of finding and applying for some freelance writing gigs.
Well, in the past week, I've secured two new ongoing jobs as well as a great assignment from an old faithful source. So it happens that, all of a sudden, I enter a new phase of my life. I should say "I back into a new phase of my life" because, since Jenny died, everything feels kind of accidental, like I'm responding to things rather than initiating things.
It's coming up on the four-year anniversary of the accident. My dad's visiting from Beijing, which is nice because he has a way of bringing Jenny back to me, the way he's a fuzzy-visioned, argumentative genius. His multiple backpacks are just jammed full of stuff and there are papers everywhere--it's so like living with Jenny.
Last week, we went to see "Across the Universe" and Dad and I sat in the theater singing Beatles songs. I thought, this is the kind of thing I'd only have done with Jenny but here I am, sitting in the dark singing even though she's been away from me for four years. Who knows? Maybe she was sitting behind us, throwing popcorn at us to get us to quiet down, though more likely she would have been singing along.
Well, in the past week, I've secured two new ongoing jobs as well as a great assignment from an old faithful source. So it happens that, all of a sudden, I enter a new phase of my life. I should say "I back into a new phase of my life" because, since Jenny died, everything feels kind of accidental, like I'm responding to things rather than initiating things.
It's coming up on the four-year anniversary of the accident. My dad's visiting from Beijing, which is nice because he has a way of bringing Jenny back to me, the way he's a fuzzy-visioned, argumentative genius. His multiple backpacks are just jammed full of stuff and there are papers everywhere--it's so like living with Jenny.
Last week, we went to see "Across the Universe" and Dad and I sat in the theater singing Beatles songs. I thought, this is the kind of thing I'd only have done with Jenny but here I am, sitting in the dark singing even though she's been away from me for four years. Who knows? Maybe she was sitting behind us, throwing popcorn at us to get us to quiet down, though more likely she would have been singing along.
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