Why you do what you do and how you do it

A client asked me under what circumstances I blog. Let’s see…after I put on my tweed coat, don my pince-nez, get the Mozart going and pour myself a glass of Scotch, the creativity just FLOWS! I wish there were some exact method under which writing came easily. I have many friends who are artists who can attest to the daily struggle, the fight that it is to mine one’s consciousness for things that will entertain or inspire. And there are days where nothing comes - where you stare at your computer or your canvas or whatever it is that motivates you and the desperate blankness of what’s in front of you steers you to sheer terror and self doubt, or towards your liquor cabinet or, in my case, your heavy narcotics cleaning supplies. On the days when people come over and my floor is spotless and the toilets gleam? Well, that has been a very bad writing day indeed.

It’s lonely work. I spend a lot of time in my office with only Kylie as company. I’ll write for a while and think, “Well, this is crap.” Then I read it to Kylie and she agrees, or yawns, or farts, depending on her mood. And then, sometimes, I think “This sentence is GENIUS!” and I begin mentally decorating my office with all of the Pulitzers that will eventually fill it. But, the truth is, no one else might respond to it or find any merit in what I’m trying to say. You’re never sure what the perception will be. It takes either bravery or a “fuck it” attitude to attempt this. I’d like to think I fall somewhere in between, though when someone emails me with a note of “Great post!” I wonder if sending them a gift basket and perhaps my first-born would be too bold of a gesture of gratitude.

There are days when I wish that I were an accountant, or made cheese or could build something useful. I once lived behind a desk and wore suits and high heels and thought that if I didn’t put in my 60 hours per week that the Earth would stop turning on it’s axis. But, despite the paycheck and glamour, I knew that wasn’t the life I was supposed to be living. It was scary making those changes, moving away from the corporate ladder and deciding that being my own boss would give me more joy and less stress. The paycheck isn’t great, people, I’m not going to lie about it. But to be passionate about something is not only to fantasize about what life could be like if you pursued what you love, but it's to be willing to throw off some of those safety measures and dive forward and in, despite the cost and how battered and beaten you get along the way.

So here I am. Adjusting my pince-nez. Making room for my Pulitzers. But first, the toilets need scrubbing!