So I was outside, picking up my recycling bin (which is a maneuver fraught with anxiety for me since it was whilst picking up the recycling bin that I took a tumble down the driveway and lay there for 20 MINUTES waiting for Mister Man to come and investigate and when he did not, I somehow stumbled into the house and took the next twelve months sorting out the various bumps, bruises, cuts, sprains and strains associated with said tumble, taking the opportunity to complain to Mister Man whenever possible) when I saw my neighbor.
We don’t see each other often, so we had a little chat. And then he asked a simple question. To wit, “Do you work?”
Now, let’s not forget that I was already anxious (due to the whole recycling bin thing) and so I paused. And I don’t mean just a blip of a pause. I mean one of those really long and uncomfortable pauses. He clearly thought he had somehow wandered into some incredibly inappropriate waters and he began to flail around, apologizing, but really, there’s nothing wrong with asking a person if she works.
Except for me, it opened up the door to Angst and Uncertainty. A year ago, I would’ve said, “Oh, yes, I work at home. I’m a writer.” And then I’d explain how I don’t make a ton of money but I enjoy my work, blah-blah-blah. I’d have meant it, too.
But as I stood there on the edge of my driveway (and honestly, I considered catapulting myself down the slope so I wouldn’t have to answer the question put to me because I’d rather take another tumble than explain exactly what it is I am doing these days), I did not know what to say.
Do I work? Well…that required me to consider whether or not I was still a writer. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I think a writer should actually…you know…write. And to work as a writer, I think it might be necessary to put writing out there in the wide world. To try at least to make some money from writing, even if the money’s not enough to pay your internet bill (which just went up again).
And here it just happened to be the end of the month, when I was thinking about checking in and realizing that April had been a not-so-very accomplished month. To tell the truth, April has been a very unaccomplished month (unless you count all the books I’ve read, which I don’t, because let’s be fair, reading is not writing).
So all of these thoughts were whirling about in my head as I stood there, not saying anything for the longest time. Until at last I said, “I work at home. I’m a writer.” And then we blah-blah-blahed about writing and I talked with one part of my brain while the other part of my brain was screaming like the old woman in Princess Bride, “LIAR!, LIAAAR! LIARRRRR!”
Who would’ve thought going to get the recycling bin could be such an emotional experience? (Well, besides the crazy emotions I always feel, getting the recycling bin.) But as I walked back into the house, I thought, Cathy, poop or get off the pot.
I’ll let you know how that comes out. (No pun intended.)
I humbly disagree. Reading is extremely important for writers, so therefore you were working. Rejoice in your very productive April!
Well, I agree that reading’s very important to writing, Pat. I’ve got that down! 🙂
Cathy–I am feeling some of the same things. I keep skirting around a particular project, and figure I’d better do something about it.
And DO let us know what comes out. I imagine whatever it is, it’ll smell better and be more appealing than poop. 😉
Hahahahahaaa! Well, I sure hope so, Sioux! (And good luck with your project…sometimes, when we really love something, we’re afraid to do it because what if we can’t get it right? It’s a crazy life, this writing. 😉 )
Ah. You are a writer. You’ll always be a writer. Whether any of us makes much at it is irrelevant. Of course, you may have been taking time off lately. So you may not feel like a worker. But don’t judge work by money made, please. If you do that I’m a bum who doesn’t work more than a minute a day. ARGHHH. 🙂
Ah. I somehow feel better, thinking of myself as not-a-worker, Sally. 🙂 Though you make a good point about money…I don’t think it’s the money so much as the lack of drive. I’ve always been intrinsically driven and now the drive comes in little bursts between long bouts of laziness.
I’m getting scarily used to that. 🙂
Hahaaaa! This was so great! (And I love that old lady from the Princess Bride!) A funny, spot-on, amazing post like this doesn’t happen by accident. It’s obvious you not only are a writer, but one who steadily hones her craft. (P.S. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall when you crawled in the house after the recycling accident. 🙂 )
Well, dear Debra, you would probably be a very traumatized fly after hearing what I said after Dave said, “What happened to YOU?” 🙂
And if by “steadily honing my craft” you mean “sitting out on the deck, reading Tina Fey’s book, BOSSYPANTS,” then yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing! 🙂
Made me laugh out loud: considered throwing yourself down the driveway. Yes my dear YOU are a writer. Writing money doesn’t my bills either, but I consider myself a writer. And reading is part of being a good writer. Write on!
Oh! I’m glad you laughed, Linda! It’s payback for all those wonderful posts about Liam and how much I enjoy y’all’s antics!
You’re a writer. (short and sweet reminder)
If you write, you’re a writer. You wrote this blog post, didn’t you?