I most of the time work at a writing desk in my basement, and have been doing so since 1996.
A lot has changed on and around my desk area in 21 years, but much has also stayed the same. Pictures of my wife and daughter reign supreme, photos of both sometimes switched to newer ones, and books -- lots of them -- either stand upright and lay on their backsides nearby. Also "neighboring" me are statues of my Lord Jesus Christ, my bible, and my few prayer journals which will belong to my daughter when I depart this world. Anyway, as I yesterday (Friday) worked on an article in my bunker 5' below ground level, I reached into my file cabinet and reached for my current assignment and project sheets to update them. As I did so, I noticed in the back of the cabinet past file folders filled with assignment and project sheets marked "Completed." And those folders date back to 2007 only, folders of prior years long ago torn up and discarded. I thought for a moment of all that work, that abundance of toil in my writing career, not all of it fun, and much of it certainly "work." There's a saying that goes something like this: pick a career you love and you'll never work a day in your life. I'm sure you've heard it or read it somewhere. Well, I state now that work is work, whatever field you are in, and this applies even if your career is your dream, which mine is. But there IS a difference. The saying applies to those who select a career due to a fondness (profound or whatever) and "own" it. And owning it means embracing it, all of it, and for a writer that means late nights, the rewrites, the marketing, the study of the realm for improvement - all of it. It can be wonderful thing. At times, it seems you are walking on air. The above lends itself to this true story I relate to all writers, especially young freelancers. Back in December 2009, during a year which towards end picked up momentum in continuous work and didn't halt when the New Year's Eve chime rang, I had lunch with a publisher. As I drove to the restaurant to meet her, on my mind was what seemed like endless work I had waiting for me when I returned home, and how I had to complete that work by Christmas, which was two weeks away. As we sat there and enjoyed nice conversation, I said to her, "Man, I can't wait for this month to be over. I have nineteen articles -- NINETEEN! -- to finish by Christmas. It's ridiculous; I should've never taken it all on." My then-publisher, a jovial type, changed her expression from happy to disturbed, the first time I'd ever seen her face appear so. She pointed at me and said, "Stop. Don't complain about having too much work." I laughed and attempted a response, "Yeah, I gu..." She cut me off. "Steve...do you know how many freelancers have no work right now?" She kept staring at me to be sure her words sunk in. "So, stop complaining." Her words indeed sunk in, and to this day I often think about them, especially when I have work that is pulling me this way and that. So, Monday to Saturday, some work days being busier than others, I commute 15 seconds from the second- floor bedroom to the basement, anxious to get to work, eager to see what will be delivered to my plate. I embrace it all. I feel, and I am, fortunate. Steve
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Steve Sears is a New Jersey based freelance writer
Archives
February 2024
Categories |