I Am A Writer

I am a writer. I am a writer. I am a writer.  I. Am. A. Writer. I AM A WRITER!

Man that felt good...

I'm announcing it to the world because finally I've admitted it to myself. I am a writer. This is who I am and this is what I do. This is my chosen profession and my passion. Writing is my calling. It is not just a hobby. Writing is in my blood. I've always known. But I couldn't find the courage to admit it to myself and to the rest of the world... until now.

While my family has always be supportive, I've never been encouraged to wholeheartedly follow my dream. I was pushed to quietly do it in my spare time when I wasn't working my real job. Be an adult, be responsible, and if there's still time, then make yourself happy. That's no way to live. So I'm done. And coming to that realization feels amazing.

Happy Dance!

All of my adult life I've been stuck in a revolving door of dead-end jobs and supposed golden opportunities that were going to give me the freedom to do what I really wanted while still maintaining the facade of being a responsible, employed adult. But every job, every position, every career has been nothing more than an obstacle keeping me from my true calling. Not anymore.

Late last year my distraction du jour was real estate. I got my license and was ready to conquer the world. And then, not so much. That profession has recently been put to bed. This weekend, I mailed in the paperwork to put my license on inactive status (meaning I could reactivate it with the state at some point down the line) and I can no longer practice real estate in Ohio. I realize this would normally be a sad announcement but I'm thrilled. That was the last one. I'm no longer anything put a writer. I'm not a real estate agent nor am I a customer relations representative, a social media leader, a sales associate, a bridal consultant, a receptionist, a security dispatcher... Man, that's a lot of dead-end jobs. None of those jobs brought me joy. None of those jobs were leading me toward a bright future. All they ever did was stress me out and get in the way of my real dream.

I realize I'm rambling here but I'm okay with that. Because finally admitting to myself and the world that I'm done with everything else that is getting in my way is just so liberating. I can't help it.

So there you have it. My name is Stephanie and I am a writer. Woo hoo!

Funky Cold Medina

Today's been rough, as was yesterday. I haven't gotten much writing done and my main character that's been a constant companion for years is fading. I'm in a funk and it's pushing her away. But I'm trying to not only bring her back but let go of everything else that is blocking her and the rest of the story from coming to fruition. But that's difficult. Because that means admitting to myself and the rest of the world that I'm a failure.

The root of my current funk boils down to me being a 26 year old who has nothing (other than my amazing and supportive husband) to show for herself. I can't hold down a job. I've got no children. I don't have a completed manuscript.  Since May 2007, I've gone through job after job and I'm now on my ninth in five years. I think my average is about 9 months per job.

There has been a common theme over the last few years that would reappear every time I would leave a job: "I'm miserable here. I don't really care about X in the grand scheme of things. This is not what I want to be doing with my life. I really want to focus on writing and pursue my passion. That is what matters to me." And things would be great for a little while. But able-bodied 20 somethings aren't supposed to stay home and write all day. They're supposed to have a "real" job that will pay the bills. So I'd find another job and try to write in my spare time and the cycle repeats.

I recently came to the conclusion that I'm going to break the cycle. My husband and I are finally getting to a place where we're financially stable. He has a secure, well-paying job that he loves. And he wants me to be able to look forward to work as much as he does. He just wants me to do what makes me happy. And I finally decided not long ago that I'm going to do that. I'm done coming up with hair-brained ideas for my next career that is finally going to be a perfect fit. I'm done working for someone else. I'm going to do what I love and I'm going to write.

Things were going well. Except for the fact that I never actually left my current profession, I just stopped going. (No, I didn't just stop going to work. Well, I did. But I recently started a new profession where I am an independent contractor. So although I have an office and a manager, they don't pay me a dime. I work for myself and I make the rules. Which was cool... until it wasn't.) And the last few weeks have been great. I haven't been happier. I've been productive. It's good stuff. But because all I did was walk away, I never actually "quit" my current gig, it's still lingering over my head and comes back every now and then. And when it does, all it reminds me of is the fact that I'm yet again, walking away from something that didn't work. And when thing after thing after thing doesn't work, you tend to start to feel like the common denominator.

(That's the spirit! Source.)

But I'm not the common denominator. Well, I am, sort of, but not in a bad way. I just need to stop making excuses and stop worrying about what everyone else thinks and just do what makes me whole. And that's writing. And that's okay. I'm blessed to have a supportive family that stands behind me and I'm going to make this happen. I just need to figure out how I'm going to finally pull the plug on that other thing...