I am a writer. Do you know how I know? Because if you took away everything I owned but my computer and Internet service (and husband and son), I could still be happy. My back can ache, my feet can swell, my throat can feel constricted and my nasal passages clogged, but if my hands retain their agility, I would still keep merrily typing away until carpal tunnel set in.
Sometimes I awake in the middle of the night in a fever because I have a great idea for an article, book, ad campaign or press release. On occasion my husband has awakened to find an empty spot beside him with an indentation attesting that someone did sleep there, he wasn't hallucinating. When we were newly married, he would sneak out to find out what was bothering me. Had he said something inadvertently harsh that still resonated several hours later? Was I feeling all right? Now he knows. That's just me, plying my craft.
So considering that writing is my vocation as well as avocation, would I allow someone else to deter me from pursuing my creative freedom? No. But would I suffer through several detours along the path? Absolutely! Because I'm a sensitive person, as are most writers, and criticism (oral and written) hurts like the Dickens. You know the pen (and tongue) is mightier than the sword. Now, I thank G-D that I have never been on the end of a sword, but I have been on the end of a “poison pen” letter and a figurative tongue thrust in my direction. And let me tell you, I bear some scars. But do you know what I say to all those detractors? Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah. Because I am still writing and getting published. I have been through the tunnel and emerged into the light tougher, stronger, more certain of my direction and more creative for having suffered. Somehow suffering fuels creativity, although I don't recommend you try it as a first choice.
Now let me tell you about an experience I had that propelled me towards a career as a Freelancer. I had taken a job as a publicist - one of my specialties is PR - in Manhattan at a boutique firm that was at its inception. My interview was conducted at the employer's home and I found, to my chagrin, that this was to be the employment site as well. 'All right,' I thought, "I can handle this." Then I saw the cat. Not a little, cute, cuddly, cat, but a long and lean, inquisitive cat who would wrap itself around you and peer into your bags and under your sweater. Now, I cannot say that I am a cat lover. Yes, I know I'm probably in the minority, but cats creep me out. And this one was definitely creepy. Nevertheless, I hid my revulsion and maintained my composure throughout the interview, even as the cat attempted to unravel the lunch I had brought with me (to be eaten in Central Park.)
The environment did seem just a little weird. The boss - Judy - interviewed me in her bare feet and one of the employees - Elizabeth - was wearing household slippers, but I figured "what the heck.” I mean, it was a home office.
We made up to meet in two weeks, because I still had to finish off at my last job, and I looked forward to beginning anew and honing my skills in a fresh environment.
Monday morning I arrived, at 9:00 sharp, my employer"s husband awakened by my ringing the doorbell and he opened the door grudgingly in his robe and slippers. It seems Judy was out and no one else showed up until 10:00 sharp, which actually turned into 10:30 sharp. Then I was assailed by the ubiquitous cat that had to sneak a peek into my lunch bag. I found a computer and, without any project in mind, decided to open it and start writing something; however, the cat impeded my progress. He entwined herself around my legs, then climbed on my lap and remained ensconced for minutes that felt like hours. Then he clambered down and played with all the computer wires, making me scared and hopeful simultaneously that he would electrocute himself.
Guess what? Judy had purchased a kitten at the pound the day before. Even I had to admit that she was adorable, but she snagged my pantyhose and kept growling at me. Great start to a great day.
Finally my boss walked in abrupt, abrasive, barely a hello, and sauntered into her office. I wondered, "do I follow, do I remain where I am and wait for work?" I was unsure, but I went into her office where I was privy to a phone conversation conducted, on her end, at the top of her lungs. I waited for the screaming to abate. It didn't, so I left. Finally, the volume decreased and the boss left her office. I was panting for something to do at this time, but she continued from her office out the front door. At 10:00 another PR professional came into the apartment. She was a tiny Asian American woman with a grimace on her face and I was worried that she was going to wrestle me for the position. I had figured out by her disinclination towards conversational niceties that we were both up for the same position and on trial.
