Tag: Freelancing

Creative Inspiration

How My 23-Year-Old Self Spoke to Me — New York in the Fifties

Tonight, I’m listening to Monk’s Dream by, who else, Thelonious Monk.  The track on right now is Body and Soul.  When it comes to music, I often think that I’m stuck in the past.  I mean, if I was living in the 50s and 60s, would I have even known who Monk was?  Would I have appreciated him?  Would I have seen him on television?  And I find myself wondering,  who is Thelonious Monk today? You know, I’m scared that he might just be some DJ or electronic guy, and I have been missing the boat.

But that’s not what I wanted to write about tonight.  What I want to write about tonight is a message I received from the past.  Yes, the past.

In graduate school, I took this class called New York in the Fifties, taught by Dan Wakefield.  In that class, we read Salinger, Baldwin, Miles Davis’ autobiography, Kerouac, as well as others.  For the final project, we had to write an essay on a book we were reading and how it related to the class.  Well, being the smart ass that I am, which I’m some what proud of — my grandfather, Poppy, would probably be pissed.  He always told me not to be a smart ass — I wrote a personal essay on how Kerouac’s On the Road changed me.

Well, it was the first time I really wrote about my mother’s mental illness.  It was the first time that I confronted those memories on paper in a way that wasn’t just journal entries.  And well, rereading the piece inspired me.  I’m about to share a piece of that writing with you.

But first, a bit of context: Honestly, yesterday I was having a tough day.  Freelancing is tough.  You don’t get paid much right away, and it’s difficult to come to terms with having no security.  So, I had this idea to pitch a piece on Kerouac.  And I pulled out the essay from Wakefield’s class.  And it brought tears to my eyes.  Not because I thought it was good writing, but because I heard a voice, my voice, speaking to me, reminding me, of the principles and thoughts I had when I was younger.  That I should continue to have today.

Here is that piece of writing:

“I see many similarities between the 50s and now, and it is the reawakening of a great spirit.  The American spirit.  The spirit Kerouac saw during his travels.  I see this spirit in Obama…I see this spirit in my friends who are trying, desperately,  to create art in the face of a recession.  I see this spirit in my little brother, waiting to graduate high school so he can take on his road.  I see this spirit in myself.  This spirit is madness.

“I’m only 23, but I’ve driven all over the country, taken trains across Europe, and I read and listen and search all forms of art and thoughts for a truth.  Kerouac has changed my life and millions of other people by showing us that we’re all mad in a certain sense.  He showed us that there is a way to react against the delusions of American values by pursuing the true American Dream — the promise of adventure and discovery and equality.  I know this is all highfalutin ideas, and I’m not grounded, really, but I’m finding a great relief in this writing process.  I’m finding a great freedom in my mind.  I’m not scared anymore…But here are my thoughts on Kerouac and the 50s and what I’ve learned from your class.  My whole life I’ve wanted to be special.  I’ve decided on writing.  I’m often scared that the way I see the world is so different and my values are not shared.  I often fear going forward with my writing career.  But if many of the standards of America are delusions, than so is my fear of failure within that system.  I’m mad.  I know it.  I’m going to find my own way to express myself one day.  One that fits.”

Well, it was good to hear my voice.  And for a moment, I couldn’t be happier.  Because whatever it is that I’m after, I’m still trying to find it.

Creative Inspiration

The Monkey Mind — Reminding Myself About Patience & Anxiety

Today was a strange day for freelancing.  I don’t know how to exactly describe it, but I was actually busy, and I didn’t have time to work on my memoir.  I hate when I can’t work on my book.  It’s frustrating.  It feels like I cheated myself.   Well, in regards to the book, I was told to read “Monkey Mind” by Daniel Smith.  It’s another memoir, and it is in the vein of Augusten Burroughs.   The most obvious reason being that the memoirs are set in Massachusetts, and they both deal with issues of mental illness — specifically anxiety in Monkey Mind.

It’s funny, because Smith points out that anxiety is something that we all deal, but everyone deals with in one way or the other.  Anxiety is almost as individual as our fingerprints.  For example, Smith’s anxiety, so far, seems to be about his life slipping out of control, one event at a time.  But it’s obviously much more deeply rooted.  And I look forward to the rest of the book.  He has a hard time walking down the freedom trail in Boston.

But anxiety, well, it’s something I deal with too.  Right now the biggest anxiety I’m dealing with is my writing career.  Will someone like my writing?  Will an editor accept my pitch?  Once they accept my pitch, will they hate my writing?  Will I receive the check before rent is due?  These questions can barrel out of control.  I can fly down a cliff and find myself churning and churning in a widening gyre of self-deprecation and insecurity.

That’s the thing though.  In order to really make freelancing work, a life as a writer, I have to continue to learn to manage this anxiety.  Not having the security of a full-time job is sort of freaky.  At any moment, you can be tossed aside like yesterday’s trash — or maybe a more relevant metaphor is recycling, except I wouldn’t be reused.  So, yeah, trash is still the best.  But part of it is learning, as always, to accept things are out of my control.  So how in the world do I handle that?

Well, I just got back from a run.  I’ve blogged about this before.  But I also have Heron and my dog, Hendrix.  They’re remarkable.  Then there is Long Beach.  Then there is Los Angeles County.  Then there is the entire state of California and the Western United States and the entire country and the small little blue orb floating through an infinite and beautiful galaxy.  And I can spend my nights standing on the cliffs in Belmont Shore, staring at the port, the Queen Mary, the tiny, sliver of a moon resting just about the ancient ship’s smoke stacks.  The orange glow in the background.  The silver metallic ocean.  The sky.  I am temporary, unfortunately, but so are my problems.

So back to Daniel Smith.  The whole book is about dealing with anxiety, and one thing I’m sure of, it’s a life-long practice.  Maybe this post is just about reminding myself about patience.

Should have some new pieces coming out this week.  I’m looking forward to sharing them with you.

Creative Inspiration, Personal Stories, Writing

The Beginning of a Journey

So, last week, I left my job.  I was working at a rehab center for drug and alcohol addicts and teaching creative writing.  Wow, how do I even begin to tell you about that amazing experience?  The kids changed my life.  So did the stories I heard from people in recovery.  (More on this as the blog develops.)

But there is something else out there for me.  I wanted, and have always wanted, to be a writer.  Below is a picture of my new writing desk.  A friend was clearing out her apartment, and she gave me the desk for $10.  The old desk was a tiny IKEA mess.

All along the walls of my room are post-it notes with ideas for stories.  Some of them will be unsuccessful; others, I believe, will be published stories, poems, and other projects.  And it’s only the beginning.  So let me tell you a bit about what I learned over the last year that has prepared for this journey.

When I was working at the rehab center, I was commuting from Long Beach to Woodland Hills.  Now, if you know nothing about  Southern California, let me put this into context.  Five days a week, I drove 44 miles in the worst traffic in the country, which sometimes would take me two hours one way.  That’s like driving from the East Coast of Florida to Tampa.  Basically, I found myself staring into brake-light machinery that devoured my spirit.  And while I was stuck in that traffic, I was checking my phone to see if I received an e-mail — oh that glorious electronic ticket — that my novel was finally accepted for representation by a literary agent. Continue reading “The Beginning of a Journey” →