The house is pretty much clean.
The lamp timer is set.
The neighbors have the house keys.
I *think* I’ve printed/downloaded/emailed everything that needs to be printed/downloaded/emailed.
The fridge is emptied of all things that could grow furry legs and push open the fridge on their own. (Though something will still smell to high heaven when we get back, as always).
So, as I sit here waiting for my beige, watery porridge to cool down, I leave you with a pre-flight blog:
Q: When does the time come, if ever, that you stop feeling as though you’re blagging your way through, and you realize that you are, in fact, doing it?
*Note for my American readers, from Urban dictionary.com:
convince another person that all the stuff you just made up is in fact true and worthy.
caught in a tight spot, Harry blagged his way through the conversation and somehow got the job.
When do you feel like you can say, “I’m a writer” or “I’m an editor” without feeling like if that person digs, they’ll find you’re totally not “a writer” or an “editor.” That you might write, or you might edit, but you’re not actually one of those who actually do.
When do you feel like you’re authentically living as a creative person?
A. While showering, which is where I often have my most profound thoughts (okay, yeah, profound might be stretching it), I decided that for me, it’s a combination of two things:
1. I’ve written and edited something I’ve been paid for. Somehow, getting paid for it makes it official. And it puts my name in books and magazines and such, and somehow that makes it official too. (Maybe that should be another bullet point, but I’m combining for brevity. See? Editor.)
2. I believe it. I believe, whole heartedly, that it’s what I do. Because it’s what I love. That silly other stuff just pays a bill or two. But writing and editing is my passion, and its a passion I focus enormous amounts of time and attention on.
This means that on Thursday, when I’m sitting on that panel of professional writers, who have written books, (and several of them at that), reading my little story, I can be confident that I have a right to be there too. I hope they won’t be laughing behind their hands, wondering what the editor is doing reading. But I don’t think they will. Because they all started somewhere too.
How about you? When you tell people, “I’m a …” do you feel authentic doing it? Or do you feel like you should be saying something else? Sometimes we say we’re ‘an accountant’ when what we’re dying to say is, “I’m a stunt pilot for the Hollywood Small Person Association.”
Song: Rock the Cradle of Love by Billy Idol
Book: The Heroides by Ovid