“Many people hear voices when no-one is there. Some of them are called mad and are shut up in rooms where they stare at the walls all day. Others are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing.”
Two opportunities have presented themselves to me to be a contributing, and paid (although not much – and that doesnt matter to me in the big scheme of things) writer.
I should clarify. I am already a paid writer. Its kinda what I do professionally.
All. Day. Long.
Executive speeches, internal memoranda, newsletters, interviews, and such. Five days a week. Eight hours a day. And I get paid well to do it. And I enjoy it.
But this is different.
This is non-corporate writing. This is magazine contributions, articles, e-zines and well, places I cannot say right now.
One would think with my passion for the written word I would be jumping all over it. Paid (no matter how little) to write? More stuff to add to my portfolio?
OMG. JUMPING HIGH IN THE AIR.
‘cept I am not.
I am not jumping all over. Instead I am sort of twitching, convulsing and hopskotching to and fro.
Twitch left is a “yippy skippy” this is cool.
Twitch right is “oh, crap, I dont think I can do this..lets twitch more right…as in right away from this opportunity”.
Yes, there is a small degree of angst involved. Can I really do this? Am I a good enough writer? Would people really want to read what I have to say? Would they get anything out of it? How do I not become
“repetitive and stagnant” as one critic recently noted. What the hock will I say? Where is my inspiration? These questions are, to me, typical writer doubt.
The other challenge, deeply enmeshed in this doubt, is that both these opportunities involved writing about adoption, “birth”parenthood, and all the other topics one discusses after giving their child to strangers and living with the emotional fallout.
Do I really want to be known for my adoption related writing? Or does the topic matter? (As my freshman college professor echoes in my head something about writers writing what they know and personal voice. I need to ban that guy from the halls of my head. I am kinda tired of hearing him. Even if he was kinda cute in a nerdy sort of way)
I was a writer, a poet, wordsmith and linguist BEFORE I was a seventeen year old girl pregnant with her first child out-of-wedlock. I feel as if that part of me, that me, was also taken when my child was. It was replaced with an adoption trauma writer.
There is more to me, isn’t there? More to my writing?
I need to answer these two opportunities and I feel, well, frozen and a bit lost.
A bit blocked.