One Year Later: Getting my First Full Time Job

When I first began writing this blog post, I felt how I always feel when thinking about full-time jobs in the "real" and "adult" world. I had prepared for that moment by doing two internships while I was in school, one during the summer at a historical society and the other in my last fall semester at a nonprofit organization. 

Unfortunately, I found both did not suit my needs and, though they included writing and gaining experience, I was still quite bored. This trend was not the case for my job in the writing center, which grew busier as the semester continued, or at the grocery store where I was at a cashier. It must just be the internships, I thought. 

I have been sufficiently bored at my job since attaining full-time status at this time last year. The same trend always exists. I am excited to be there, looking forward to it; I am busy, learning the ropes; I ask for more things to do, in order to impress; and then not a lot of things come up that I need to do. Why? Is it me? Do I finish my tasks too quickly? I know when they are finished I have put all the hard work I can into them, so its not like I hurry and do a half-ass job. What, then? Why is this happening? 

This contributed to my rocky transition period into my full-time job. It was incredibly difficult for me to sit inputting information into a spreadsheet all day for eight hours. Not only did it make me feel useless, but it also started to effect my writing habits. After doing this work all day--even if on my breaks I took walks, wrote, or read books--I found, upon returning home, that I did nothing. I watched TV. (Normally, I do not watch a lot of TV. When I get an apartment it will not be one of the things I purchase. Of course, I want my DVDs and Netflix, but those are quite different than idly sitting on the couch because you were drawn into a program you chose at random.) It was so unproductive and, just as it happens when I do not write for a few days, I was unhappy. 

As I grew up, my goal in my mind stayed the same: to never ever do a job for the money. That was not living. The only way, I knew, I could be happy is by doing something I love, and that happens to be writing. Except this will not pay off my student debt or help me live--not yet. In order to start moving forward instead of behind is to have a job where I just make money. It's how we all start off, right? Only, if I was busy at all of my jobs, I might not despise them so much. I know I only liked working as a cashier because of the constant flow of tasks that kept me from looking at the clock. At any job, this would be the same case. 

Everything has been slowing down for my work. Thoughts stray into my mind of unhappiness, but I keep my projects going. The only positive thing is that at this job, I still want to write at the end of the day. I crave it. 

And then, yesterday, something arrived on my desk that reminded me of an important, forgotten goal from last year. 

It was a 401K plan I could sign up for, and information on health insurance. I am still on my parents, except having a backup, having my own, means huge relief. Since I have colitis, being without health insurance is just unimaginable. My medication alone--one of them--would empty my savings. There it was--my one reason for getting a job that was not money. To have a backup. To be safe and healthy. 

So, what does this mean for being happy? What does this mean about how busy I am at work? I am not quite sure yet; however, I am glad I completed last year's goal. 

UPDATE: Not long after I wrote this post, I was approached by my boss, who has been trying to find someone to fill a bookkeeping job, and he asked if I wanted to apply. When I replied I did, we looked up where I could do accounting classes to understand it better, and I am now in my fourth lesson! Things are looking up, and I am ever so slowly filling my day with busy, productive, activities. AND I am still writing. I'm getting closer! 

Of Two Things I'm Certain

Being in your twenties is possibly the most confusing time of my life. Not only have I just left my past self behind, but I have yet to discover who my future self will be. Trapped in the middle like this is both frightening and amazing, for its almost as though you're caught in the middle of an adventure. I can tell my writing reflects this. In my revision, my main characters struggle for belonging and identity. In my WIP, my main character struggles to remember himself (he has lost his memory) and discover his identity by combining past memories with ones he makes in the present. I know that writing these will help me find myself, too. 

And that's how I plan to get through it all, by writing. 

When I left school, leaving the image of "Jess always doing her homework" behind, I was scared. What if I was only good at school--at taking tests, writing essays, answering short-answer questions? All the homework would end. After that, what would I do with all my free time? How would I handle getting a full-time job? These are just the start of all the questions. For example, we could follow with the struggle to (A) make money, (B) maintain an interest in my job, (C) the desire to move to an apartment, (D) the desire to get a new car, (E) unable to do any of these things because I'm paying off loans... I'm sure your situation was or is similar to mine. 

Through all these changes in beliefs, in friends, in who I want to become, I have two things I am sure of. 

1. I am not on the path to becoming a "What Not To Wear" horror story. I used to watch this show all the time during the summer because it was on every day at noon, so I turned it on when eating lunch and quickly became pulled into the episode, especially if there was a marathon going on. My mother always dresses really nice, and with her as my guide, I have been doing the same. (Although, I type this with a frumpy sweatshirt on. Hey, it's cold!) Regularly purging my closet, something I am in need of doing soon, has kept me on top of things, despite how difficult it may be with my colitis. Every time I get a flare my jeans could fit differently, so buying the correct size is of optimum importance. As I dress I hear Mom's voice in my ear: "What, no earrings? How about a necklace?" 

2. I will always be writing. This grounds me more than anything. I love it. It helps me talk myself through my problems, whether I am writing in my journal or a blog post or even a novel, as mentioned above it seems as if I am using that outlet--that of my character's identities--to discover my own. I have been writing stories since I was five years old. My ideas are plentiful. If I do not write I will explode. Despite all the confusion I may have during the day, it vanishes as soon as I begin. 

It is quite relieving to have two things to ground me, leaving me with just enough courage to explore the unknown. 

The Journey to Soy Free

In January, there was a period in my area where everyone was falling sick with the stomach bug. Of course, this did not mean well for me, since my colitis was already feeling quite rough. I'd been trying to convince myself that everything was fine, that I did not need to call my doctor and have him put me on stronger meds. Now there was no denying. It was time to try different methods. 

First, I decided to take different supplements, including vitamins C and D, Tumeric, and Iron. All of them helped.

They helped me stay afloat, somehow, but one weekend when we had ordered Chinese for lunch, I had a strong reaction to it. Although, the rest of the day, I felt fine. Beautiful. I had no issues. 

Mom and I looked at each other, we were on our way to go shopping, and knew what this meant--soy. For a long time, my uncle (her brother) was really allergic. I recalled how in school I tried soy milk, since I cannot have dairy, and was incredibly nauseous the entire day. It was worth a try, especially since I did not want to take stronger medication. Being only 22, this could cause me a lot of issues down the road. Throughout that afternoon, we realized the chips I ate every day had soy, the pretzels and/or crackers, the soup...the list goes on. 

Its been difficult to find things without soy that I can eat. Whats good is that it means I'll have more organic food, but that also means it could involve more hard-to-digest grains (bad bad bad!). A while passed before I was able to eliminate the tricky "Processed in a facility that uses soy" products from my diet. Even if it meant eating the same thing for lunch every day, I did not care. It helped me feel better. 

And it HAS. Ever since making those small, yet difficult, changes, I feel so much better. Here and there I have bad days, but everyone does. At least this is giving me a chance to heal and recover from the stomach bug I had more than a month ago. Coming up soon I have an appointment to get allergy testing done, so I'm looking forward to seeing those results. For now, I'll continue progressing with this diet change.

If you have any soy-free products you'd like to share, delicious recipes, or tips, I would love to hear them!

Revising Goals

This week I reevaluated and thought out my goals for the revision I'm working on.

When I first began in the fall, I made my goal to finish the revision before June. One of my favorite beta readers is finished with school then, so she'll be able to dive in without being worried about homework. Another possible beta works at a school, so he can read while there are no kids in the building. However, I soon realized, when I finished Part 1 of the revision in December, which is the longest part, that this would change.

 

It seemed like a miracle; I would be able to finish revising sooner.

So my new goal became May 1 to have it completed. It still gave my betas the time frame they need, and it also gave me additional time to read my story and revise it before handing it over. I was to complete Part 2 before March 1. 

March 1 has passed, and I am well into Part 3, into the new parts of the climax. Its scary, and rather exciting, so my goal is to be revised again, but in every good way possible. I'm so excited to reread this and give it to my betas, and even more eager to work on my next series I have plotted out and planned already. 

My new goal? Finish the revision by April 1. Once I am done, I will print it out and stick it in a binder. I also want to shrink the pages down and get a look at it that way, just to try an interesting new form of revision (a blog post will follow on this). Once all my paperwork is completed, I will set my novel aside and--with enormous difficulty--ignore its existence. 

In between April and May, I have various other projects to work on. One is a recipe book for my mother, another a purge of various paperwork in my room, another a T-Shirt quilt. Will this distract me from my writing? Or will I need to actually work on real writing to help myself forget it? We will have to see! How did you wait out your month? 

At the start of May, I will begin revising and reading, including reading it aloud to find errors and reading it to myself to find errors. 

Sometime in June--which is a rough estimate--I will print and hand the revised copy out to betas. I am so excited for someone to read this and even more thrilled that the plot has ended up the way it has. It's come so far, and I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Setting goals is so important for me and one of the few ways I manage to get things done, that and the prospect of crossing something off of my to-do list. I plan to write down this list of goals and hang it in my room so whenever I pass it I am reminded to keep working, to never give up, and to pursue my dreams, no matter what the consequences. 

Update: Conquering Revision

It can be difficult to take a different approach to a story that's been worked on for ten to twelve years. In fact, I believe that's what my problem has been in past revisions: I kept too close to the original, so close that my writing style from way back when leaks into my new draft. Over the years, plot has shifted, yet old ideas still persist with a stubborn attitude. In September, I started my last plot revision of the project and became determined to rewrite it all. Not only was this my revision technique now, but it will also become, possibly, the way I revise in the future. No pressure?

One of the issues I have when I write is that I come up with a great idea for a scene, write it down, and then forget about it. If the paper is not in front of me, I write an entirely new version of the scene. Later, upon finding the original idea, I battle myself. Idea A, or Idea B? Usually I go with the latter, for the simple reason that the new idea is more interesting than the old one. This is all good and fine for first drafts. What about revisions? Before starting, I knew that would be my main problem. If I continued flying past the old plot notes, this draft would become a first draft and we would be at square one.

Not an option!

Instead of messy papers everywhere on my desk, I made a master notes list, split into at least six sections. The first was history of my land that I re-built in so many ways, which influenced the present day of the story. Next came the changes to the culture of the people. This was followed by the parts my story is actually split into. I began making mini-outlines (at least, this is how Part 1's section goes), but they evolved into adding the main differences to each section, which included "In-Between" (there is a space of about two years between Part 1 and Part 2), Part 2, and Part 3. If I consulted this packet of notes, I would not forget a lot of it. 

It was a nice thought, anyway. I did check on that packet; although, as time went on I found my notes were not here. In fact, they were paper clipped together and stuck in the binder of the copy of my book I was checking. If I was finished with a particular note, it did not linger--I put it in a folder on my desk of old notes from that story.

The other problem--a much larger one--was how to revise the plot and my writing style without letting those pesky phrases from younger me slipping in. Before, I simply copied the page, typing it all up over again in order to find any errors. 

No!

This time around, I realized what I should do is reread the scene I am about to write, and close the binder. No more peeking. Ideas that I enjoyed would stay fresh in my memory, while at the same time allowing my writing to improve. If a scene did not hold a great change to the plot, I copied it, but this was rarely done. My routine became to reread the old scene, reread the writing I had written the day before, and then start writing the new scene. Anything forgotten was not important anymore. 

Learning to revise in the way that fits me best is an ongoing effort, as it is for us all. How do you revise? I'd love to hear! 

Returning to and Discovering Myself

November of 2014 began with the most unexpected thing--my break up with the first person I'd ever been in a relationship with.

Looking back, I was blind, forgetting everything I wanted, and this break up did nothing but bring me good. 

At the time, my entire world shattered. I consulted close, comforting friends, and pulled myself away from him. It was a long and difficult process. 

Since I was enveloped in it at the time, I really had no idea what I was doing. I had no idea until November 2015, when posts from that time showed up on my Timehop. 

I would like to call these posts "A Return to Myself." Whoever I lost while I was in that relationship I seemed to find again through these strange, little acts of rebellion. On my own again, I was left with one question: Who was I? So, I set about answering it.

Truly a rebellion. It was both exciting and worthy of nausea.

One of my favorite outfits at that time were my black leggings, my black Within Temptation t-shirt, and bright, orange shoes. I also wore, at some point at my internship, bright orange tights with a black and white dress. I was sad, yes, but not depressed because being single again meant I could do anything--move away even, if I desired it. 

More rebellions surfaced as I scrolled through my Timehop. This one was particularly notable: 

One of my friends was in the play, and it was REALLY good!

What inspired this? Part of me believes that I just wanted to get out of my bedroom at school, go see new things. In the crowd of a theatre, I would not be alone. Except the way this is written shows it might be a little more than that. It was my senior semester of college--time to write my seminar paper--and instead of being productive, I trudged through the cold to see a play. New clothes, new routine, wonder what came next?

Yup. 

For my entire college career I battled the huge and heavy, broken mouse, cover breaking apart computer, and it seemed now was the time to do some researching. Not only that, but it was also time to do something I had always wanted:

I've always loved red/ginger hair.

As I read through these, I wondered if I suppressed all this while I was in a relationship. Yet, in the process of being in the relationship, I grew as a person. Afterwards, it became time to grow again.

This journey was not an easy one, and I am happy to say that I have discovered myself since then. I learned what I believe in, who I am, and what I want my life to be like when I move out of my parent's house. The small rebellion of November 2014 will have a special place in my heart, for both the choices I made and these heartwarming Tweets that showcase my thought process at the time. 

Quoth the Raven, "Meow?"

Meet Raven. We got her for free over the summer.
Head and tail of a Siamese, black coat with hidden stripes, and
 brown eyes.

She's very curious and nosy.

She loves to help me read,

and enjoys watching TV; particularly,
Scooby-Doo.

Her fashionable carrier, decorated by yours truly!

She's very modern, loving to watch the keyboard and
mouse, and uses touch screen devices.

Here she is in a deep, deep sleep.

She used to fit under the bathroom vanity, but those
days are long gone. 

Letting Go of a First Love

From underneath my bookshelf, I pull a Harry Potter Deluxe Journal, complete with built-in light and an illustration of Harry on the cover, riding his broom. I remember receiving it, probably from a Scholastic book fair, eager to begin writing in it. This is my first journal, from 2004, when I was in fifth grade. Settling down on my bed, I start to read--noting that most of it has to do with Harry Potter, making my life more Harry Potter, and becoming increasingly more obsessed with Harry Potter as the year progresses in my journal. Well, nothing's changed there. 

Turning one page, I read to the end and stop. Up until this point, I make references to story ideas and what short story I am working on at the moment. Here is what I found, the reference to the next story I was working on, just a blip, but it's there, nonetheless.

Currently, this is the revision I am working on,
what once was just the "Silver Necklace Legend."

Laying the journal down on the bed, I cover my mouth with my hands in amazement. Eleven Years. Of course, it hasn't been a constant eleven years. Between then and now, not only have I worked on other stories, but I also have worked on school papers and taken breaks from writing. Yet throughout those years, this story has transformed.

Basically me with this story. 

And this revision I started a little more than a week ago will be my last. Once I write it and complete editing afterwards, that's it.

I believe I'm having a hard time letting go of this story since it is so ingrained in my mind. Some of the characters are even completely original; meaning, their character arc may have matured, but their name, place within the story, and entrance into the story have not. Writing for them is like writing about myself; they are close friends. How can I let go of something that intimate?

The answer? Because I have to.

In middle school, I moved "The Silver Necklace," which since then has changed titles many times, onto my laptop, a Dell 2000 whose only purpose was to serve my writing needs. I completed 80 pages of pure, inventive creativity, or twelve chapters. And then, one afternoon after reorganizing folders in My Documents, I'd opened my story only to discover I'd deleted it by accident. I had clicked on the shortcut to the document, and deleted the actual document--emptying the recycle bin in a burst of organizational inspiration.

All of it was gone. I was in eighth grade.

I wrote about this event in my journal at the time:

Although at the start it was still a tragedy, it became a blessing as I worked to rebuild. In a notebook, I timelined everything I could remember (I still have it filed away), and came up with an ending to the first installment of "The Silver Necklace." I know that because I deleted that 80 page copy, I was granted the gift of looking at it critically.

Drafts later, a short break where I thought I was "finished with that story for good," and here I am, at the end of it all. Can it already be the end? I'm not sure I'm ready to say goodbye to all of my favorite characters, one of which will probably end up being THE ultimate favorite, simply because he is the oldest character in my story. It'll be a challenge, but I know this is a challenge I have to complete. Finishing a story, adding "The End," and starting fresh--without ideas for "The Silver Necklace" turning over in my mind in the background--is the first step. The second is letting go.

I've still got plenty of time before the final goodbye. For now, I will enjoy every minute I'm in my character's heads.

Diary of a Picky Eater: Week 1

The news my colitis (the simplest definition? an irritation of the colon) was getting worse did not sit well with me. What made matters worse was that my doctor was prescribing me heavy-duty meds to make everything better.

That is, if one thing didn’t work, he would try the other.

This means I only have a limited time until the inevitable.

And it got me thinking. Since the symptoms of colitis (most common one is diarrhea, for me) can be prevented through my food choices, what foods am I eating that are actually doing me harm? Most of my diet is compromised of red meat and carbs. Typically, I avoid fruits and veggies of all kinds since *shudder* they taste icky.

Except, not only has it been a long time since I tried those foods, but the foods I eat a lot of typically aren’t good for those with colitis. In fact, in some people, red meat is known to cause flare ups of symptoms.

I knew it was time to try more foods and stick to them. This is my “Diary of a Picky Eater,” and I will be blogging what foods I try as I go through the weeks since I do not enjoy any foods of the kind that are good for me to eat.

Oh boy, this is going to be…fun?

1. That Awful Stuffed Mushroom. It was an endeavor I should have never attempted, but when my mom offered me a mushroom stuffed with crab, I swallowed hard and held it aloft in the air, crying, “For my colon!” and bit into the gooey, horrible, bad tasting mess. (I spit it out. I won’t be trying mushrooms again soon.)
2. Chicken Pot Pie Failure. Because Chicken Pot Pies usually feature unslightly foods like carrots or—cover your eyes, kids!—peas, I was not too eager to try this particular pie. Whenever we eat it at home, I usually make something for myself so I can avoid any peas. Yet this time, I was ready. Mom sliced the pie open…and….it was nothing but chicken and some sort of cream. There was one carrot in the entire pie. We’d gotten it from the frozen section. Next week I’m requesting we make our own. 
3. Chicken Noodle Soup with Spinach, Carrots, Celery, and Onions. First of all, YUM! I love chicken noodle soup normally, but the addition of the celery, spinach, and onions was a big deal. I made sure to chop the spinach up into smaller pieces, so it wouldn’t be floating around like little green monsters. (“You just throw it in,” my mom said as I did this, but I ignored her.) And, success! Instead of leaving a pile of food left over in my bowl, I cleaned off the entire thing. Spinach and all!
4. Butternut Squash Ravioli with Tomato Sauce. Deep breath! On this day, I had no meat whatsoever for supper. It was a good thing my mom was sitting down because she witnessed me eat an entire plate of butternut squash ravioli! The tomato sauce covered up what might have been some awful tastes (although I tasted nothing but deliciousness), and my mom later bragged to relatives about how I ate this dish. I’m hoping to try it with different sauce next time.
5. Almond Milk, Strawberry/Banana Smoothie. Not much to say here, except why didn’t I try this sooner?!

A brave week, and all better for both my entire body and my colitis. At this point, though, I’m just hoping I can keep it up! 

Back to the Blog--and a Little Wiser, Too

The roller coaster hit me hard, and somehow I’ve managed to emerge on the other side happy, full of adrenaline, and somewhat whole.

I previously wrote how my job was making me unhappy. Not wanting to write is my worst nightmare. This job—sitting at a computer for hours typing in the same information—did just that. Even as I continued working there, I knew I had to leave. Soon. 

What else happened? In mid-August, my colitis flared up for the first time since I’d been diagnosed in July 2012. I can say now that it was a learning experience because I know what to expect next time it hits. The most difficult thing was that I could justify myself going to work. It wasn’t like my boss was in the dark about the subject, her daughter has colitis, but it’s who I am. When I was little and too sick to go to school, my mom would have to hold me back from running for the bus. I can honestly say, in that regard, nothing has changed.

So, when my job at the company ended, it was a huge relief. What I needed was rest and lots of it on my time away from working. I napped every day with Raven, my four month old kitten, and by the end of the week interviewed at another company, and landed the job. I would start Monday.

My new job is a breath of fresh air. It’s a small company with maybe seven people at most working there every day, compared to the large one I was at before. We talk, we laugh, we get work done, we say bless you when someone sneezes (which no one did at my other job, weird), we get to know each other. Most importantly, I do different things. I answer and make phone calls, I work with filing, I organize, and…GAH! Doing multiple things—scratch that, LEARNING multiple things at a job, about a local company, is a privilege. All of this I can take with me onto the next job, and the next, and the next.

Now, I’ve been wondering why my perceptions of jobs has changed. This job by no means is my dream job, but so far I’m not dreading going there (it’s only been a week, though, so we’ll have to see when that changes!). I think I’ve discovered that in order to find time to write, I have to force time to write, even if it’s in small patches. I’ve discovered that writing is my priority, but while I’m writing I can work, too, and gain more skills along the way.

Writing is what makes me happy, and adding it to my day is by no means a burden. I’m sure you can understand. It feels good to finally have answers to some questions bouncing around in my mind. But I’m still only 22, so there’s bound to be more—and soon!  

After School

 It is often portrayed in movies, or even through the words of adults (teachers, parents, friends, family) that being in high school and college will help better define you as a person, or who you’re going to be. Now this may be true for some, and I definitely discovered some things about myself during those 8 years, but this is most certainly not the truth for everyone.

High school was not too bad for me. I found my group of friends (all obsessed with Harry Potter, reading, drama club, or all of the above). I danced 15-20 hours a week, as well as joined the school plays to dance. I received good grades. My plan, all through those years as well as through middle school, was to go to college for creative writing. Honestly, there is nothing else that I want to do. If I am to go devote my time to something, I don’t want to be doing it just to make money or because it’s a popular profession. I wrote as often as I could, on short stories (that were failures) and a portal fantasy story, the one that I am revising today.

That’s who I was: dancer, friend, writer, good student.

In college, that changed. I was still a good student, and I did join ballroom dance, but after my sophomore year, I quit. I got a job in the Writing Center at school, peer tutoring. I devoted most of my time to my grades and my writing, when I was out of school. Most of the time, I pondered this: who was I now? What was my identity? Writer, reader, good student, girlfriend, and someone who happens to have colitis. Different, yes, but school was still there to ground me.

I just graduated college in December, and walked in May. School has been thrown out of the mix, tossed into the past until I decide (IF I decide) to go back to school and get my Masters. Once again, people are pressuring me to go into something that would make a lot of money. I can write on the side, they say, and this is true. I would love to go back to school, but to dive back in after I just left would mean that I still would have school to ground me.

I don’t want that.

I want to figure out who I am without school. I want to roll in the possibilities, to find new hobbies, to meet new people—except oh wait I’m an introvert. I have colitis, I write, I read, and I am a feminist. What else? What am I missing? What do I believe in? Discovering who I am without school—as well as pushing the fear that I will only be good at school and nothing else—is difficult. It wouldn't be worthwhile, though, if it wasn't. 

Quite Simply, I Fell in Love

On top, the VHS I got when I was 9.
All the way to the right, the Sorcerer's Stone book
that I destroyed in my love. 

The sight of the move trailer on the television sparked my interest. Wide-eyed, I told my mom later that movie, and, of course, she repeated her mantra: “You have to read the book, first.” It was okay, though, because she had a copy of it in the classroom she worked in at the local school.

that I wanted to see

She handed me the copy, and I ran my fingers over the strange, golden letters of the title. I looked at the cover that showed a boy flying: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. I was eight years old, and by the time I was done reading it, the book cover was so destroyed with the pleasure of reading that my mom told me I could keep it and she’d buy another one for the classroom.

There are many stories in my life connected with the Harry Potter series. At my ninth birthday party, for example, as I blew out the candles I wished for the Sorcerer’s Stone VHS. Guess what was in the first present I opened from my grandparents? When I was ten, I received a magazine with the new film’s details on the inside spread. Those pages were so destroyed that I ended up tearing them from the magazine, and I still have them in a binder. I remember waiting in line for Prisoner of Azkaban that stretched across the parking lot, and some man stepped out of line at the front and shouted, “DUDE HARRY POTTER IS SOLD OUT!” Or receiving my copy of Half Blood Prince at a midnight party after taking an eerie, nighttime walk, and on the way home I took my book light out to read in the car. (“Don’t stay up all night reading!” Mom told me.)

I am so grateful for this series, and I wouldn’t know where I would be without it. It might not have begun my journey into reading and writing, but it definitely enhanced it. Not only that, but it also enhanced my life. I read the first book when I was eight years old and saw the final movie at age eighteen. Ten Years.

Pretty much.

In high school, that’s what drew us together. I met a friend in gym class over the love of Harry Potter, one girl I befriended in Spanish class over our love of writing and the series, another I met freshmen year in science—I am still friends with them today. We talked about the upcoming films, planned our Deathly Hallows Part 2 midnight showing, laughed about the Starkid musicals…

I suppose I came here to say that when I started reading that first Harry Potter book in 2001, I didn’t expect to fall in love. And I wouldn’t have dreamed that fourteen years later, I would still be just as obsessed and in love (probably a teensy bit more obsessed).

I JUST LOVE HARRY POTTER OKAY. *cuddles with books and films and tshirts and posters and ties and wands and magazine articles and…*

The Greatest Expectation

A few days ago, someone my brother and I knew, a mom of kids we went to school with, started working with him in a bakery. And she asked after me. Not after what I was doing with my career, or what I was doing with school, however. She asked if I was married or not.

My brother passed it off as silly, laughing as he closed the door to my bedroom, where I had been sitting with a whiteboard, plotting my fantasy work in progress. The marker hung in my hand. So strange to hear after this woman since I hadn’t seen her daughter since 8^th grade. So strange that her daughters are married already. So strange that she would assume I was married…and not bother asking anything else about me at all.*

Strange? The more I thought about it, not so much.

Marriage is not for everyone—women or men, but it is pushed onto women more often than men. Men can be independent without judgment, and if someone asks about them, odds are it won’t be about marriage. After all, how often are they asked who they’re wearing at the academy awards?

I hate the idea that women are viewed as having to want or having to be married. News flash! Not everyone wants the same thing, and if a woman wants to do it single then she should do so without judgment. She should be able to—but she’s not. This is the 21^st century, people. How often are we going to pretend we’re in the Middle Ages? No, she doesn’t have to be married to accomplish everything she needs to succeed in life. No, she doesn’t have to be attached to a man, either. She can do what she dreams, with or without a husband.

Even if she wants to be married, she can still fulfill her dreams. There should be nothing standing in her way. In anyone’s way.

“Did she go to school? Where? What is she doing now?” are all questions that could have been asked from this Mom who blasted to the bakery from 2007. Instead, they all fell to the ground, only to be trampled by strangers in passing.

*For the record, yes, I do want to eventually get married. But my writing, at this point in my life, is more important, as is my career. 

Mudding Along in My Career: Working for Coin

“Haven’t you liked doing the work?”
“Of course I have. I just wish I could go slower in order to enjoy selecting the glass more, to feed myself with each beautiful swirl, to linger over the nuances building up. If I don’t love the feelings I have while creating those windows, I’m only working for coin and not from soul.” (Clara and Mr. Tiffany, Susan Vreeland, 53)

I have been doing a lot of thinking about my job lately. Despite my perpetual hatred for its tedious nature and few interactions with humans, I am trying to remind myself it is only a stepping stone. I will not be entering data into Microsoft Access forever; this will lead me to better things. Only, doing that is difficult when every day I go to work hating my job.

The other day, my grandparents came to drop something off at my house. Since I got the job entering data, my grandfather has taken it upon himself to check the newspaper’s classifieds every day for a job I might like.

“He’s still looking!” my grandmother laughed, “But I approve the jobs! I know you want to get a job doing something you like.”

My internship at the historical society. I was looking through
old documents on this day. THIS was working for the soul. 

Then, the saddest words I have come to hear reached my ears. Grandpa said, “I never did the job I always wanted to do…a mechanic, working with cars. Instead, I drove a truck around delivering newspapers. I went for the money.”

“No, that’s now how it is for kids today,” Grandma intervened, “They want to do what they enjoy and not for the money!” (At least, for me it’s this case. For others it is completely different, of course.)

This brings my back to the quote from Clara and Mr. Tiffany by Susan Vreeland that began this post: “I’m only working for coin and not from soul.” Working for money is not the direction I want my career goals to take. I’d rather be happy working with my writing and whatever else strays across my path then being comfortable with a job that makes me unhappy. Ever since I was little, that was my goal: To have a job that makes me happy to go into work, excited. 40 hours a week is, after all, a long time to waste time doing something you hate.

I have worked four jobs, including my internships. Both actual jobs I got paid for I enjoyed, including the grocery store cashier. My internships, however, were not challenging enough and I always finished my writing much sooner than my supervisors expected. 

Last year, during my internship at the historical society, the day came when I absolutely loved what I was doing and that was looking through old letters and newspaper clippings in a box. I remember organizing what was in the box according to a list that was provided and reading the recipes that were there while typing them up. (To see the finished product, go here.) I thought about including this in my possible job searches, yet no ideas have come up yet. 

And so the search continues to discover where my career passions lie. I am determined find happiness, whether it be in one job or a mixture of them that I find as the years pass. Each experience working will bring me a better idea of what I need to make me both happy and inspire my writing. Unfortunately, punching data into Access does not fulfill those requirements. 

Just like Clara says in the quote, I am going to work for soul and not for money. In the end, that’s what will make my life worthwhile, and until I have reached that point in my career, my writing will suffice in keeping me sane in between breaks from the database.  

Writing, Jobs, and Happiness

The past two weeks have not been productive for my writing at all. Besides a few thoughts that pass through my head on a regular basis (always the same thought), besides jotting these thoughts down in my notebook, and besides reading?

No words.

No plotting.

Just questions, which is good, don't get me wrong, but how is it good when I don't even feel like starting to answer them?

It was a revelation when I discovered my writing productivity, i.e. my happiness, was related to the job I was doing. About a month ago, I was temporarily hired to a company and my job is to put data from emails I am sent into a database. The schedule was much better than my previous schedule at the grocery store, always shifting and changing. After the initial excitement of the job wore down, I realized something was wrong. Was it me? My attitude?

This week, I recognized what it was: The Job. 

I wasn't sure what picture to put here.
I took this laying down on my back on
the deck, in summer. 

This job (that I am unsure of when it is ending) is not challenging, I don't talk to anyone, it doesn't involve something I like doing (such as organizing or writing), and I sit there all day, typing. It kills me that I am doing it just for the money--not that I have a choice, really, since I have debt to pay off from school and am saving for a new vehicle. Doing something for the money, not for my happiness, is my worst nightmare.

Happiness is what matters the most to me in my lifetime, and to everyone. Through all this, I have reached a conclusion: The type of job I have will affect the writing I do in my free time. 

Having a job that destroys what I want to do most in the world, writing fantasy, is...Unfathomable. As said in Kerri Majors' This is Not A Writing Manual, anything that kills my (or your!) writing is not worth doing. But discovering what job I enjoy and feeds my writing is another task in itself. Discovering a job that keeps me healthy sounds impossible.

And yet, I find myself up for this task. If my happiness is at stake, if my writing is at stake, then I am willing to go as far as I can to gain it.

What about you? Do you find a particular job feeds your writing and your health?