No one said being a writer was easy. Truth is, the easiest part of it is the writing. My fingers rest on the keyboard, and then they dance. And I watch the screen, holding my breath to see what comes next. There are people in my life who struggle to get their words on paper, and it's just not something I comprehend.
Perhaps their writing block is something like my inability to play chess or do a cartwheel. No matter how hard I try (although I gave up years ago) my body and mind just do not make the connection. I'm at peace with both. But how can you live without writing?
Since I've started my secretive staff job, I haven't been pitching as much. I've completed some assignments and others have wandered in, gracefully. Earlier this week, an editor contacted me about doing some new work for a national mag. Naturally, I was delighted.
And in a stunning case of deja voodoo, the magazine prompty went under the next day. This is not the first time that's happened. What is it with me? I eat my blueberries. I try not to curse at bad drivers, much. I forgive and move on. And yet my karma swirls out and strangles perfectly good publications.
Something's got to give.
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