Ok, I Admit It

I read J.'s blog at random times, even though I've probably read all her entries so many times I could recite them from memory now. *Blush* I just like to see the nice things she's said about me.

For someone who blogs as much as I do, I'm not really into reading them. Of course, that could be because I DO blog all the time, so reading them isn't generally appealing. I only read J.'s and Cake Wrecks because it's hilarious and makes me feel sooooo much better about my own pitiful attempts at decorating cakes. (Don't ask. Seriously.)

Since I finally finished a bunch of crap for work and the cover letter for the job B. is applying for, I can actually blog now.

People ask me a lot of times what I want to do if I ever finish my freaking master's. My normal reply is something along the lines of "I haven't made up my mind yet." I'm lying, of course. I know exactly what I want to do, but telling the truth either gets strange looks from people who don't know me well or lectures about how "that's not a real job" from people who do (i.e., my mother).

I want to write.

There are other things that have passed through my mind, of course. At one time, before I got old and fat and out-of-shape and all beat up from falling off so many horses through the years, I wanted to be a professional horse trainer. There might've been a time when I could've done it, but that time has long since passed.

But ever since I was about 12 or so, I've wanted to write. It's all I'm really remotely good at, and why waste a God-given talent, right? And, too, everything else I've ever thought I've wanted to do has basically been a way to make a whole bunch of horses so I could do what? Retire young, live on a farm out in the country with my horses, and, well...write.

It doesn't have to be the Great American Novel, either. I mean, it'd be great if I could one day produce that, but everything fictional I've ever tried to do comes out as some kind of two-bit Southern Gothic that's been soooo overdone. (I'm not Faulkner and never will be, despite the fact that I write long, rambling, yet still totally grammatically correct sentences just like he did.) I'd just be happy doing freelance shit like blogs and web content (or cover letters and resumes *wink*) and maybe the occasional article or short story and getting paid for it.

They say the hardest thing about such a job is disciplining yourself. I never claimed to have a whole bunch of self-discipline, but I HAVE been self-employed for over a year, and I'm still not living in a cardboard box on the side of the road somewhere, so I must not be doing too badly, you know what I mean? I definitely don't want to do phone sex for the rest of my life, but it's definitely taught me a lot about being an independent contractor. And, if I decided to try to write for a living, it'd be a good way to fill in the income gaps between writing gigs.

I don't know. I keep telling myself I don't have time to do it, but I actually do. It's just that when I sit down to actually look on the sites where people are advertising for writing and/or editing jobs they need done, I get all intimidated because I don't really know what's going on and overwhelmed, so I just say, "Screw it, I can't do this."

I really need to get off my ass, do some research, and seriously try to do this if it's what I want to do. I'm kind of tired of just drifting around and waiting to see what happens next. I feel like I've done that most of my life, and I've kind of outgrown it by now.

Yes, I know this blog has nothing to do with being a slave, but J. always wants to know what's on my mind, and this is what's on my mind today. ;)

I would LOVE to never have a "real" job by most people's standards. I'd love to make enough money doing something I a.) loved and b.) was good at that I could have all the things I needed and most of the things I wanted and never have to worry about being a burden on someone ever again. I'd love to be able to make a career out of writing and be able to make time for B. and J., my friends, my horses (both the ones I own now and the ones I'm going to own in the future), and the family members I can tolerate.

I just have a godawful time focusing on anything for any length of time, and that drives me nuts about myself.