Tag: fiction

For the better part of 2012, I lived in my pajamas.

Between writing books and teaching dance, I didn’t have much of a reason to fuss over my appearance. If it weren’t for studio teaching, I would have gone months without so much as a glance in the mirror.

My first week working at home, I rather comically got dressed up, thinking that would make me feel ready to work at my rickety dining room table. But, creativity flowed just swimmingly in my jammies, so why add to the laundry pile, right?

After years of full-time job and extra curricular activity juggling, I ditched the grind at the beginning of the year – my first time trying to make it solely as an artist.

Halfway through the year, I had achieved several milestones: I started this blog and accompanying social media channels; I self-published my first novel, and with all of my abundant spare time, I was finishing up my second.

I taught dance almost every single day…and I loved every single student, those who had danced since they could walk, and those peppy beginners who had two left feet.

Although I felt proud and fulfilled on so many levels, reality bitch slapped me in the face…bitch slapped me real good.

I couldn’t exactly pay my bills.

Without my supportive hubby, I would have been selling oranges and mediocre poetry by the freeway. Being the stubborn arse that I am, I have always cringed at the term “starving artist”.

But dangit, sometimes those catchy phrases are fashioned for a reason.

Book sales have been slower than I would prefer. And teaching, although incredibly rewarding, tends to be financially sporadic and physically exhausting.

The obvious choice was to rejoin the grind, to alleviate the pressure on my creativity so that I could carry on with my passions, and stop watching them with suspicion and dread.

I’m not a patient person. I’m just not.

So, this has been a true test for me. A large part of me felt that I had failed, a feeling I can honestly say, was foreign to me.

Because nobody likes a pity party, especially me, I turned my sad little attitude right around.

I’ve had a full-time job since the end of October. For the sake of evading any corporate conflicts, I’m not going to say much about it. Let’s just say it’s a far cry from doing what you all know me to do and I yearn for windows every day.

But I took a ton of pressure off myself with my nifty, biweekly paycheck…and I am much more at ease.

Paying bills is fun again! Nah, not really.

I have to remind myself that even though I’ve been writing as long as I can remember, I’ve only been official for six months, when I launched this fantastic circus someone boringly termed a “platform”.

You know that annoying expression “it takes time”? Turns out…it does.

Rather than thinking of my day job in a negative light, I’m thankful for a return to stability. Frankly, having a roof over your head makes a creative life a hell of a lot easier!

Rather than giving up on writing because I’m throwing a temper tantrum over shoddy book sales, I’m starting my third book.

Rather than focusing on how hectic my schedule is, I am trying to see my life as full – and that is much better than an empty one.

And at the end of a long day, my jammies welcome me home – and damn they feel good.