The Name Is The Same, The Purpose Has Changed

I already have a website (www.wordwebbing.com) for my writing endeavors, which is why this little blog has never really quite taken off. I used to blog every single day for a period of about six years; a short while after my momma died, I stopped any kind of personal blogging for many reasons.

Recently, I have felt the urge to once again blog more personally and more frequently. This seems to be a good a place as any. I know at several points in the six years I was blogging I felt if I hadn't had that outlet, I very possibly would have ended up in a padded room somewhere with people in white jackets poking my psyche. Not that it still couldn't happen, but I'd rather take my chances here, tyvm.

There are two important journeys going on right now I feel the urge to blog about. Both are very personal; I've been making some changes to become a healthier person in mind and body -- and blogging is a lot cheaper than therapy -- and I have also learned some information about my family's past which has been fascinating, at least to me. I'd like to document both of them.

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The Fat Lady Sings


I am a freelance writer and editor. I spend a lot of time at the keyboard; as a matter of fact, I'm somewhat of a workaholic. This has lead to a fat ass, muscles like stretched out rubber bands, and an overall feeling of un-wellness. I knew I had to make some kind of change lest I become a news item of a fat lady who had to call 9-1-1 to be helped out of the bathtub or off the toilet. While I wouldn't mind a group of fine, handsome stud muffins in my home, that particular scenario did not at all appeal to me. So, I joined a local gym with some sessions with a professional trainer. I did this despite budgetary concerns because it was evident I couldn't do it on my own.

Unfortunately, what I failed to take into consideration was the fact I suffer from an anxiety disorder. Normally it's not a huge issue, because I'm an introvert and typically shy away from situations in which the anxiety is triggered. I went to the first training session thinking no big deal, no worries, I got this. The trainer is a very nice young man (although my opinion changes depending on how hard he pushes me, and sometimes I really hate the little fucker) and the first session went well. Until later on that night when I had a panic attack so bad I had to call my BFF and visit the emergency room. I hadn't had an attack that awful in years. I don't have insurance, so you can imagine how bad I felt in order to do this. And stupid. The bad thing about anxiety (well, there's more than one, but work with me here) is the feeling you should be able to control this. That there's nothing so bad you should feel this bad, you know? But anxiety doesn't work that way. And unless you've suffered a panic attack, you really can't understand. I wouldn't wish one on my ex, that's how bad they are. (And that's saying something, trust me.)

At any rate, the staff at the hospital were very kind, efficient, and expensive. What I wanted to figure out was the trigger, knowing it had to do with going to a strange gym, interacting with a strange person, over a very sensitive subject -- my weight.

During the first session, where all the questions are asked and measurements taken, the trainer informed me my problem was I wasn't getting enough exercise, and to my astonishment, that I wasn't eating enough. Or the right things. I couldn't argue with any of that, because it was all true. After the panic attack, I put off any further sessions for the time being, and asked my BFF (she is the BEST BFF in the history of BFFs) if she would come with me to at least walk on the treadmill a couple of times a week. (Again with the stupid thing. I just didn't feel like I could walk into the gym alone.) Then, I took the trainer's advice and changed the way I was (or wasn't) eating, changed the types of food, and started drinking more water. I kept track of the calories etc. on Livestrong.com, and set a timer to remind me to stop working and eat something.

(For the record, I HATE drinking water. Fish fuck in it. I'm not sure I will ever get over that notion. I'm a writer. I have a vivid imagination. Sometimes, that's not always a good thing.)

After about three weeks, the trainer texted me and said we needed to see each other again. At this point I felt like, what the hell. I might as well, since I paid for it. Plus, I was feeling a bit better.

When I first met my trainer, like I said, he's a nice guy. But I have trust issues, and I think deep down I didn't really trust him. Not his fault -- all mine. But the second session went really well. He listened to my concerns about exercise (my back is really weak and painful) and assured me he would never push me past my limit. Plus, he's a smart-assed Chicago guy, and took my innate sarcasm and own smart-assery in stride. He put me through my paces, I didn't die or fall over, although I did sweat a LOT. No one pointed at the fat lady and giggled, and best of all, no anxiety attack, thank the Great Flying Spaghetti Monster.

I scheduled the third session -- and it took me fifteen minutes to get out of the car to go in. But I did it. The trainer told me it was time to re-assess, since it had been a month to see what kind of progress I'd made. I didn't expect much, and I don't think he did, either. But I lost eight pounds and eight inches total, and decreased my BMI by four points. He was so thrilled he measured me again, because he couldn't believe all the inches I'd lost. THEN, he put me through a workout which inspired me to re-name him the Evil Trainer, and swear to make a voodoo doll of him and stick pins in it. I may have also told him I hate him. Several times.

Fitness Tip Number One: Never, EVER, tell your trainer his workout did not make you sore. Trust me on this.

We talked a little more, and I said, you know, losing weight is not just about the physical stuff. There are mental blocks which come into play and there's a reason I'm fat. Several reasons, in fact. I know I have to deal with those as well as all the changes I'm making. He seemed to understand exactly what I was saying without further personal revelations, and that was a huge relief.

Bottom line: I think I can do this. I also think blogging through it will help. I don't give a rat's ass what I look like, but I want to feel healthier, and stronger. Because I have a lot of books to write and edit; a grandbaby and daughters and friends to love and cherish for as long as I can. That's my goal.

Roll it up, shake it down, and run it over, bitches. I got this.

In The Beginning

But actually, we're more into the middle.

A lot has happened since the last time I blogged here, and I don't even know where to start. So I'll just keep on going from the middle. I wouldn't recommend this when writing a story or an article, mind, but this is my blog and I can do whatever the hell I want to do.

For a long time I thought writing for a living just wasn't going to happen for me. I've been attempting it for years now -- I didn't think it would take so long. I made the mistake most rookie writers make when starting out. I call it the "Kevin Costner School Of Thinking". You know, build it and they will come? Not so much.

Of course, at the time I was trying to find some way to sustain my lifestyle by writing, I was also working full-time. And raising three kids. Then said kids moved out, and I moved on to a different type of job. Still fitting writing in between the cracks.

Then, my mother passed away and the world literally imploded for me.

Instead of a well-planned transition to writing as a career, I threw myself into it without a safety net of any kind. Hand to mouth survival, kiddies. That's how I roll. Not recommended.

That being said, everyone has their own path, right? Mine just happened to be the hard way.

Today, three years later, I have a good client base in non-fiction, a gig as an editor for Etopia Press, my first collection of flash fiction and several short stories and mini-collections published, a novel finished and two more planned in the series, an opportunity to have that published by a stellar indie press, and freelance editor options.

It's a lot of work, make no mistake. Oh, the perks are good. I only take projects I want to work on, I work from home and pajamas are my uniform of choice, and I don't have to answer to anyone.

But I also put in long hours, no days off, no vacations, no health insurance and no regular paycheck. Sometimes I have so much work I don't know how I'm going to pull it all off, and other times it's a famine and I'm dodging disconnect notices. There always seems to be yet another learning curve I need to master from formatting to book covers to new and improved software but the truth is, I never want to do anything else.

Writing for a living is not like digging ditches, but it is hard work if you want to be successful. If you want it bad enough, you'll make it happen.

I'll try to be better about updating here. If you have any questions, leave a comment and I'll try to answer the best I can. In the meantime, I have stuff to do, because there is no rest for the wicked :)

Everything old is new again

Thought I forgot about this place, didn't you?

Truth is, I did. I thought it might be difficult to maintain two or more blogs, but the truth of the matter is I have to become good at that, like right now, in order to implement my plan to Take Over The Universe.

My first love is, and always will be, fiction. Flash fiction in particular. However, flash does not pay the bills, rather, it is food for the heart and soul. To make a decent living, I had to find a way to make my writing earn its keep.

Did you know it's almost as hard to break into the magazine market as it is to swallow a doorknob? Not that I've ever tried to swallow a doorknob, understand. Anyway, the turn-time is achingly slow, and a girl could starve to death waiting for the inevitable rejection slip.

Onward. I know there has to be a way.

I turned my attention to copywriting. Copywriting (as I understood it at the time) is similar in a lot of ways to flash fiction. Short, punchy, dynamic. I can do this.

(For the record, the term "copywriting" generally applies to sales letters, some of which can top twelve pages or more and garner a rate in the four digit category.)

I started writing web content (keyword optimized) for a client. 500 word articles, on a specific subject, research links and keywords provided. The catch? The articles had to contain 45-55% keywords.

This is a lot more difficult than it looks. 70 articles later I was totally burned out on writing articles.

I took on another client, who required a bit more research but only one keyword per 100. This is much easier.

I have a career.

Unfortunately, my first client is disorganized and unclear. This makes it hard to work with her. My second client pays much better, but there is no volume. I started to poke around.

Serendipity called. An old friend from my childhood days contacted me and we caught up on Life. Funny thing, he was involved in Internet Marketing, and I just so happen to be a web copy writer. Coincidence? There is no such thing.

Then he pushed me toward IM. Why write for peanuts for someone else, when I can write for myself and make a living? Good point.

And that brings you up to date.

The moral of the story?

Don't settle. There is a way, if you are patient and trust the Universe and the plan it has for you. Angels are in the woodwork, at the ready. You just have to have faith, trust, and a lot of elbow grease.

Speaking of which, I need to grease my elbows.

:)