Accepting My Gift

I am getting more writing done than ever.

I am getting better at writing.

I'm loving writing.

I'm not shy to say I write.

I'm not shy to say I write and sell articles.

I'm comfortable with my gift at last.


One day back in around 2004, I was looking for my next significant calling in life beyond being an Executive Assistant and then an at-home mom.  I recall seeing a neighbour home during the day.  I had never met her, but I began to imagine what I thought she did for a living.  I can't explain why, but I imagined she was a writer.  I didn't narrow down who she wrote for or where she got projects.  I just imagined her life as a writer, if she indeed was one, must have been very fulfilling and high paying.  I was actually jealous.

That was before I realized just how hard it is to get writing gigs and make sales.  That was before I realized the publishing business was going into the dumper and writers were paid actually paid peanuts unless they were a major author.  That was before I actually considered myself a writer.  That was before I'd earned any money as a writer.

Well, as it turned out, this neighbour was not a writer.  She'd been laid off from a job and was in between work as--guess what?  An executive assistant!

What I find very funny is now I am that woman I imagined.  I am a writer who gets to drink coffee at a comfy desk in a home office.  I get to manage my workload and use my talent.  I get to find clients and try to sell my work.  I am a writer!
 


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