Connecting to the real writer’s life

27 07 2013


Ach. I am fed up with myself.

I’ve been a self-described writer for several years now and my publication list is just terrible.

It all started out pretty marvy, with lots of articles published about my silly life, a story published here and there, some entries in various professional publications.

Then I got lost in work, lost the miracle of writing, struggling to prove myself in a serious grown-up venue. MS stopped that for me, and in my heart of hearts, I was a wee bit grateful. I could devote my life to writing now – yay! Infinite writing time (except for the mandatory naps and the various disease challenges) – what’s not to like?


Well, five years later, I don’t have anywhere near enough to show for it. I’ve entered contests, had some success, but am NOT applying myself, as my mother would say.

I feel like a “writer wanna be” and I hate it. So I’m setting myself some goals.

It’s time to trust in what I can do, take it on, send stuff out, put on my big writer panties and get out there. Because regrets suck.

I’m taking a page out of Edith Piaf’s songbook…


Finger scanning and work accountability

8 11 2012

I’m listening to The Current on CBC about using biometrics to have employees check in.
I’m off on disability now, and dealing with the strange combo of being unaccountable and unneeded ( for work), which is a mixed blessing at times. But I used to manage people, and deal with staff who weren’t accountable for time.
It was a challenge. What do you do with staff who slide in late and take hour-long coffee breaks, yet charge you overtime for every fifteen minutes they “stay late”?
How do you deal with professional staff who routinely show up late or not at all?
And all of this without being disrespectful or making them feel like factory workers?
It’s a fine line. I know I often didn’t handle it well. I tried. I told the fifteen minute billers that I’d not ask them to check in if they didn’t bill me for tiny increments of time.
I told the professional staff who were routinely late by over half an hour with no explanation that I’d have to start cutting their pay.
I tried to view people by “getting the job done” as vs “working hours” but this is prejudicial to different levels of workers. Our interdisciplinary team were to be viewed as equals. How to treat them the same when their power was so different?
I truly disliked managing people. It’s not a career for someone who wants to be liked, generally, and it’s lonely. I hated being the vice-principal of the workplace, given the task of enforcement and not leadership. I tried to demonstrate hard work by example but merely made myself exhausted and appear overly demanding.
I should have listened to my dad. He’d told me that I wouldn’t like pure science as a career as it was too lonely. He also personally decided to not take a management role, since he knew it wasn’t for him. I wish I’d heard him about the need for me to be social and the challenges of management. I might have been able to work longer.
Even if I did have to swipe in and out.


Hmm. Sunday afternoons might not be a good thing, after all.

5 12 2011

Sometimes a posting comes along at the right time. I’m feeling a bit frustrated, writing-wise, and having trouble deciding if going to the Erma Bombeck conference would be a good thing or just an extra expense  (would probably block out my chance of seeing Newfoundland this summer). My dreams of being published are slipping a bit, and I’m feeling a bit bleu as another contest goes by with no prize for DA.

And then I read this blog entry by Paulo Coelho and it sounds so right. I’ve been at home on disability for three years, almost, now. Yeah, I am home on DISABILITY, so that implies I am perhaps not as capable of work as some. However, it is all too easy to let everything slip and just ease along, thinking in grey wooly patches or sunny warm corners or along the tune of something by Brahms or Debussy. It’s comfy. It doesn’t push you.

It’s hard always being a self-starter, when days spin out ahead of you in what seems like endless numbers, and you have a disease that makes you tired and all that. It’s so so easy to put things off til tomorrow, so hard to commit to anything as life meanders along.

You have the excuse, after all. I’m sick, you can tell others. I can’t possibly be expected to…whatever.

This is like death under a thousand featherbeds, gradually smothering until your life is nothing but sleeping, eating, breathing.

Like Coelho says, it’s important not to let that happen. It’s important to keep our dreams front and centre, to keep working towards them.


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