Oh my. I always seem to start these posts with a sentence or two regretting my lack of blogging. Still, I guess that should be a good sign - a sign that I have enough to do that I don't really have time to sit at the computer and blog.
Still, I find myself at the computer more and more these days, and that's good thing! In late March (and I think I wrote about this . . . ) I received a message from someone who had found a little ad I had posted on craigslist offering my services as a proofreader. I figured it was high time to start putting to use that expensive little document hanging in the hall called a Bachelor's Degree in English. So naturally, I offered services for a reasonable fee doing what I do best, helping others improve their writing.
Side note: As a child and on up into college, I wrote poetry on a regular basis, high school newspaper articles, an article for a newspaper once, thousands of letters, hundreds of scholarly papers, and the occasional short story that just never seemed to shape up right, always leaving me feeling depressed and inadequate.
I got impressive grades in writing and became engrossed with the beautiful workings of the English language, surprised by the joy I felt at discovering the intricacies and logic of grammar and style. Still, I never considered myself a writer. I was so good at helping others realize their writing, at leading them back to the right path within a paper astray, finding that lost thesis or missed point. And in the back of my mind, I quietly resigned myself to a life of teaching others to write well. Chiding myself with, "Those who cannot do, teach."
So back to the story at hand - I got a few replies from local graduate students desperate for help with papers, whose success seemed to hold their academic careers in the balance. While I found the work enjoyable, I, admittedly became annoyed with having to lead them along step by step, explaining in detail why you did such-and-such for MLA in-text citations and such-and-such to block a quote for APA style. Blah. I just couldn't feel an real satisfaction, especially with this unspoken but strong expectation that my help would guarantee an A or at least a B. I cringed at that thought, not wanting to say to them, "I cannot make your brain work for you; I cannot hand-feed you ideas! All I am here to do is show you the error of your grammatical ways and fix your works-cited page. Nothing more. I don't recall advertising myself as a ghost-writer of academic essays!"
So as all this was going on I received a short email from a fellow saying he was the owner of a local business magazine and was looking for freelance writers and was I interested? I snorted to myself, "Yeah, right. It's probably not a real magazine, just one of those email solicitations that direct you to a web-site full of annoying pop-ups and flashing ads. No thanks." But in truth, I think what I really thought was but quickly brushed off was, "I'm not a freelance writer. I'm not a writer at all." And just like that, I ignored the email and went on with my life.
Two weeks later I sat in the family room of a friend at my women's prayer group. I have been meeting with this small group of women for over two years, sharing our hearts and calling out to God on each other's behalf, encouraging one another, laughing and crying together. It has been a sweet, sweet fellowship where I can always anticipate being able to let down the guard that we all inevitably carry around with us, to protect our hearts and histories. With these ladies there are no pretensions, no judgements, just friendship and the bond of a love for Christ and a commitment to follow Him. So as we talked that evening, my doubts of myself as a writer came up, and they listened intently not affirming or discouraging my abilities.
As much as I loved these friends, I had never share my writing with them. Sure, I blogged here and there, but I laughed that off as a frivolous hobby, just a journal. I had never shared the inner yearning of my heart to write out my thoughts and have others read them, hoping for that electric moment of connection between reader and writer. That "Ah-ha!" moment. I longed to pour my heart onto paper, and yes for someone to appreciate it. Still, all that has been forever shrouded in fear and self-doubt. Cringed in intimidation of better writers with better ideas and better form. Writers who knew they were fabulous and creative....who had "it". I just didn't feel I could compete with that. Nor did I want to.
My friends prayed earnestly for direction, for wisdom, and for opportunities. We said "Amen", hugged and went home.
The next day I opened up my email box and saw a familiar email address. That magazine owner. I shrugged to myself and clicked on the subject line that read something like "local magazine needs freelance writers". It was another email asking if I would consider writing for this magazine. It had a phone number, a local one. This guy knew nothing about me, let alone my skills or abilities. But what the heck? What could it hurt? I logged off and dialed the number I had scribbled onto a post-it. One ring, two rings, "Hello!" I made my introductions and explained who I was and why I was calling. He enthusiastically began to ask me questions about my experience, my education, etc, and before I knew it, he was offering me an opportunity. To write. Feelings of doubt crept up in my chest causing me to add, "And I proofread too!" So there, I would write and proofread. Call so-and-so to get your assignments and guidelines. Payment is as follows, every week. Goodbye.
I hung up in a sort of daze not really sure if that really happened. What did this entail? I had a million questions and most of them were me questioning myself, " Do you really think you can do this?"
Fast forward to mid-May, I am in the middle of writing a cover story. I have two folders, finished articles and works in progress. I write invoices and make appointments for phone interviews. My lunch-breaks that used to be filled with boredom, exhaustion, and the occasional cross-word are now often filled with a rush to check emails, make phone calls, or scribbling out ideas for articles onto a yellow legal pad. I have to say that I think I have felt a little like Melinda Doolittle on this season's American Idol, when receiving praise from the business owners I've written about or from my boss(es), I have often smiled in surprise and joy, "Really? Wow!" Now I'm not so much surprised by the praise, but I do cherish it. I am thankful and excited. I feel like I am not just doing a job that I enjoy, I feel as if I am working out my God-given ability, finally doing what He created me to do.
No more endless self-questioning or strangling doubt, just accepting what God has so graciously given and moving forward, joyfully anticipating whatever God has next.
I just re-read this, and I am a bit horrified at how long it became! Why am I spilling this out into the universe? I guess I just had to let everyone know how truly Great God is, how incredible He is to bless us and to love us enough to give us each a passion, a purposeful desire to create or achieve or improve. I pray that each of you, my friends, can find that whatever that may be. It comes in so many colors, so many shapes and sizes. Just like we are all created distinctly unique, so are the paths God has laid out for each of us. That is the beauty and the mystery of it all.
