A Terrifying Purpose

Some things take a while. Trees do not grow overnight. Canyons do not carve themselves. It was also some time before I made the move from Denmark to Charleston. Lots of resumes went out, interviews were conducted, and names were shared in the interest of networking. Eventually, though, I made it down here. And while my current situation still leaves much to be desired, few would disagree that I'm better off than I was.

Other things, though, spring to life as if they've been waiting for the chance. I ordered the book "The Well-Fed Writer" about a month and a half ago and decided to start billing myself as an up-and-coming freelance commercial writer. As it stands today, I have three articles pending with various people, the potential for doing several paid press releases about local businesses for Dorchester County, and an initial article about the port for a development organization's new newsletter in addition to ongoing work with them.

Excuse me while I try to stop my head from spinning.

Not a single word of mine has been published, nor has a single check been made out to me, but I feel as if success is creeping up behind me, giggling with a foreign mirth. This is good! I'm making waves, as it were.

This hasn't stopped me from looking for a full-time job, of course. There's a certain comfort in having a paycheck. Health coverage is also particularly important for me since I take medication. For all the complaints that can be leveled against office work, at least its dependable.

That's what scares me about this success-in-the-wings. If I struck out on my own, I'd have to do my own marketing to find work. I'd have to regiment myself. I'd have to buy and manage my own health insurance. It almost makes me want to crawl into a cubicle for cover.

Almost.

While talking to one of my new 'clients' today, I realized that she was treating me as a full-fledged professional writer. I only had a draft of an unpublished article and a copy of my newsletter that takes little more than cut-and-paste! It was a potent moment, but I knew I couldn't turn back or look to someone else to tell me what to do.

I've been saying that I'm a writer, and people have believed me. I shouldn't be so shocked. A writer, of all people, should know the power of words.

I don't know how long its going to take to develop an income, so I'm still going to keep an eye out for a full-time job. Should the opportunity present itself, though, I'll strike out on my own. Its certainly intimidating, but with job upon job presenting itself, I think it has merit. It is a terrifying purpose far too promising to ignore.


Twilight out.