Why Leaving Scares the Face Off of Me

This blog.

When I look at the sidebar full of the years I’ve been writing on my own domain, writing about my life, my thoughts, and my feelings, I feel a little sad knowing I’m giving that up. My new blog won’t have that long sidebar going from July 2008 to October 2011 and beyond. It’s only been three years since I started blogging on perpetualsmile.net, and a little over a year since I started blogging on elizawhat.com, but it’s familiar. Going into the unfamiliar is scary, no matter what the situation. Essentially I am letting go of the ability to publicly express every thought and emotion, and replacing it with expressing only in the form of creative writing. I’m a good writer, because I can express myself using words. It’s always been my best form of communication. However, I’d much rather write and publicly share my stories. I know that to do so, I need to cut down on my distractions. I need to let go of my digital security blanket and open myself up to disciplined, daily creative writing.

I also know that in my new career of choice, no parent is going to want to find posts about depression and hemorrhoids when they Google my name before their child starts preschool.

What I know and what I feel are two different things, though.

I’m excited about this new adventure. I really am. And I know it’s okay to be scared, but that doesn’t make it any easier to let go.

Like I said, I’m a digital hoarder.

Still, I’ve made progress. I deleted — really deleted — my Facebook, deleted my Tumblr, deleted my Formspring, and deleted a couple of my extra Twitter accounts.

I’ve set up my new site (which I’ll be showing you soon). I’ve edited the first story I ever published. It was first published in a teeny, tiny publication called Fresh Ink at my community college, and I’m sure no more than one hundred people read it (probably even less than that, unfortunately). I’d like to share it with more people, because I’m proud of it. That story won a contest for me, a $100 gift card to Barnes and Noble, and a priceless compliment from a published writer. I read it yesterday before editing it and still felt proud of it (even though it needed a little more work). The ending still brought tears to my eyes. My own character broke my heart. (This is probably because I am overly sensitive.)

After my final round of edits, I created a cover for it. While I’m done with web design, I still love making graphics. Creating a digital book cover was a learning experience that I really enjoyed, even though it was literally a pain in the neck. (Thank goodness for Tylenol. I’ve been waking up every day with an achy neck.) Today I woke up without a sore neck, but still feel proud of what I accomplished yesterday. I know now that I can do it.

See, when ebooks first started becoming popular, I thought they were just a fad. I also thought they were a way for every man, woman, cat, and dog to put their unedited work out there. I cannot tell you how many technical ebooks I’ve read that, although helpful, were clearly thrown together the night before the writer posted them. I stayed away from most fiction ebooks, too, because I was a little afraid of what I might find.

But epublishing continued to become more popular, and slowly but surely, most people started to see that they needed to be a little more polished about it. De, a writer I met through Twitter, began to delve into epublishing about a year ago. I read as many of her posts on indie publishing as I could, and thought, That’s really cool. I watched her epublish her short stories and then publish a Choose Your Own Adventure type of book through a traditional publisher, and thought, Wow, I wish I could do that. Slowly, I began to see that epublishing could be a way to get your name out there, rather than waiting for someone to accept your story. Paired with traditional submissions, epublishing is just another way of getting your stories read and making people familiar with your name. In the last few weeks, I’ve been reading her posts and thinking, I wonder if I could do that. Now I want to try.

They say that everything happens for a reason. Things didn’t go well for me as a freelance or commercial web designer and social marketing consultant, but I learned a lot about online marketing. I learned enough to be able to market myself, which I’m going to need; indie epublishers don’t have big companies behind them to design their websites, design their book covers, set up book tours, and set up book reviews. It’s every woman or man for themselves, which is both frightening and exhilarating to me.

I think the reason I’m having such a hard time with walking away from this blog is because that means I have to face this scary and exciting thing without being able to run back. It’s been easy for me to write stories and novels and keep them to myself while putting my thoughts out there. I don’t know why I feel so vulnerable about my work but not about my feelings, but here we are.

I’m scared, but that’s okay. I’m only scared because this matters to me. My dream has always been to be a published writer, and this epublishing journey is the first step toward fulfilling that dream.

It's All Writers' Block to Me

My writing has been suffering for months. I can write a post about my life, or music, or Grey’s Anatomy, but when I sit down to write a story or work on an idea for NaNoWriMo, something happens. Actually, a few somethings happen.

Scenario 1: I sit down and start writing a story, get about a paragraph or maybe a page into it, then stop and never come back.

Scenario 2: I sit down and write about two sentences to a paragraph of a story, leave it for a few days or weeks, then come back and write a few more paragraphs, and then a few days later finish it.

Scenario 3: I come up with a great idea for a story, then lose faith in it before doing any real prewriting.

It’s making me crazy. I used to sit down and write a whole short story or a whole chapter for a novel in one shot. I was looking forward to NaNoWriMo to fix whatever’s wrong with me, but Scenario 3 happened and I’ve got nothin’. Fortunately, the one story I have been able to complete lately turned out pretty good, according to my writers’ group, but this is probably unfortunate because if I could actually write like I normally do, I might have five good stories instead of just one.

I want to write. I just can’t seem to make the magic happen. A couple months ago, I thought it might be that I needed to get out of the house and away from distractions, so I went to the Starbucks café at Barnes and Noble… and just sat staring at my laptop screen for an hour or so before my battery died. I’m still writing Astrid and Dante with Mary, but even then it takes me a good hour before I can even write a sentence in response. I’ve tried music, which usually makes a great muse, but now it only distracts me more. I really had to force myself to write “Loving Guererra,” the story I did finish, and I honestly kind of just hated myself for it the whole time. It wasn’t fun like it normally is.

Hell, if I’m going to be completely honest, the blog posts I write take an hour or two longer than usual, too.

I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know why I’ve got literary constipation, but here we are.

How do you cure your writers’ block? Please tell me! I need your help!

Why I Left Web Design, and Why I’m Looking Toward a Brighter Future

How a Web Design Goes Straight to Hell, by the Oatmeal

How a Web Design Goes Straight to Hell, by the Oatmeal

Over the last couple of days, I’ve been coming to a realization that didn’t completely form until I read and commented on this post by my friend and pen pal Brooke. As I reassured her that she would be great at her new position, I realized that sometimes the choices we make are scary, but they’re well worth it in the long run. I cut myself off from an industry where I could make at least $15 an hour, not work weekends, and rake in a shit ton of money for something I used to view as a hobby, and traded it for a job in retail where I make minimum wage, work weekends, and only work about fifteen hours a week and struggle to pay my bills. For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been wondering if I am a crazy person. My dad even asked me the other day why I didn’t just get another web design job and go to school while working there.

“Because I hate it,” I said, and though it’s true, I could still suck it up and do it for the money. I just choose not to. Instead, I choose to work a relatively bottom level job because, at the end of my shift, I don’t have to think about what happened at work. I don’t have to feel sick to my stomach wondering when the next paycheck will come in, or why I sit at a desk all day mindlessly writing code and eating because there’s nothing else to freaking do. I don’t have to feel sick to my stomach waiting for a design I put my heart and soul into to get ripped apart by a superior, or change a design every five minutes because a client can’t make up their mind.

I may not be where I want to be right now, but I’m going to. As long as I keep looking at the big picture, I can remember that this too will pass and soon enough I’ll be in the career I want to be in: an editorial assistant at a fiction publishing company, sitting at my desk and reading through the slush pile, helping other writers get published, and getting my foot in the door of the publishing industry so that, someday, I’ll get published, too.

(Of course, I have no problem doing some web design-y stuff for friends or myself, very occasionally.)

So, what's next?

The question isn’t, “What should I do for the rest of my life?” It’s, “What should I do next?” Neither are easy to answer. Even though I hated my job, I’m still going through some weird, mid-life crisis kind of depression. I’ve known for a long time that I don’t want “web designer” to be my job description anymore. The thing is, I can’t seem to figure out what’s next. I know nothing is forever, that we are in control of our lives and can change our paths at any time, but I don’t know what I want to commit to right now. I think what’s happened is, being a web designer was like a security blanket; I’ve built the last five years on being a web designer, and now that I know I don’t want to be a web designer anymore, I feel like I’ve lost myself. I’ve completely frozen.

While I’m happy to be rid of that horrible job, I can’t seem to make a decision. I can’t seem to move forward. I’ve been spending my days doing laundry, doing dishes, writing articles for Freaking Bookworm, watching episode after episode of Grey’s Anatomy, and playing Plants VS Zombies. While my goal for Freaking Bookworm is to make some kind of income, I have yet to bring in any income from my book review blog. (Hell, my Amazon store has only just gotten four clicks… and I set it up a couple of months ago.) Don’t get me wrong. I’m having a lot of fun writing over there, but it’s not a job. Not yet, anyway. Right now, I need a job. I’m twenty-two years old. I have a student loan to pay off. I also don’t want to live with my parents for too much longer. (Mike and I really, really miss the privilege of privacy.)

I keep thinking about going back to school. The problem is, every time I think about going back to school, it’s something different. Last time I actually went back to school, I went for Elementary Education and Creative Writing. I ended up so stressed out and sick — as in, a horrible pain flareup — that I dropped out. The next time I started thinking about school again, I thought about just majoring in Creative Writing. When things started going badly with my aunt, I thought about just going for Early Childhood Education. After that, I thought about getting my ABA and becoming an aid for students with special needs. And, most recently, I’ve been thinking about getting my Bachelor’s in Journalism (probably because of the Millennium trilogy). On October 23rd, 2009, I promised myself that I would learn to not overload myself, that I wouldn’t jump into anything again without really thinking about it first. And yet, I seem to keep trying to jump into things. I restrain myself, yes, but I keep trying.

Almost two years later, I still don’t know why I’m sick. I know that stress makes my flareups and symptoms during “remissions” much, much worse. I know that I have to go easy on myself. Even though I fought hard to keep my (horrible) full-time job, I have to admit that working eight hours a day, five days a week was taking its toll on me. And that was a desk job. I wasn’t even doing physical labor! You could say that, okay, it was mental labor, but still. It should not have tired me out so badly that I went home almost every day and either laid in bed or stared at my laptop screen until it was time to pick Mike up from work. Even ignoring all of the bullshit in that job, it was still taking a toll on my health. I hate admitting it, and I certainly wasn’t going to admit it to them, but now I have to admit it. I have to admit it because I want to move forward, and in order to move forward, I have to be completely honest with myself.

So, no, going to school full-time and working part- or full-time is not at all an option — even if I did know that I really, really wanted to go to school for something. If I did know what I wanted, I’d have to work part-time and go to school part-time.

Unfortunately, I don’t know.

Another option I’ve been thinking about is getting a part-time job and spending the other part of my time writing novels and stories (as in, finishing Sade on the Wall and getting an agent for it), and writing for Freaking Bookworm. That kind of life really appeals to me. It’s incredibly, incredibly appealing.

The only problem with that plan is… I’d really, really like for Mike and me to have our own place. He moved in last August. We’d planned on moving out sometime around now. Maybe, if I work really hard, I could make a part-time job, my writing, and my book blog equal the income I would need for us to have our own place.

I could very, very easily get another job as a web designer, where I’d make at least the same amount of money I was making at my previous job. I just don’t want to.

So, I just don’t know.

It’s times like these that I miss being a kid and having a grownup tell me what to do. Now would be a really good time for the grownups to step in.

Something is missing, but I don't know what that "something" is

I want to write, and go to school for journalism, or go to school for writing, or… something. I want to do something like Astrid and Dante… even though all of my other works in progress are being ignored. I just need something.

I hate my job, so I need… something. I just don’t know what that “something” is. I know that I need to leave this job, because it’s stressful and I’m not happy there, but I don’t know what I want to do.

Should I get a part-time job and go back to school full-time?

Should I get a full-time job and go back to school part-time?

What do I even want to go to school for?

Should I try to find another web design job?

Should I try to start my own business?

What should that business be? Web design?

I have so many questions that might answer what that “something” is, but none of them feel quite right.

I feel stuck.