I’ve started to write articles again, different articles. None that have to do with writing, the process of writing, or living a writers life. If all I can do is write about writing, then I don’t think there’s much hope for me as a writer.

I think it’s like the saying “those who can do, do and those who can’t teach.” How can I be inspiring about writing if all I do is just talk about it? I’d rather be inspring through action. That because I can write about different things, that my journey in becomming a writer means that much more. I don’t want to be one of those people who make their living just handing out buzz words or talking about the process but never really do anything.

Yes, they are full of hurrah and can sometimes help to inspire people, but for me, it’s always been the real action that has more power. I don’t want to keep telling people I write, I want to prove it. It’s funny but at the same time I’m declaring this here, its parallelling with my work at the museum.

I’ve become frustrated with my class there, the docent training program that teaches us about art. During my training, we’ve had to do a tour and speak on a couple of pictures. My approach was the only unique one out of the whole class; I was the only one who didn’t give facts and figures and spend all of my time lecturing on the piece itself. I was the only one who got people invovled and asked them to talk about it and their lives accordingly. I spoke very little to let the others speak more. We spoke about life, laughter, being human, home. It was wonderfully interactive and fun. The other Docents in training taught. They taught about line, about negative and positive space, about the artist. About this fact and that.

Now, I’m not saying that’s not inappropriate because I think that’s probably how a lot of docents and teachers work. But none of the docents in training were artists. I didn’t understand how they felt they could talk about the picture so coldy. I don’t want to ever do that. I don’t want to be a bunch of fact and talk. I want to do and if that’s inspiring, wonderful. If not, I’m not going to write about it to try to make it so.

I haven’t been making money because I haven’t yet attempted to make money.

For the most part, I have been purposefully seeking out magazines that didn’t pay. I have been working on websites and portfolios that didn’t pay. I’ve been working on my book, which also doesn’t pay. I didn’t realise at first that I was avoiding places that paid, but I see now that’s exactly what I was doing.

I think the reason why I have intentionally stayed away from paying projects is because I have been afraid to find out what I was worth. I have been afraid that if I attempted to get paid for my work, I would be told it’s not worth anything. At least with free magazines, your work gets published part because you can write well and in part because they need you. Most people don’t try for free magazines.

It’s been very hard and scary for me to admit that. It’s almost embarrassing in a way. After becoming comfortable with using the title “writer” for myself, with feeling secure in my decision to write, I still have fears that someone else may not value it enough. I suppose I haven’t learned my own self worth yet.

Money, in fact, does play a larger part than I’d like to admit. Of course, I’d happily do all this for free because currently I am. What I’m doing, I love. It makes me happy, it gives me purpose, and it makes me feel complete. But I haven’t taken it to the next level – the getting paid level – because I’ve been holding back.

(Insert 2002 Motto here.)

So I’ve decided that I am ready to start getting paid. I’ve decided that I am worth getting paid. I’ve decided that I will get paid.

I’ve spent the last few days thinking about what I need to do to get paid, what magazines I should contact, what kind of freelance jobs I could get, and what kind of writing I want to do. For me, approaching it in that linear way helps to take some of the fear out of it. If I just start to randomly write articles and then try to figure out where they belong, I end up fearing they won’t belong anywhere. Instead, I’m going to find a target, and begin.

At this point, I’m actually not as afraid of doing this as I have been. I’m actually eager and a bit excited. That’s due in part because I don’t have the feeling that I have to be published or I’m not a writer – I already dealt with that. Now it’s time to deal with my fear of financially making it and having my work worth something.

I’m dealing with that a lot better because of something I read by Julia Cameron in her book The Right to Write:

I already proved that by writing, I’m a writer. I’ve already proved that by submitting work, I can get published. Now I just have to prove that by asking to be paid, I will be.

Let’s just hope it’s that easy.

The past week I’ve been in a funk. I’ve felt dishevelled and out of sorts. I had worked so hard, non-stop for over two weeks straight that I didn’t take any time to stop and think about what was going on. My momentum and energy kept me moving without taking time to be in the moment.

When I did stop my work frenzy, I was left feeling empty and scared. I didn’t know what to do next, where to turn, or what to think. All I had been doing to that point was working and now I didn’t know how to relax.

Today I got an email from someone who reminded me what my website is called and what I wanted to be about. She wrote, “Remember that you’re a girl at play! If all your life is about writing, what are you going to write about?”

Her email hit me hard though I wasn’t sure what to do about it at first. It was cold outside, grey and dark and the violent waves on the lake matched my mood perfectly. I didn’t feel like playing because I had work to do – even though I didn’t want to do it or know how to begin it. So instead I laid on the couch in a pitiful heap with blankets covering me up, trying to hide me from the world. I laid there angry and annoyed with myself for not working. While lying there frustrated and completely useless, I kept hearing in the back of my mind her words, over and over again. “You’re supposed to be a girl at PLAY!”

I decided to give in to the voice so I packed my bag with my notepad, pen, book and proposal and headed to the cafe. I decided that I would try to mix taking some time off with a little bit of work and see if I could enjoy it.

At first, sitting in the cafe was awkward. I ate my sandwich far too fast and gulped down my water. I was reading my book at an alarming rate, missing half of what it was saying. Instead of slowing down to relax I kept trying to hurry the whole experience, still feeling like I was wasting time.

There were moments when I thought I’d just pack up and go home. I was just that miserable.

But I forced myself to stay and be in the present. Slowly I began to relax and finally I became swept away in the moment. For the first time in weeks, I was able to reconnect with myself.

That’s when I was able to really see what was around me. I began to see and soak in the inspiration that was all around. I became mesmerised by the hard rain pounding mercilessly against the cafe windows. I noticed how the two lovers next to me spoke to each other as though no one was else around and how they touched each other when their conversation became intense. I stared at the whip cream as it melted into the mocha and created my favourite colour. I listened to the sound of the lunchtime buzz as people were hurried in and out. Most of all, I just simply enjoyed my time.

Seeing everything clearly and sometimes in slow motion was powerful to me. I instantaneously felt as ease and comforted. I felt ALIVE! It was these moments that reminded me why I am here and what enjoying life is about – the little details that others are too busy to see.

I spent over two hours in that cafe. Reading, writing, and just being. I don’t feel one moment was wasted. I don’t think one penny was wasted. I needed that time. I needed to be reminded of what this is all for.

When I got home, there were other emails waiting for me. For the first time in a long time I was relaxed enough to just enjoy reading them and take in all that they had to say. Their words struck me deep and hard. Their power overwhelmed me emotionally and I began to weep a little.

I had been so wrapped up in doing that I hadn’t taken the time to enjoy the life I was creating or the affect I was having on others. I had been measuring my work by the amount of words I had written or the deadlines I had made or the direction I was headed. Slowing down has allowed me to reconnect with myself and measure my success by based on how I feel, how I live and how I am loved.

Without the reminders, kindness and support from all of you, I don’t know if I would have remembered all of that. It was you who reminded me that the purpose of all of this isn’t for money or publishing success but instead to live each day aware. You reminded me to enjoy every moment and have courage to be in the difficult ones. You reminded me that we are here to help and enjoy each other instead of obessing over word counts and page edits. You give me strength to keep going when I don’t think I can.

I don’t think I can ever thank you enough for what you’ve done. Especially for reminding me that I’m not in this alone.

There is my book proposal to finish up and send out. There are articles I have to begin to write for magazines and one I have to finish by Friday. There are contests I want to enter some of my writing in. There’s the Another Girl at Play site to finish up and launch, and my travel site, Anywhere, Everywhere site that needs to be worked on. There’s reading for my Docent class this week, my surgery next week and regular living on top.

Someone please tell me we get more than 24 hours and seven days.

A part of me wonders if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, if I’ve become too ambitious. I know I can multi task and stay atop of things (thanks to my corporate days where I ruled as Alex, Goddess of Multi task) but I wonder if it’s too much? If I had to drop something, what would I drop?

I want it all It’s in me to do it all. Sometimes I think because I spent so much time just thinking of ideas, that now I’m trying to make up for that by doing them all. I think I’ve scared myself into the idea that if I don’t act on it now, I never will. My bout of laziness has actually made me afraid of failing myself again. Of not taking this seriously, of going back to being nothing except one who just dreams.

I can’t call it procrastination.

Procrastination is when you need to change the kitty litter or take out the garbage but you don’t because you just don’t want to. Procrastination is when you have to renew your driver’s license but the thought of standing in a two-hour line at the DMV just makes you cringe. Procrastination is when you put off doing ordinary, every day tasks because you don’t want to do them.

Putting off writing when you know you have something to write about, but just can’t quite get the pen to paper can’t be called procrastinating. When you put off being creative, it tugs at you emotionally. You can feel lazy, stupid and beat yourself up over it. It’s not that you don’t want to be creative – because 99% of the time you really really do – it’s just that for some reason you can’t.

You might even try to trick yourself into sitting in front of the computer to write and try every trick in the book to jump start your brain to no avail. Coffee, baths, naps, they just don’t seem to work. You don’t write, you put it off but the idea of having to stays in your mind and heart all the time. And so does the guilt.

We need to find another word for this, instead of procrastination. We need to find a gentler, kinder name for it. One that doesn’t make you feel guilty when you use it or conjure up images of laziness or stupidity. One that understands that you want to be creative but you just have some kind of block in the moment.

We need a word that gives comfort like a big warm fuzzy sweater that you put on when you’re cold. Something that hugs us and lets us know it’s OK to feel this way because it happens to everyone who is creative.

And we need that word now.

I thought if you were a good writer, you could write stories, articles, and proposals all on your own. In fact, good writers never got help from anyone; that would almost be like cheating.

Awhile ago a friend and I were working on the same writing project and she told me how she was at that point where she needed to brainstorm and get feedback from other people. This startled me. You can get help? Others can offer ideas and that won’t send you straight to writing hell?

All the writing I’ve ever done has come from my head with no brainstorming with others. The only feedback I’ve ever received has been from my finished work; no one’s ever helped me with the process. I thought if I needed help, I must not be very good and so I worked silently and sometimes frustrated, alone.

Part of not asking for help was due to the fact that I have been embarrassed to ask for help. I don’t want someone to read something that I haven’t completely fixed up and made as good as I want to. I feel awkward and shy when people read something of mine that I’m not satisfied with, and instead of being proud of the effort, I start to make excuses for the work and become the worst critic imaginable.

I’m at the stage now, however, that I need help. I’ve written up the proposal for my book and it’s sitting there quiet and pretty on my hard drive. I should go somewhere but it’s not because I am unsure about it. I need someone to look at it and give me honest feedback. However, it’s scaring me to ask. I’m nervous. I’m afraid. It’s like showing yourself naked while asking for respect.

I have access to author friends and people who know how to edit. I know there are people standing by, willing to help if I could just overcome my fear of asking. My fear of feeling like I’m imposing. My fear of being told that it really isn’t very good at all.

I know that I can’t do all this alone, no matter how much of a superhero I think I am. Everyone needs help and feedback at some point and I am no different. I just have to get over my fears of asking for help because stubbornness and independence aren’t helping as much as other people could.

I remember when my site “Another Girl at Play” was just an idea in my head. I remember thinking how absolutely brilliant it would be if I could put together a site that showcased all the creative women who have inspired me. The more I thought about it, the more I really believed in the project. However it took me a really long time to act on it because of fear.

I was afraid if I asked people, they’d all say no – even those that I had become friendly with.

When I finally became brave enough to ask a few people to participate, I got an overwhelming response. YES! They all kept saying. In fact, out of all the people I asked, only one person never responded. I’d say that’s pretty good.

I was thinking about that today, because it’s coming up to a point where I need to start sending stuff out. I’ve been holding back a little bit because when it’s an idea safe in my hands, it has the possibility to be anything. If I send it out, there is the possibility that it becomes nothing and that I get laughed at by other people.

But when I thought about the women I asked to participate and how they said yes, I learned something. I can’t (and shouldn’t) choose how they feel or choose their response. I need to give them the opportunity to decide for themselves how they want to feel. If I never asked people what they thought or sent my work out to them, that is saying that I chose their opinions for them. And the opinion that I would automatically chose would be that they thought the idea, piece of work or myself was just completely daft.

If instead I send something out, then I do not have to be responsible for their opinions. And by letting them choose how they feel about my work, maybe they’ll choose to like it.

Not everyone will like my work, not everyone will want to participate but who am I to decide who gets to and who doesn’t? I have to put my work out there and let them figure it out and get back to me. Looking at it that way makes sending out my proposals a little less daunting.

My birthday is exactly one month away and this has prompted friends to ask what they could get me as a gift.

“Would you like some books on writing?” “Perhaps I could get you an art book.” “Do you need any art supplies?” “What kind of writer gear do you need?” “Tell me which pens and what paper you’d like.”

Their intentions are good, and it’s sweet of them to think of me, but I think one of the worst gifts you could give a creative person is a creative gift.

That’s sounds worse than I mean it, especially since there are far too many books on writing that I’d like and paint supplies that I long for. But it would be like if I still worked in Corporate America and someone gave me a photocopier.

For Christmas the gifts I treated myself to had to do with writing, the gifts I got from friends all had to do with writing. Any free money that I come across goes to writing. All I do lately is live and breathe writing. I’ve become too focused on it that the moments I am not doing it, I feel like I’m being lazy.

Oh, I need to feel guiltlessly lazy.

I’ve let the housework slide because I haven’t had time to clean. Baths are a once a month indulgence that last for ten minutes. Time spent just sitting at the beach or walking have taken a back seat. I don’t take time out for café trips and those lattes that seemed like a deserved indulgence now feel more like a wasted expense. Reading for pleasure seems unproductive and dressing up seems a waste of time. If it hasn’t had to do with writing, I’ve slowly and sometimes unconsciously let it slide out of my life.

For creative people, sometimes the best gifts are those that don’t have anything to do with Creativity. Things like a housecleaner to make their place presentable again. Or someone to do their dishes so it doesn’t irritate the bejesus out of them as they type. Giving them gift certificate for a massage at a local spa helps get rid of all the kinks and stress they accumulate during all those late night hours of endless typing. Taking the creative person out for an adventure walk to the ocean gives them the gift of your time and nature. You could give them a coupon book for Starbucks Coffee and some trashy novels to go with it. Bubble bath, lotions and potions or gift certificates to their favourite stores work well too. Something to help the creative person relax and be OK with it is a great gift.

Just don’t give them sharpened pencils. Trust me on that one.

I don’t want to admit it. I’m embarrassed to say it. I feel like a fake to declare it. But I will if only to keep the integrity of this site.

I’m having a down day. A full blown can’t get my ass to work even if it had to save my life kind of day. I know, it was just the other day I was complaining about not having any down time.

I went to bed at around midnight last night full of energy and enthusiasm. I had my weekly Docent Training class last night at the museum and it left my brain whirling because we had just spent three hours learning about abstract art and artists. This was by far the most interesting class I have had in my four months there and for the first time I made a connection to abstract art. Instead of hating it I have to confess to now being extremely passionate about it. Learning about it made me feel freer with regards to my own creativity and that I didn’t have to colour within the lines to be accepted. It wasn’t about being pretty, but expressing. That new thread of learning energised me into wanting to paint and create again after a month of stillness. I couldn’t wait for the next day to begin.

When I got home from class I had emails from several people who just made me feel so wonderful and excited. Their enthusiasm and honesty made me feel accepted as an artist and friend. Their words made me feel powerful. “If they say I’m on the right track,” I thought, “I must be! Let’s show them they’re right!”

With so many ideas and encouragement with me, I went to sleep a very content, excited person, waiting for the next morning when I could use all the feelings I had to begin something.

Instead of waking up at the usual, normal hour of 8am, something woke me up instead at 4am. Even for the workaholic I’ve become, 4 am is just downright too dirty a time to start doing anything and so I tried to fall back to sleep. But I couldn’t. I began to try every trick in the book to no avail. The milk didn’t work, watching mindless tv didn’t work, and meditation didn’t work. Even two thousand sheep didn’t work. I was up, no way around it.

With less than four hours sleep, I was tired and in a funk. My eyes had a hard time functioning and my brain was thicker than London Fog. This rendered me useless. I kept wandering the house trying to settle down and do something but at around 11:30am I had to give in and take a nap.

After the nap I tried to write. I began to just work on what was already there hoping my brain would get a much needed jumpstart. But it didn’t’. Instead I was left cranky, more tired, frustrated and even a little bitter. I think I even wallowed a little bit too.

It’s frustrating to me when I want to do something – work on my writing, finish my proposal, make some headway on my portfolio – but I just can’t. I get angry with myself for not doing anything. If I call in sick I don’t have a back up to keep things caught up and going until I return. If I don’t do anything, nothing gets done.

It’s hard for me to accept that some days I kick ass and some days, not so much. The past two weeks I have been superwoman and accomplished so much with little sleep, that I have a hard time comprehending why today is any different.

I have all this inspiration around me; great ideas that need to be made real and too many wonderful things going on. But right now I just don’t want to be a part of any of it. I’m worn out, I’m tired and I need to accept that today, that’s just going to have to be OK.

Even if it kills me.