The Glamorous Life

Yeah. Well, that wouldn’t be freelancing.

Although I love it and I can’t see me doing anything else at this point, if you think writing and/or editing full-time is a glamorous job, let me put it to you straight.

You are outside your mind.

It takes Ballz of Steel. Endurance and stamina. A twisted sense of humor helps, and so does Mad Organizational Skillz. You must have discipline, and an endless supply of coffee.

And, if you happen to write fiction as well as non-fiction, you must be able to juggle many objects in the air. For me, I find it impossible to do both at the same time. It’s like a switch from the left brain cell to the right brain cell, and if I try to run both at the same time, I flip the breaker or blow the fuse. I try not to do that. It’s such a mess to clean up brain goo.

Feast or famine in the Freelance Universe, that seems to be one of the universal laws. Therefore, since lately I have had demands for my writerly services of a non-fiction type, all fiction (to include the last three chapters of Athena’s Promise and Flash Fiction Friday *sob*) have come to a screeching halt. So has Twittering (double *sob*!) and Facebooking. Priorities, yanno.

So, as I sit here with a pile of articles to write (thank ya Jeezuz, for the work, I really need it) in my pajamas after being up all night with the pukkies, the word “glamorous” is not even in my vocabulary. Deadlines will be met No Matter What, money will exchange hands, bills will be paid and hopefully, at some point, I’ll be able to dive into my fiction world once again.

In the meantime, I’m rolling in words like a pig wallows in mud, and I’m just as happy. I never was the glamorous type.