Some time ago, at the prompting of a friend, I began writing a narrative account of the strange things that have happened in my life–curious coincidences, intuitions that mattered, even instances of what could be called spectral visions. As I begin this blog, I’ve got an outline, a conclusion, a first chapter with part of a second, and a circle of friends (veteran writers among them) urging me on.
The book is called Choosing Miracles: A Memoir of Voices, Visions, and Angels.
That’s what I’ve got.
What I don’t have in place is my own internalized identity as a writer. And I can never seem to get, find, or create the time, space, and energy to write given my work as a full-time freelance proofreader. (These, I’m sure, are related.)
Yes, of course I should make my own work my priority and turn to the moneymaking jobs after the day’s writing is done. Yes, of course I should write every day, no matter what. It doesn’t happen. My proofreader self crowds out the writer in me every time. I’ve got to get to that job on the desk so I can submit the invoice so I can pay the bills. And by the end of my day looking for typos, bad word breaks, bad base alignments, and inconsistent heads, the last thing I want to do is mess with words–even my own.
So I go to the park and look for birds. I go to the movies. I watch TV. I do things that lift my eyes off the page or out of the computer and I watch colors, shapes, and things that move. It’s wonderful!
This blog is an attempt to deal with the conflict between my work as a proofreader and my work as a writer. (There are other conflicts I’m aware of that are getting in my way, but I’ll talk about them later.) I’m beginning here. I’m creating this place where I can come and go casually, on coffee breaks or when I’m shifting from one proofreading job to another, and jot things down. Who knows what it’ll turn into?
Now it’s time to work on the quarterly macroeconomic forecast for New Jersey.