Monday, December 12, 2005


I love coming home to mail. Takeout flyers, post cards, bills -- you name it. It makes me feel important.

Today I came home to part of my holiday Indigo book order and a gift for Nate from friends in Arizona. I also had a rather large envelope from Today's Parent magazine.

"Holy shit Nate," I muttered, baby on my lap, hot and squirming to get out of his ski jacket, "They are turning Mommy down! I can't fucking believe this."

I had pitched them an article a while back on Mom blogs. Ann, Jen, Marla and Kristin were all going to contribute with snazzy quotes. It was going to fucking rock. But while I have a lot of writing experience for online, I don't have a ton of print experience (one zine and one magazine). Nor do I have any formal training. And maybe I'm just not Today's Parent material. (Maybe I should have mentioned that I would not be using the word "Fuck" in my article? God I love the word. FUCK!)

I had never queried a magazine before and the whole process was new to me. Still, I had high hopes. I guess I was thinking that getting the greenlight from a major Canadian publication would be the start of a freelance career. But alas, no.

How do people do it? There are so many fabulous writers out there. So many who are already working. So many who are writing blogs who are yet undiscovered. REALLY good writers. How do you turn it into something successful for yourself when there is so much competition out there? Sometimes it scares me. What if my dreams don't come true?

My dad has been writing his whole life. He had a manuscript turned down in the 80s and he never recovered. So he hides in his fave Archie Bunker chair and scribbles the same book over and over in different ways. I am eager to break the cycle, and I guess with my web, screen and small mag writing I've already had more professional success than him. But is that all the success I'm meant to have? And how will I find the time to actually write something meaningful with a baby and a job?

Sometimes I realize that I'm losing the battle before I've gone to war (to use a cliché -- which you're never supposed to do). But I'm a mom in my 30s and I feel the clock ticking. My creative career clock. I guess you are always searching for at least one of the big three: Your life's passion, your life's great love, and your life's great belief (Is that the third one? I can't fucking remember now). So what happens when you find your passion, but have no clue about how to make it a reality?

Now I totally know how the Dog feels when one of his films get rejected by a film festival. The ego is bruised. I feel a tad like a loser who's going nowhere and should be nicer to people in corporations, since she'll be in a veal-fattening pen her whole life.

I also know that like anything, you just have to get back on the bike and try again. But FUCKFUCKFUCK it sucks so much ass to get turned down.

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