I already need to write everyday, but fail to do it. I keep letting other things get in the way. Considering the fact that I’ll probably have to end up working for myself, it would be in my best interest to get a lot of writing done on a schedule–as if I’m going to work. I used to do that when I did transcribing and mechanical turking. I treated it like a job and worked about six hours per day. It’s technically “poverty level work” (meaning, it doesn’t meet min. wage and isn’t taxable) but I was able to pay small bills with it.
The only problem with working for myself as a writer is that I’ll start out doing the work of a secretary or a ghost writer. I won’t be coming right off the bat writing poetry or stories. I mean, I’d love to, but I think you have to have a following for that. I don’t even know how to get a following, lol. People sorta like me, I think. But if I start advertising my book again, it will be the same as always–no hits, no sales, no nothing. That sucks and it’s supposed to motivate me to keep trying, but I’m a soft ass catbear. It just makes me curl up into a ball of sadness.
So, I’m working on a lot of things. My dad, however, is totally not aware of that. Or doesn’t accept it. So we have a bit of a slightly rocky relationship with highs and lows. His nagging, his worries, his pushing. Mix that in with my stress, my self-hatred, my depression–*deep sigh* So we argue often, he teaches me “lessons” (sometimes punishment lol….but mostly talking to me) and I’m the slow to warm hippie with all kinds of awesome introverted issues trying to make things work out.
But it reminds me that I need to devote myself to my craft. I need to re apply to places. It reminds me to do so much and not get caught up. It reminds me of the one thing I cannot seem to get ahold to–consistency. The same goes for my practice of Buddhism. My neighbor introduced me to it, and I practice off and on. She said to me “if you keep praying, things will change.” I believe her, but just like my former religion (Baptist), I wasn’t consistent with my study or prayers.
All religion aside, consistency is my issue. I fall off the trail way too easily. I feel like every time my dad comes to me with a nag or concern about my life, it’s my sign. It’s my calling. And after I’ve stressed out, cried, and gotten angry defending myself–that’s when I need to start writing. Yet I get so caught up in the moment that I do not. Time to change that.