A day in the life of freelance writing …

It’s nearly 20 days since I’ve posted. Twenty days! That’s 20 NaBloPoMo posts that would not have happened. Nonetheless, I presently have writers’ fatigue.

I just finished a feature article for a magazine my UU congregation is publishing. It will be a full color magazine, mine will be the cover story.  I am writing the article pro bono. For whatever reason, this meant that EVERY PERSON I interviewed wanted to “proof” or “review” the article. Usually I would say “NO! NO! NO!” Except that my recorder failed on my last day of interviews, so I relied mostly on my notes. This does not happen with paid work.

Speaking of which, I have a couple of paid writing jobs coming up, both of which I hope will amount to ongoing work. I will be moving to a small town in March and would love if I could get a steady stream of income from writing at home. It’s been a year playing with kids at the children’s museum, and since there is not room for growth there, it’s time for new ventures.

Well, gotta go. I have not been making it to my writers group so unexpectedly I was just messaged the writing prompt. Let the writing from home commence!


Oasis for my Inner Child and Suffering Adult

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Oasis.”

A sanctuary is a place you can escape to, to catch your breath and remember who you are. Write about the place you go to when everything is a bit too much.

Oasis Bedroom

A few years ago my oasis would have been the woods or Lake Superior. Somewhere in nature where I could escape; rejuvenate and let go before returning back to “my real life”.

As some readers know, I went into treatment in February 2013 for alcoholism and bi-polar. My home and room had never been an “Oasis”; it was a place of chaos with a bed of shame. A place where I drank too much in “secret” and passed out; where I whirled around like the Tasmanian Devil then succumbed to a paralyzing depression.

Today my bedroom is my Oasis. I cannot take credit for the bedding, curtains or other furnishings.  My care provider decorated the room, providing an inner-child sanctuary.   The PEZ, books and “stuff” are mine. It’s my 14-year-old girl’s room I never had.  If it had Cory Hart posters on the wall, it would be a time capsule. Except even at 14 my life was chaos. Alcoholic mother, alcoholic & abusive brother, loving  but often absent father;  I raised myself, resulting in a chaotic adult.

At 41, I gave in and accepted help. I thought I “got it” in 2010, but really was still “raising” myself poorly; putting other suffering people’s needs first, caregiving without yet being whole. I had to give up my independence in order to find sanctuary.

This room is in a home where my needs are met. This room is an introverts dream. In the last week it’s literally been a place of recovery. I had a bad car accident and this refuge is where I am recuperating. In Minnesota, it’s well below zero but I have a heated mattress pad that not only keeps me warm, but helps with my aches and pains from injury.

I will have to leave this oasis in a couple months. I’ve been able to save money, shown myself to be a responsible adult, and am well enough to leave sanctuary, with hopes that it will serve another as well as it has saved me.