“Ring the bells that still can ring…”

A long time ago, someone used the information I shared on this blog for personal gain and stupidity. Not long after, I caught on and addressed it. Like, really, really addressed it. And I’m happy I did.

And now that all the weirdness and intensity resulting from that is behind me, I feel like I want to share things on a blog again, keep better track of my thoughts; I no longer choose to feel awkward about sharing my words.

After some exhaustive thinking, I made some decisions that have been serving me well over the last few months. And now it’s simply time to address the final decision and tell you that this is the last entry for this particular blog.

I’ve met wonderful people who met me through this blog; I landed great writing jobs because of the writing I was able to showcase here; more importantly though, this blog gave me an opportunity to practice what I know I was meant to do: make stories.

I will be starting another blog shortly and will post here only to share that information. I expect it will be in just a few weeks, before the end of the summer.

I hope supporters of my blog will read my posts again. But if not, thank you for doing so – whether it was once, twice or you read my posts weekly… thank you. Because a writer without an audience is just a crazy person with a bunch of things to say.

Talk soon,

sandyb.

 

-photo taken by Sabrina D, May 2010 on a flight from Toronto to New York; lyrics from “Anthem” by Leonard Cohen.

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The luxury of being specific.

(glamorously working from home)

I’ve attempted this post several times, but have found myself pulled away by one deadline or another. Please accept this as a positive sign, because it means that I’m a writer who is busy… and a busy writer is a working writer…and a working writer… isn’t banging her head against the wall wondering why she writes at all. Although, I’d have to say, I don’t question writing as much as I question making it my job sometimes.

I’ve become increasingly protective – no, more like specific – about the kind of writing I will sell. I can’t say this option is available to everyone though. Sometimes being specific or “choosey”, as they say, is considered a luxury.

Sometimes you have to sell your work in order to pay your bills, which means having to work on projects that make you want to stay in bed when the alarm goes off at 6:30 a.m. I know those projects. I’ve lived them. But it’s part of life as a working writer…

or that’s what I used to think.

Some time last year, my focus shifted and I started getting very specific about what I will or won’t (or can’t) do as a writer. If there’s one thing I know for sure right now, it’s that writing about things I like and connect with is a must, paid or not. I’ve also learned that being a writer simply means being a storyteller – how I tell those stories can change, as long as there is passion at the foundation of the project.

I hope this post doesn’t sound unrealistic. Trust me, I’ve made my compromises and have worked on projects that made me miserable. But that’s exactly why I wanted to share this small lesson, which has served me well in recent weeks: when you turn your passion into your work, be protective of that relationship – don’t set yourself up to hate what you do by doing what you hate.  Whether that’s writing, painting, woodworking, yoga, dancing or building cars, try never to convince yourself that you can’t afford the so-called “luxury” of being specific.

-sandy.

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Right here.

I like the weight of the laptop on my legs.
Don’t feel like putting it down just yet.
So I keep typing.
Just writing
whatever.

Right now
like this.

The window is open.
Jazz is playing.
It’s sunny
and warm
and breezy
but altogether.

That almost never happens.

I want to remember this feeling.
So I’m putting it here.
In case I need it.
For when I need it
again.

It’s stamped
right here.

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