Busy as a Bee (keeper)

The past few weeks have flown by, as the start of summer always seems to.

I've been to a few improv comedy shows at The Hideout. I tried to attend the Republic of Texas Biker Rally but had to leave due to the heat. I've been to the doctor twice for persistent heat-rash and other heat related issues. I went to Karaoke and was convinced (under influence of alcohol) to sing half a song. And I finally went to the Barton Springs Pool, and I am sure to return.

A bit frustrated at my own time management skills, I am, as always, losing the battle to balance socializing, working, writing, and learning new things. The newest addition to my days is jogging, which I swore I'd never do. It is a quick way to stay fit so it's either jog or cut down on the candy. Do the math: no jogging = less candy, jogging = candy stability, more jogging = more candy.

Note: I am always playing motivator for other people, telling them what they can do to improve this or that. My best intentions usually fail and annoy the ones I mean to help. I want to see the potential in everyone, but then I get ticked when I don't see them living up to that alleged potential. Caught in my own web, my brother Jon is to blame for telling me to jog, telling me to do it just so he could tell me to do something that I have the potential to do. I do not like the taste of my own medicine.

The biggest news is that the non-profit my friend Lizz so ably established is running in high-speed. My next career move (fall 2010) will be a three month stint in South Africa/Zimbabwe setting up a beekeeping farm. Not just a cause I believe in, this move supports a friend I believe in. Not to mention all the fun I'm having when I announce to friends my plans to become a bee rancher (or apiculturist, for the science-inclined).

My goal to do something or meet someone new every day is being reignited by the bee developments. To those who aren't sure what they are doing with their lives: I can only say to treat every day as the beginning of a journey. Corny enough, I wrote this on a post-it on my bathroom mirror. I am never bored, lost, or disappointed on the first day of a journey - and by constantly recognizing something new in my life, I am content to evolve into the person I am meant to be, one day at a time.

Career Path

I'm back to a universe of collared shirts, toe-pinch shoes, and sub-humanist overhead lighting. That's right. The cubicle called to me; the paycheck gestured "Come hither."

Progress to date: The finance book is half-finished and due to the economy, temporarily shelved (bad pun, yay). I get a very small monthly income from E-how and have no time to write new articles. I'm trying to keep up with the Examiner.com, but writing the minimum three articles a week is an incredible time demand. It's too soon to say if the Examiner is financially worth it, and unless they get a print version in Chicago I'm not sure it's a resume boost either. Last week I 'auditioned' for Mortified. My usual stage fright has tempered with continued improv classes, but I was still very flustered. I won't know how it went for another month, I'm guessing not well, but at least I had the balls to try.

It was a sleepless week in Chicago for the AWP writer's conference. I was giddy to visit lectures, pick a school for my MFA, and bump shoulders with fellow wannabes. Then Monday came...

...And these past months where my schedule revolves around writing, dissolved from memory. I'm back to scheduling every hour of free time to ensure I write/journal/read every day. All this while maintaining my year's goal to do something or meet someone new every day.

The pressure to find each new adventure has left me feeling ballsy. I go to bars alone, I try things I've always been afraid of, I talk to strangers. Why don't more people do this? Why do we hesitate? Screw that whole fear of failure thing; it's time to start getting what we want by trying, failing, getting embarrassed, and never regretting that we didn't try.

Perspective

Read this in a book review: "Leaving home...may provide the necessary perspective required for a writer to actually write with an objective eye."

book stores, etc.

Went to the renegade book store yesterday, and defended a customer against the biligerent owner. Have no idea why I entered the argument, other than the fact I had nothing better to do. Went last night to Book People, which is the largest book store in Austin, I think the largest in Texas. Not quite the Mecca I was hoping for; I've been spoiled by the 4 story Borders on Michigan Ave. But they do a lot of author readings, and they're hosting events for this month's National Novel Writing Month, which I'm trying to participate in. Writing a novel in one month = 1200 words/day. I'm not quite there yet, but I keep trying.

The electrician finally came to fix my hot water heater, and while he waited for it to heat I pulled out my cartoonish map of Austin so he could point out his favorite spots. We went across the street for lemonade, yes, I kidnapped the maintenance guy of all people. He used to be in finance, worked for Enron, so we talked some about my current project. I like the place we went to, it's a huge yard full of old furniture and mismatched tables. Mostly old porch swings, those plastic/chrome classroom chairs, and a fountain made from a rusty watering-can pouring into a bathtub.

Applied for waitressing jobs, but I am highly underqualified. I have experience, but every server at every restaurant is covered in tattoos and I wonder if I look to clean-skinned for employment. Austin has more tattoo parlors than any other city in the south, and it shows. Just outline tattoos mostly, not the colorful 'sleeves' I'm used to up north.

I have Cedar Fever as they call it here. The juniper trees are starting to pollinate (they call them cedars) and I'm a sneeze-aholic every time I go outside. Some relief to the allergies and the warmth came when it rained today. I heard the thunder, then the rain came, and two minutes later it was done.

How this writing life started

I knew when I was 8 that I wanted to be a writer. There was a drawer in our living room with my stories, written on that one-inch ruled paper you use in kindergarten. I have a degree in creative writing as proof that I am serious, but also that I am willing to disregard family concerns about my career choice. Yet, only now at age 28 have I finally cut ties with traditional income flow and decided to go broke writing.

A few of my writing jobs: crappy commercials, grants, scripts for documentaries, business letters, and during college i wrote papers for $10 a page.

No more writing for everyone else, or doing office jobs to pay the bills. I've saved some money, cut the cable, don't own a car, and will waitress as needed to avoid the traditional 9 to 5. Two weeks ago I left a good paying job. In reality, as excited as I am about this little experiment, it is scary as hell to know that I gave up security.

Never interested in blogs before, I realize that it is one more way to keep myself motivated. If I don't feel like writing anything else, it's fairly easy to put random thoughts on the page, with the added motivation that someone might be bored enough to read it.