Edit: Conversation continued at www.christinacrook.com

I come out of my blogernation (that’s the words blogging and hiberation conjoined like wiggly newborn twins) to bring you this article.

Is writing for the rich?

To me, it often seems  like more of a luxury than I can afford (whether that be with the riches of time, energy, currency, etc). My fellow blogger Christina, on the other hand, meets the sacrifice with devotion, and makes it all look very glamourous in the meantime (yes, even in a green barista apron). Her practice works – and career-wise, seems to be working very well for her. That is not to say, however, that writing isn’t still a huge struggle even for the successful - and living off of it a whole different story.  I write without expectation of pay. Mostly in private, but sometimes (here) very publicly. I can only imagine that if you were willing to fundraise for my employer for free, I would be ousted in no time at all.  

So I ask then is writing now purely for the hobbyists? Do I dillute the efforts of the truly brilliant with my on-air ramblings?

I wonder. I wonder. I wonder…out loud.

Thanks for reading.

Jen

PS: Photo borrowed from LittleBrownPen – an American writer living in Paris.

Now for what I came here to say:

We can all dream for a little while before it’s time to go to work, to feed the kids, to run, to grocery shop, to wash your hair, to be someone different than the person who is just having her coffee and thinking of buying this house. Click here to change your mind about Portland.

Jen

…have I been? My little blog here is still a passion, but there just hasn’t been enough time. So many potential posts float before my eyes, while my fingers have not been quick enough to grab them. I have been posting almost daily for a month and a half now. And, as I’d hoped, I’ve formed a full-fledged habit. I am biking to work this week, so please excuse my sporadic visits. I still have so much to share.

Picture found at Hei Astrid’s who found the picture herself here.

I like that magazine’s motto: Special made Simple.

I am learning biking is a simple pleasure.

It’s almost sad how many wedding magazines I’ve already collected from various grocery stores around town. I look down at the pretty ring on my hand and only half-believe it’s me. The weekend went too fast between breakfast on Lonsdale with Kat and an engagement dinner at Ash’s parents. Now I’m hesitating at the edge of this Sunday night, wishing Mondays were a little less predictable. Still, I just can’t help myself. I’m feeling sunny inside. Despite the rain. Despite the writer’s block. Thanks for all the congratulations. I will go back to my reviews and musings now. No more kissy-kissy pictures. I swear.

What I’d like: a flawlessly blue pool, a morning off, a book I can’t stop reading, a Pimms with grapefruit soda and cucumber, a pedicure, an alter-ego who loves doing laundry.

Night.

A collage journal from the archives today.

A page from my book. And one from Anais Ninn’s.

Last night, over barbequed Italian Sausages in  pillowy portugeuse buns, we met Champagne Wednesday with our Mini Blanc de Blancs and an episode of America’s Next Top Model. Is it any wonder my creativity was sapped?

And yet, we were content. So, instead of creating a new collage, I decided to revisit one from the past. Reading through my old journals is one of my favourite things to do. For instance, from reading my journal, I know what a good thing it is that my Anais Ninn books are no longer beside my bed or in my purse. Finally, they’ve come to rest, and let me rest too. Somewhere on a bookshelf, and I am happy to say, I don’t even know exactly which one.

I want to live only for ecstacy. Small doses, moderate loves, all half-shades leave me cold. I like extravangance. Letters which give the postman a stiff back to carry, books which overflow from their covers… 

That’s it for now. I am thinking of adding a new category to cover some rants that have been burning in me for some time. Work is such a huge part of my day, and the source of so much tortured comedy in my life. So, keep a look out. I already know what my first rant will be.

Jen

Ash and I have a song we like to sing it the morning. It goes like this: “Going-to-work, crrrh crrh crrrh.”

The “crrh crrhh” sounds really need a live performance in order to get the full effect…but the general idea is one of friction, resistance, denial, fingers slipping off the cliff of our lovely weekend.

This photograph from Paul Costello pretty much sums it up.

In fact, has anyone seen Ashleah?

The issue is this: I want to be a writer. All those private conversations I’ve had with myself, filed away into so many journals – I am ready to consider them. More importantly, I am ready to act on them. I think this blog is a good start. And hopefully, where words live, readers will come. It’s hard to believe how many of you have stopped by already. Thank you.

Inspiration is such an electric thing. Even the going-to-work song had a little more spring this morning. If you are looking for some, try her and her.

Ok, back to work!

Enjoy your day. Wherever you are. Tomorrow is Wednesday…

Jen