Over the last couple of weeks my daily habits have drifted from a creative focus into a busy business zone. It was an inevitable shift, which I thought would produce guilt and anxiety but it didn’t. I accepted the latest course correction and acknowledged the segue into the freelance world. It was time. I navigated through writing structure issues, then used the experience as advice on how not to write a story. With the encouragement of dear friends I pushed through the agony of producing my own content for extra webpages and the mild panic of adding said pages to the website myself. I also attended a different network group, met with a peer who imparted valuable advice and a book loan. I even held it together while my business advisor mansplained figures at me. The culmination of this business activity and marketing has led me to my first published article. Things are looking up, I could not be happier.
I had a satisfying sense of achievement that I shared with everyone I thought would be interested and basked in the congratulations that followed. There is still plenty of work to get on with, but gleeful excitement made it difficult to settle into anything too heavy. Instead, I updated several other social media platforms and mused about writing. It was a comforting thought and a reminder that writing serves several purposes, sometimes it is just for a release and the joy that comes with letting go.
I recently considered the idea of a light hobby outside of writing. It seemed sensible to have another outlet to relax, enjoy and clear my often hectic mind. I deliberated for a few days then, I kid you not, I bought a calligraphy set. I couldn’t help myself, plus I love fountain pens, so there you have it. It’s official, I’m a writer.