The Path of a Writer

A couple Saturdays ago, I was off to meet The Urban Muse for a cup of coffee.

She was in town visiting friends, and I was looking forward to hanging out with another writer/blogger. I envisioned us sipping lattes and chatting about how incredible it is to be a writer…yes, we’d bask about the wonderful life as an artist…it would be great.

Except I was in tears. My freakin’ car broke down again. No way in H-E-Double-Toothpicks I was driving twelve miles in the rain without a window (it rolled down and never came back up).

I’ve had my sedan for what seems like forever. It’s scratched and dented. 100,000 miles. Ten years old. And constantly falling apart. (Anyone wanna buy it?) I can’t afford a different car because . . . guess why? I decided to abandon a steady-paying job for the wonderful writing life.

"I promise I won’t mind the sacrifices," I said nearly three years ago. And for the most the part I haven’t. Oh, it took some adjusting – don’t get me wrong – but writing brings me joy in ways nice restaurants, fancy electronic gadgets, and big houses never will. Sure, I’d love a Caribbean vacation come February. I could use some new clothes (like a pair of jeans without holes in the knees), but foregoing that stuff is worth it. There’s nothing like waking up every morning and having a day that stretches in front of me to write. I normally wear yoga pants anyway.

But the car! Argh! Get this – the window actually broke on the drive back from the repair shop where it was being fixed after smoke started pouring out of the hood. That Saturday morning, I had had it. I did the only rational thing I could do: I blamed my husband.

He was just so stingy for not agreeing to dip into our savings for a more reliable car, I argued at him. Couldn’t he see my point…that it’s expensive being cheap? How long before he realized we were paying more in rental car fees each month than if we just went out and bought something dependable?

Thankfully, we don’t fight often. But when we do it never fails – I bring up my favorite topic: “If we still lived in California,” I said, “I could drive our crappy car because it’s sunny out there!” Of course The Urban Muse wasn’t visiting LA, but that’s a minor detail.

Eventually my anger subsided, but my tears didn’t. Ron agreed to drive me to the coffeehouse (the broken window was on the driver’s side), so he braved the wet as I sat bundled in my coat, my hat pulled over my eyes as I dabbed the tears that spilled down my cheeks. I was just going to have to tell The Urban Muse that I was on the verge of chucking my whole dream.

Inside the coffeehouse, my heart immediately opened up. It was warm and comfy. I listened to the clatter of plates and looked at the tables full of freelancers, pecking away on their laptops as they drafted prose. They all had holes in their jeans. These are my peeps. And I love this life. Ends up The Urban Muse and I did swap good tips, and we talked about goals for 2008. She encouraged me to revisit an assignment that had fallen by the wayside last year (it’s back on track now – thanks, Susan!), and I left feeling inspired.

Back home I realized that I have been able to write an invoice every single day for awhile, including weekends. This is a drastic improvement from when I first ventured down this path; in the beginning, I was lucky to send an invoice once a month. And I have a feeling it’s only going to get better.