Annus Horribilis

Latin for "horrible year".

Also, the title of a speech given by Queen Elizabeth in 1992. 

And while it's safe to say that Liz's year at that time was arguably far worse than mine has been of late, I'm still commandeering the phrase for my own purposes. So there.

As you can tell through a simple comparison of dates, it's been almost a full year since I've blogged. My personal life took a fairly distinct sideways turn. 

Or several, as it were. 

(I'll address those in further detail in subsequent posts.)

As I bobbed and weaved and tried to get my life back on track, I fell away from writing for awhile. Partially because I was so busy. Partially because I didn't have the mental or emotional wherewithal to give it its due diligence. 

As time progressed, I eventually worked my way back toward writing. A bit of freelance here and there (time and exhaustion permitting). A bit of my personal WIP, more recently. But it wasn't until this past week that I felt ready to get back to blogging.

Probably sounds weird, right?

But writing is such a personal endeavor. It is something you pour your heart and soul (and a lot of caffeine) into. And with where I was at mentally and emotionally, I wasn't ready (or, honestly, willing) to open those gates again. First, because I didn't want my WIP to be associated with this tough time for me, risking tainting it with bad memories and negative emotions. And second, because blogging is so personal, and I needed to process my own crap before attempting to jauntily parlay that into a series of posts that didn't sound like they were written by a hyper-emotional Crazy Cat Lady with a twitchy eye.

So, eleven months later, here I am, bitches! Back and better than ever! Let's do this!

Back from the ether... With lemons

So it was brought to my attention quite recently (thanks Boppa!) that I haven't been blogging very frequently lately. Which is... totally true.

Especially here on Muddled Lemons.

About a month and a half.

Eesh, sorry!

Life has been hectic of late. 80% in a good way, mind you. But hectic nonetheless.

Continuing to build my writing career (yes, I still giggle awkwardly at calling it that). Working on the novel that has been bouncing around in my head for a number of years. Producing freelance content for clients. Occasional writing on my other blogs. Applied for my first 'big girl' writing job with a pretty big news/gossip site (which I totally won't get, but it's the putting-yourself-out-there that counts).

On top of that, Hubs has been busy climbing the corporate ladder at his new job, and loving every minute of it (except when he had to fire someone, that part sucked). And the kids have kept me busy with their eight million extracurricular activities. I clearly missed my calling as a chauffeur.

I also was recently hired to produce the content for a start-up website. Well, kinda. It's a long, cluster-f*ck of a story. The first client, K, contacted me to write the content for a site they want to go live in mid-November. I wrote the first article for them, and they were really impressed with it and recommended me to their colleague, S.

S contacted me a few days later, describing two upcoming health projects they are building, both of which are huge in scope, and they said I could have one or both if I wanted.

Well, of course I jumped at the chance. I know little to nothing about the topics of these projects, but that's nothing a little research can't remedy. You can't turn down that kind of an opportunity! As Tina Fey says, "say yes and figure it out later".

So things were chugging along all fine and dandy, when the second client, S, emailed me asking if they could contact me via my personal e-mail, rather than through the host site.

I politely said no. Because privacy.

They then asked if I would be willing to produce this content via another host site, citing cheaper commission rates on the other sites.

Again, I politely said no.

Because here's the thing: the site I write through has incredibly stringent author protections in place, reducing the likelihood of being ripped off by a client. Which is a huge issue in the freelance world, and the exact reason I don't just query clients on my own.

(Yes, you could make more money querying on your own, but there's no guarantee of payment, so you could have wasted your time and had your work essentially stolen.)

By asking to contact me outside of the host site, and asking me to move to a competitor's site, this client not only basically asked me to break protocol, but was also essentially putting my standing with the host site (standing which is quite high), as well as my personal security and chances of even getting paid at risk.

All to save them two percentage points (maybe $20) on the host commission.

So now I don't know if I will be continuing with these projects. I'm currently working on the first article for the first health project, because the client had already deposited the money into their client account (one of the assurances the site takes for their authors as guarantee of payment).

After that? Who knows?

The whole thing left me feeling pretty dejected. For every decent freelance client out there, it seems like there are a dozen shady ones looking to score as much free or low-paid work as possible. It's quite disheartening.

Yes, I am technically a paid writer. Yes, you have to claw your way up in this industry. Yes, you have to pay your dues. Yes, there will always be lousy clients or rejection letters or doubters or people looking to take advantage of you. Yes, you will eventually make something of yourself through sheer hard work and determination. But some days it honestly doesn't feel worth it. Some days, I feel like I'm just wasting my time and getting paid peanuts in the process.

(Aren't I just a sparkling ray of sunshine?!?)

So for now, I plug away at the menial tasks of being a newbie freelancer. And for now, I just hope that at some point, preferably sooner rather than later, someone will give me a chance to prove my worth. And make a livable writer's wage in the process.

On top of dealing with the emotional quagmire associated with freelance writing, we've had a few other out-of-left-field curveballs. Because life has a sense of humor, apparently.

Our dishwasher broke this week. You know, the brand new dishwasher that's less than a year old. Yep, that one. So I've been 50s-housewife-ing it up this week.

I know, I know, First World Problems.

But it's annoying nonetheless.

Especially since the only reason we bought our appliances through this particular store was because of the apparent "wonderful customer service" as assured by our builder.

Well that customer service apparently means you have to wait over a week for them to even come out and look at the appliance in question.

I swear, if they try to renege on the fact that it's still under warranty, I may be inclined to throat-punch someone.

Just sayin' is all.

Then, the other day my husband's car finally gave out. It's a 2004 Passat. And if you know anything about VWs, you know that they tend to crap out pretty epically.

We've dumped more money into that damn car over the last few years than it's even worth, most recently paying almost $1000 last month to replace the fuel pump.

And then it just ups and dies.

Bastard car.

So we're figuring out what to do now. We can't go into winter without two reliable vehicles. However, we just bought that damn truck this summer because our Suburban blew up. Can we really take on ANOTHER car payment? Or can we really keep dumping money into a piece of shit car that has virtually no trade in value or financial worth?

I'll be honest. I'm damn sick of dealing with vehicle issues. We've dealt with more vehicle issues in the last, what, four or five months, than we have pretty much ever.

Pretty much sums it up.

I've also been incredibly anxious for the past few days, but not in terms of the writing stress or the car stress. It's another beast entirely. I can't quite put my finger on why. And it's made it near impossible to get a good night's sleep or have much of an appetite.

Some days I feel like the gods look down on me and smile. And point. And laugh. And throw things.

Life's little curveballs keep things interesting. But sometimes life's little curveballs get pretty tiresome. And sometimes there's nothing more soothing than a good cry. Or six.

Usually I'm like this:

And some days I'm like this:

But today? I'm like this:

To quote Britney Spears...

So I've been working as a freelance writer (officially, anyway) for about a year now. And I'll be honest, I've been making peanuts. Like, I can handle the Starbucks budget.... and that's pretty much it.

But I love writing! It's something I genuinely enjoy doing, even if the pay sucks right now.

I think that most people start out pursuing a writing career hoping to be the next J.K. Rowling, or Stephanie Meyer, or the chick who wrote 50 Shades of Unrealistic Expectations. Everyone dreams of writing that instant hit that garners you critical acclaim, a loyal fan base, and a big fat paycheck.

While that would be lovely, I am completely aware that it doesn't happen that way for 99% of writers.

I get that.

Most of us will toil away at low paying writing gigs, working on seven different manuscripts on the side, hoping that maybe something will hit. We will put our blood, sweat, and many tears (not to mention a whole heap of self-doubt and occasionally questioning our sanity) into our work, never completely sure that anything will come of it. We will nervously allow those closest to us to read our work, seeking feedback, reassurance, and ways in which we can improve. We will jot down setting notes and dialogue ideas on any scrap of paper we find (or if you're me, in the notes on your iPhone). And we will think of giving up eighteen times per week, while knowing that we couldn't possibly bring ourselves to walk away from our passion.

Contrary to the idealistic expectations of newbies, writing is not a glamorous endeavor. Nor is it a piece of cake, sought out by slackers who want easy money with little to no effort. Writing is actually hard work, and you get out what you put in.

Which brings me to the title of this post.

As Ms. Spears put it, "You better work, bitch!"

One good thing about being a writer in this day and age is that no longer do you have to hustle your butt to and fro different publishing houses, hocking your work to anyone willing to give you 5 seconds of their time. No longer do you have to blindly mail copies of your manuscript to editors, publishers, or agents, hoping someone will pull your work from the "slash pile" and give you a chance.

You still have to hustle, yes. You have to hustle your arse off. But you have technology on your side. You can network instantly with industry contacts without having to leave your couch. You can publish individual chapters on various sites, building a reader base and proving to publishers you are worth their time. You can even self-publish your books either digitally or in print, at a much lower cost than vanity publishers would charge, and get your work out there for the world to (hopefully) fall in love with. If your work does well, publishers will contact you! And if not... then you keep trying!

So that's what I've been busting my butt with recently. Establishing networks, building my portfolio of freelance work to gain the history and experience the "big" clients want ('cause that's where the money is), and meanwhile working on my manuscripts to be ready for the self-publishing saga.

I'm excited. I'm intimidated. I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm completely insane for even attempting this career goal.

But if you don't go for your dream, you'll always wonder 'what if...'

"Moodling"

As I've mentioned in my other blog, I lost my Zen, and have been working to rediscover it. One way that has always helped bring me back to center when things start getting all bajiggity, is through reading Simple Abundance, by Sarah Ban Breathnach (pronounced Bon Brannack).

Simple Abundance is a day book that focuses on finding your inner voice, your spirit, your creativity, your authentic self. Over the course of the year, it covers various topics, such as discovering long-lost and new-found hobbies; finding ways to express yourself through cooking, home decor, wardrobe choices, and personal interests; and expressing gratitude in the simple pleasures of life.

It's basically a hippie call to arms!

What I love about reading this book is that it focuses on the difficulty women often have in carving out enough time for themselves, between jobs and kids and husbands and our endless daily responsibilities. Women very commonly do not allow themselves the personal time to pursue their own interests and feed their souls. We feel guilty for taking an hour of strictly "me time".

But taking that "me time" and discovering ways to express our inner selves feeds our happiness and satisfaction, relieves stress, and generally makes us better, happier, and overall less eye-twitchy versions of ourselves.

And the great thing about it? That "me time" doesn't actually have to consist of anything in particular!

You can have a plan, and spend this time doing something you specifically set out to do. (And actually enjoy doing. "Me time" should not be "household chores time" trying to masquerade as a creative outlet!) You can have a plan to bake a loaf of homemade multigrain bread, or work on a sewing project, or try that new recipe you've had earmarked for months.

Or. OR!!!

This "me time"? Can consist of nothing in particular. The July 26th entry of Simple Abundance calls it "moodling". "Moodling" is described as "long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling and puttering". In essence, my perfect Saturday!

Now, if course, I do have things to accomplish this weekend. I have the sorting-through-the-kids'-toys project I began this week and sorely need to finish. I have the corner of my kitchen counter that looks like my post office exploded on it and is in desperate need of clearing off. We need to paint the base of the deck with sealant so Husband can continue building. And my bathrooms need a bit of a touch-up.

But none of those things count as "moodling" (even if my OCD makes me enjoy cleaning more than the average bear).

So to satisfy my soul's need to "moodle", I also have tentative plans to write, or cross-stitch, or read. I'm going to try my hand at baking bread in the oven, rather than the bread machine. And I will waste probably more than a few hours doing nothing much.

And it'll be fantastic.