I’ve just finished a small copyediting project about Syria. It was interesting and thankfully short. Arabic names are a bitch; transliteration produces all manner of variant spellings. I did not make a ton of money on the book and worked harder on it than I’ve worked on most projects in the last … um … six months or so, but as my freelance work has been spotty over the last several months, I’m grateful to have had the project. Now I am more convinced than ever that peace in that region of the globe is hopeless, although that was not the message of the book. 

I’m experiencing a lot of internal conflict over work and what I’m supposed to be doing with my time. On the one hand, I have a voracious appetite for work. I like working. I find it stimulating and rewarding. I like concentrating and solving problems, unraveling knots of words into a single, easy-to-follow thread. I like challenging myself and learning new things, which is truly the beauty of the work I do: Every project is different. There is always something to learn. And getting paid to work on books that I wouldn’t normally pick up to read for pleasure has the added bonus of forcing me to learn about things I’m not necessarily naturally inclined to learn about. It broadens my horizons, so to speak. Whenever I speak to other freelancer friends, I’m impressed by what they are doing, by how many clients they have, by how much hustling, networking, and marketing they do, by how much they work/earn (although direct conversation about money is rare). I’m impressed by their drive and ambition and success. I yearn for the same. I yearn to do more, earn more, learn more, be more. My immediate impulse at this moment is to email all my clients and ask for more work.

And yet …

I’m equally motivated by the needs of my family. I have two small people who can’t get along five minutes without me (or so it often seems). I have thoroughly enjoyed Asher’s babyhood thus far. Sometimes I get to take naps with him. We look at books together. We listen to music. In the afternoons when Lucas is home and not at the babysitters’, we enjoy the outdoors, go to the library, visit my grandmother, take walks, do art projects. These things are fun and fulfilling. I know that my children will grow up quickly. I am not willing to miss these early years. I think they do best when they are with me, and I’m grateful to have a supportive (literally and figuratively) husband and a profession that allows me so much flexibility to be with my kids. I also know that I would be a miserable wreck of a mother if I had to ship my children off to daycare full-time. I wussed out at the prospect of part-time daycare back in 2003 and have never looked back since. Some days I am able to slow down my brain and watch the butterflies drift across the yard. Some days I can take great pleasure in washing the dishes by hand with Lucas. I try to cultivate patience and peace by watching good things grow—vegetables, messes, and boys. They grow slowly. I am unable (and unwilling) to speed up the time. And so, my world turns slowly. 

Sometimes that slowness—the drowzy and dizzying days of taking care of children—is a welcome balm. And sometimes it makes me grit my teeth and feel corralled.

There is a metaphor about marriage that is a better metaphor for raising children. Ian and I have “hitched” ourselves to a cart full of precious cargo. We did it on purpose. We must ensure the cargo’s safe delivery to (hopefully) a happy and productive adulthood. We must choose our path carefully and not deviate from it randomly or without consideration. We must go slowly and steadily so as not to jostle or damage the cargo, or bounce it out and leave it by the wayside. We must make frequent rest stops and potty breaks. And although we might wish to run off together without the cart and cargo, we basically can’t—at least not until the cargo gets much farther down the path, and then only for a short break. And the cart won’t travel nearly so well with only one of us pulling, so we are hitched. It’s a good kind of hitched.

*Sigh*

Too busy to write lately, I suppose. Actually, I think I’m stuck on something I want to write about, but here’s a brief recap of some recent stuff.

* I finally have some editing work and a deadline coming this Wednesday. One project is a copyedit for a book on Syria for the 6th-12th grade market. It’s got me hoppin’ a bit and doesn’t pay well, but hey. I took it. It’s been good dusting off my brain a bit. Arabic naming conventions are puzzling—either that or my two authors are wildly inconsistent.

* Had a crisis last Monday related to being sick. I have a big post about that brewing, but suffice it to say it has a happy ending. I have learned a lot recently.

* Lucas is back in school, Thank God! He seems to be all better now. We’re starting the probiotics.

* Despite being busy with my projects and working a fair piece of it, I’ve had a terrific weekend. Yesterday we got to meet up and picnic with sundayhangover, foseelovechild, and grlfury. I ate strawberries and bits of apple (heaven!) and drank champagne. The weather was perfect both yesterday and today. Today, we were invited to go kayaking with my brother and his girlfriend, Boo. We are so getting into kayaking as soon as the boys are a tad bit older. Actually, Lucas is ready now. Asher may have to stay home for a while yet. My dad came out to the lake with us and stayed with Asher on shore so the rest of us could go paddling under the Folsom Rainbow bridge. It was so cool and beautiful on the water. I always feel so much better about life when I can get out under the sky, breathe deeply, and remember that my problems are small in comparison with the great, big, beautiful world.

* My hubby is super handy! He fixed a switch and two outdoor light boxes on our house that have never worked. He installed two new fixtures and they’re really pretty. We have more to put up that will all match and our backyard patio will be ready for summer nights. (Now we must get the hot tub fixed!)

We are up at the cabin in South Lake Tahoe right now. Have been since Tuesday afternoon. It’s been totally lovely—snow keeps falling and blanketing the world. Lucas was a little sick for a while, but he’s better now. Some beautiful friends have joined us for the weekend. They’re all outside playing at the moment. I’m stuck inside because Asher’s napping. S’OK though because he’s sweet. I’ll post more about our week up here later on.

I’ve done a bit of work on and off this week, but nothing too strenuous. I’m trying to figure out what direction I want my career to move in. I’m pondering some possibilities while wondering where my next freelance gig will come from. I can tell you this: I like being unplugged from a corporate schedule and I have a hard time imagining ever going back to one. Working in the mountains, when I choose to, sure beats a daily commute to Cubesville. 

It’s funny when the winds of change blow into town. So much of my life is carefully circumscribed right now. It’s hard to know what is just a momentary wish and what might be a deeper yearning for real change.

Work at the magazine this week went well. I was brave and gracious. I talked to all my (ex-) coworkers about the changes at the magazine and my services as proofreader being discontinued. At least to my face everyone was sorry about it and regretful. The editor promises me that I’m the one they’ll call back when the economics are better. She referred to having me working on the magazine a “luxury.” Probably what will happen is that the in-house people will be asked to work more and harder. An editorial employee who is my friend also got cut: She still has a job, but they demoted her to receptionist (and canned the receptionist they had) and cut my friend’s pay. A few other people in different departments were affected (i.e., let go). They have also cut their freelance budget by what sounds to me like a big number, but given that I have no idea what the budget was or what it is now, it’s hard for me to say.

So, we’ll see. I guess they gotta do what they gotta do to stay healthy and weather the economic changes in the region. I must say though, it’s kind of ironic (correct word choice?) that I consistently read about all the wonderful, progressive, exciting things that are happening in this town in the pages of this magazine, which is presently reacting to an economic downturn. Anyway, Monday will be my last day there.

I’ve come to find the silver lining in this change: It’s kinda hard on Asher to have me leave him with a sitter or grandma for 3 to 4 days in a row, when the rest of the month he’s with me constantly. He has survived, of course, but by Friday evening, it was clear that he wanted and needed some mama time. Now I won’t have to do that anymore. I will still need babysitting, but I can arrange it on my own terms and hopefully establish a more consistent rhythm for him—one that he can actually get used to—that doesn’t have 27 days between sets of sitter days. As he is coming into The Great Separation Anxiety Stage, this will be easier on him.

Last Thursday, my father turned 62. That is hard to believe. In my mind, he is still 40. He probably will always be that age in my mind. A friend recently lost her father to cancer. He was older than my dad is—a doctor who practiced medicine up until his end. I can see how hard losing her last parent has been on her. Her plight has inspired some morbid thoughts.

I am thoroughly enjoying the drawing classes that Ian and I are taking on Thursday nights. The teacher is teaching in a loose, intuitive way, which sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. But the true gift of the class is that we 1) leave our home and kids and assorted real-life distractions, 2) go to a studio/gallery where we are surrounded by art and things to draw, and 3) there are two and a half glorious hours with nothing else to do except drink tea. We are hoping to continue the classes for the next couple of months, or for as long as our babysitters are willing to watch our kidlings. Ian has really caught the bug. He’s been practicing at home, which is wonderful to see because while he’s drawing, he’s not worrying. I love this guy so much. I hate to see him worried. It has been very good for us to have this time together and share this artistic pursuit. I can’t wait to paint!

My brother and his girlfriend, Courtney, recently got back from a vacation in Mexico. It sounds like they had a super time. I think this is Jonathan’s first serious vacation in years. I’m happy for them both. I just love seeing them together and it is my sincerest hope that they continue to make each other happy.

We spent a lovely couple of hours with friends last night. It was refreshing and made me so happy to see them.

Today and for the next two or three days I have to work my magazine job for the last time. I am feeling sad and disappointed about this, but I also have a plan.  I will conduct myself with the utmost professionalism, grace, and style. I will catch errors big and small. I will be seen by as many people in the office as possible, and I will network my ass off! I look super-hot today too.

Watch me. I’m on FIRE.

Spent a ton of time adding recent experience to my out-of-date résumé. Then I gave it to my friend, Dakini_grl to slash the hell out of it, which she did with great wisdom and discretion. Out with the old! Thank you, Dakini!   

It’s kinda funny. I guess with regard to my résumé I was still mentally operating as though I were still just starting out, when every job I ever touched seemed crucial and relevant. Funny how we fall into patterns. I am not just starting out. In fact, I’ve been able to make a solid living doing what I do on my own, and within my own values and the parameters of my family life for 4.5 years now. And dammit, that’s no small thing. And Ian kindly pointed out to me that I’ve lost exactly nothing if this opportunity doesn’t come through. Thanks, honey.

I don’t even know how to talk about it, but a colleague of mine, with whom I’ve worked on several large projects, contacted me yesterday with a cryptic message: “Need any work? I have a great referral for you if you have time. Pay is around $XX-XX per hour. Interested?”

“Why yes, my friend. So kind of you to think of me. A big contract just ended and my plate is actually empty now,” I replied. That $XX-XX per hour rate is freakin' sweet, which makes the work appealing even if it isn’t something I’d normally be into. So now I’m busily updating my résumé, which I absolutely despise doing. (It must be done religiously Once Per Year Or Else, although if I did it more often it would be so much easier.) For this potential client, I’m spinning it in the direction of technical writing and developmental editing, the first of which is a small stretch, the second of which is no problem. I’m just not that great at selling myself on a good day, and frankly, right now I’m really rusty at it. But I shall carry on! I shall bravely do tasks I hate. I shall courageously take on tasks I'm not 100% sure I’m capable of doing. We’ll see …

I took about a half day to feel sad and let down about the magazine gig ending. Then I emailed around to some other clients. Looks like one client will have a big massage book for me that must get into production by June 1, which will require about 30 hours a month for me, starting the beginning of February through May/June. She also has a giant medical terminology textbook that needs revision; the author is someone I really like, so I’m pleased to get aboard that revision. Plus, it will be steady work through the fall. She may also need me to write a manuscript on a natural health topic, but this one isn’t definite yet. So, other doors are opening up. That feels good.

Yesterday I received an email informing me that my contract position with the magazine has been terminated. From the 6th of February through the 11th, I’ll work there proofreading the issue for the last time. I’m really pretty bummed about it, as I was feeling at home and secure finally—like I was really part of the editorial team there, contributing in my own circumscribed way. The editor who let me go was very kind and complimented the quality of my work extensively. She made it clear that the change was due only to budget cuts, and not for any substantive reason, which I appreciate knowing. Reading her compliments (and rereading them) has been making the blow a little easier to take, but I am very disappointed about this. I came to rely on that income each month, certainly. Yet, somehow this contract became more than a contract for me. I became friends with the people there. It was a place where I could be a professional working with other professionals in person and out in the world. That may sound like I dislike working from home by myself, but that’s not the case. I just liked having those three to four days each month doing something else. It was refreshing and I always learned new things, sometimes about AP style and journalism, sometimes about my home town. I thought the contract might someday morph into a full-time job, later on after my kids are bigger—you know, when I am ready.

I will probably still be assigned some freelance jobs here and there, when they have a special need. I will continue to write for the magazine, which I’m kind of fired up about lately. So they will probably continue to be a valued client. But my exceptionally sweet gig is at an end.

Sent: Friday, January 18, 2008 12:32 PM
To: editorsforum@yahoogroups.com [Bay Area Editors' Forum]
Subject: RE: [editorsforum] Silence

Hilary Powers, Goddess of Word, wrote: “Your voice is assuredly welcome, and your specialties are fascinating, being different from mine! The relief of attending to someone else’s triumphs and problems (instead of one’s isolated own) is immense. 

“More to the point, are there any BAEF members in Sacramento who would like to get together THERE from time to time?