Quadruple-Minded Un-Focus

If there is one thing I struggle with when it comes to writing and completing tasks it is...well, it is completing tasks. Frequently, I don't, at least when it comes to writing.

I'm a flighty-muse-follower -- one day, I am totally wrapped up in bashing out a short story; the next, I want to brainstorm new freelancing ideas, when, low and behold, five minutes later, I remember that I need to make some more edits to my resume. That can make it a mite hard to get things finished. While I'd like to give myself points for constant activity, my actual productive output will lag if I follow this routine, rather than sticking to my weekly goals.

And right now, I feel even more pressure to get things published -- quickly! -- because I'm convinced there will be plenty of accomplished writers vying for the internships I want.

So, magazines, prepare to be inundated with my latest, greatest, almost-not-quite-finished works!

All Swept Up

To further extend my horribly cliched metaphor, it seems that I might suddenly go from treading water to catching a tidal wave.

A new opportunity dropped itself in my lap two days ago. Or, more appropriately, into my inbox.

For several months now, I've been on the job-update mailing list of a few companies. In addition to Monster.com's daily, usually worthless offerings, I find out what's available in TimeWarner's global network (TV production position in Hong Kong, anyone?), and MediaBistro keeps me in the publishing world's loop. I rarely bother to check on the specifics of any of the jobs that land in my inbox, generally deleting each e-mail after a cursory glance. But two nights ago, sitting in front of the Olympics and giving my computer a tiny fraction of my attention, I felt my stomach spin itself into a knot when my eyes fell onto an editorial internship that I think I want, and even more, think I might need.

What a change from my determination to never have a "regular" job and just plunge into life as a freelancer.

Let's say, hypothetically, that I get one of the five spots available. It would mean moving to Washington, D.C. from January through June, and working 20-40 hours a week -- probably closer to 40 than 20 -- without a salary, because this is an unpaid internship. It would mean slashing through my savings just to pay rent and buy groceries. It would mean finding roommates, something I've always dreaded and avoided. It would mean living through a cold winter for the first time, missing all the youth events I help plan each year, not spending time with my family, friends, and horse, and hardly seeing D. for half a year.

It would mean my plans have completely unraveled from what they were only a year ago.

There is no certainty I'll be one of the few people selected for this internship, and there's no stipulation that I would have to take it even if I were chosen. But that doesn't change the fact that even just considering it is terrifying.

Forward Motion

And now, some words of wisdom from that bastion of pop-punk deep-thinking, Relient K:

"…I see that it’s good / to experience the bittersweet / to taste defeat / then brush my teeth / experience the bittersweet / to taste defeat then brush my teeth / cause I struggle with forward motion / I struggle with forward motion / we all struggle with forward motion / cause forward motion is harder than it sounds / well every time I gain some ground / I gotta turn myself around again"

Can anyone figure out the title of that song? You have one guess.

Only one.

But yes, at last, with a couple of pieces in the mail, a new query sent today, and a couple more ready to go next week, I can heave a sigh of relief that things are finally happening. Strictly in the sense that I'm getting my work out -- don't think anyone's asked me to sign a contract or anything. Most likely, I'll just have a few more form rejection slips to pop into the "Poob" box S. gave me this spring, but I prefer to stay positive and be completely stunned every time a new rejection arrives.

"What?!" Gasp! "How could they have turned down my story/poems/essay? It's as entertaining as anything that magazine published last month! And as well-written as anything they've done in the last year!"

Righteous indignation does, on occasion, stave off otherwise overwhelming self-pity. And yes, that was an intentionally verbose, rhyming, alliterative, ridiculous sentence.

(I'm feeling particularly inspired after reading the finalists for this year's Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest for the worst opening line to a novel or story, which you can read here: http://www.sjsu.edu/faculty/scott.rice/blfc2008.htm.)

Of course, since I'm not trying to win a bad writing contest, I'm attempting to write well -- even if it's just a query e-mail to an editor low in a magazine's pecking order. "They" say those e-mails and letters are often the most important writing beginning freelancers do....

Needless to say, I've got my fingers crossed. Figuratively speaking, of course; crossed fingers would make it pretty difficult to do the rest of the writing I need to get to over the next few days.