Dream Revisions

Growing up, my plan in life, as far as my career is concerned, had always been to write what I wanted to write -- novels, short stories. A movie here or there. Poems. In high school, my hackles went up each time someone asked what I wanted "to be" when I grew up, because I knew, inevitably, as soon as I told them I wanted to be a writer, the response would come back, "Oh, a journalist!"

No, ma'am. Not a journalist, not a reporter. A storyteller, via whatever medium.

But as the end of college came around, I started thinking about the necessities -- you know, bills, gasoline, food, designer jeans -- and I quit snarling at the people who assumed I would be "oh, a journalist" or something else that earns a steady income. For one thing, I'd actually become a correspondent for the local newspaper, and I enjoyed it all right. Even more though, I got tired of well-meaning adults twitching an eyebrow if I said, "Actually, a novelist." I'd had enough kind advice that "no one can make a living" being a novelist. I'm sure a hundred people told that same thing to J.K. Rowling.

So I settled on the idea that I would be a journalist. Part of me cringed at that, simply because I didn't want to prove right all those people who'd predicted that job for me. Still, I had my sights set high. Even better, I wanted to freelance. Like novelists, freelancers don't exactly have a steady source of income, per se. It's still a risky job. But top glossies awaited, and that was a pretty exciting goal, even if it wasn't as glorious as the New York Times bestseller list.

Pretty quickly, I got almost as tired of telling people I was trying to start a freelancing career as I had of proclaiming my intention of becoming a novelist. There were plenty more raised eyebrows, although everyone was dubiously encouraging this time around. I felt meant to write, even if journalism itself was an earlier compromise. At least it's a respectable field, not quite as crowded with alcoholic, suicidal divas as the literary world.

But I still wanted to write screenplays more than exposes. I wanted to publish poetry more than profiles of important people.

Something else I realized during my whirlwind months of career jump-starting is that I don't have a starving artist complex. I am not willing to work in a dirty kitchen somewhere so I have time to write my self-proclaimed masterpiece that might never see daylight. Slumming through a bunch of low-paying assignments for tiny magazines isn't my idea of a good career start, either. And that's pretty much what I felt I had to look forward to as my "career" progressed. It was going to be a very long time before the glossies came calling.

When I really accepted that, I really began moving forward with another idea I came up with this summer. It still allows me to do plenty of writing of various kinds -- in fact, good writing is what I'm counting on to sustain this new project, to make it unique and useful and attractive. But I won't be begging publishers to take a look at what I have to write, or worse, what little I've written. I'll be my own editor, with my own projects to manage, and it won't be just my writing that I rely on for money, but bringing together a specific set of skills I've always wanted to utilize -- but, in pursuing a straightforward writing career, I'd been convinced would have to remain untapped.

Here's to new adventures, old dreams, and stirring them up into an exciting blend of idealism and newfound practicality....