The Life of a (Mad) Freelance Writer and Artist

My Portable Office

It’s not a career for the faint of heart.  But it’s the only one for me.  You cannot expect a regular paycheque.  Really, you cannot expect a paycheque at all!  Thus, you have to do it for something else, in addition to having the humility to stand in line at the welfare office now and then, not seeing it as a failure but as a little bump on the road, something I have done on more than one occasion – you have to do it if it quenches your soul, and leaves a smile on your face at the end of every phrase that turned out just right, at the first glance of that photograph you thought you just missed but didn’t, and at the end of every new project you come up with, even though you always have to pay it forward.  You have to love the people that you’re working for, which isn’t hard for me: I work for you, the small but quickly growing group of people that are interested in the words I write, and everything else creative that comes out of me.  In turn, I have fallen deeply in love with each of you, whomever you may be.

Right now, I’m not working at maximum speed.  This will come in June, when I’ve had and healed from my final surgery to put an end to my “women’s troubles” and pain that unpredictably stops me in my tracks.  I know that pain, emotional, psychological, and physical, is very common among us creative folk.  I’m lucky that I no longer get the crippling migraine headaches (must be in dark room with no sound, no light, no movement) that I did as an early teen when I got really excited about something – like my weekend trip to Tokyo during my exchange to Japan, when I tried with all of my fourteen year-old might to will away the blind spot that entered the central point of my vision, the mark of the “aura” that precedes many a migraine.  I could not conquer the blood vessels constricting themselves in my brain, and I vomited all over a Japanese businessman (I can still remember the precise look of surprise and disgust that came over his face) on the Shinkansen (bullet train) on my way to the washroom, where I hid for the rest of the short (at 300 km/hr….) voyage.  I often empathize with the main character in Darren Aronofsky’s début film, still my personal favourite, Pi (π), when he drills a point in the brain that is responsible for both his mathematical genius and his unbearable headaches that require vials and vials of medication.

I ask myself, how will I ever keep up with my ideas?  As I jot down ideas for a piece on mental health in current advertising media – describing eating fruits and vegetables as “doses”, snapping a shot of an ad in the busy Burrard St. Skytrain Station here in Vancouver, B.C. that sells tea by describing how each “colour” matches an appropriate “mood”…but damn, I take three shots and the terrible lighting in the station leaves a funny bright spot in the middle of the image, despite my lens adjustments – I do not slow down and comfort myself, as all this needs is a little touching up in iPhoto, but beat myself up, and a much lesser pain in the head – a tension headache – comes on.  So does self-consciousness – who was that crazy lady taking pictures of an ad for Tetley tea in the station?  So does self-doubt – when will I have time to write this article, in between doctors appointments and a move (to a new apartment, not a new city)?  I have not had the same address for more than two years in a decade.  I have lived in three major Canadian cities, always hanging from a string called my wallet that threatens to break.  My nomadic tendencies, though I have found my home base here in Vancouver, where the natural beauty that takes my breath away and keeps me grounded, mentally and spiritually, beats out the ridiculously high apartment rental costs, will serve as an asset as things get more “professional” over the next few years, as I get a diploma in photography and perhaps journalism as well, and officially incorporate.  Did I mention constantly having to update one’s education to keep up with the competition?  Rising education costs, which turn the stomach of this woman with her “faaaaar-left loon!” politics, in the words of Bill O’Reilly, attempt to take shears to that precarious financial situation that seems, indeed, to be a flimsy string, not nearly as tough as the fishing wire I have attached two mini-conch shells found while beachcombing in Peru to my wallet, making it easy to find in the bottomless pit I call my messenger bag.  Yes, a walking contradiction is strapped to the bag – but some things in life are priceless.

Yet the do not plummet, at least not yet, I make it, and have faith that I would no matter what, because I’m truly happy and fulfilled as an artist of the written word and so much more.  I set my own hours, which is a must for me.  I am my own boss – if someone wants to advertise on this site and I disapprove of the content, I can say “no”, even if from a “market perspective”, this may not be the most profitable choice – I simply will not advertise flesh for sale on my domain.  Thus, Google Image Ads, buh-bye!  Each new idea I formulate – a very big one involving beadery, my newest hobby, will be unraveled this weekend if all goes well and I do get to move in to a permanent address for the first time since last September.

I may never have more than a few dollars to spare, but this is not of concern to me – to

That's what I call work!

sound a tad more like a motivational speaker than I feel comfortable with – as at the end of each day, I am me, I haven’t had to tell a customer or client that they cannot have a discount that they truly need.  I haven’t had an upsetting meeting with my boss for not making numbers move this or that way fast enough.  I haven’t had to be cutthroat with colleagues while being charming in conversation with them.  However small, I’ve created something that I want to share with the world, and this is all in the world I need.  About a week ago, notice came from a dear mentor that she had connected me with a mixed-media exhibit at the Gallery Gachet, here in Vancouver, called “Antidote”, at the end of April.  However, it wasn’t a “make it or break it” deadline, albeit a few days away.  It was an invitation to scan my brain, and I ended up putting together a series of three photographs.  Will this lead to a payday?  Who knows, but  – to sound a little more like a motivational speaker than I like – I am incredibly excited for my first photography to be displayed at a gallery, and am proud, with no apologies to make, and no cognitive dissonance about my work is keeping me up at night (though I am an insomniac, it is not because I am worried about the politics of my career, as I was at graduate school ).  Right now, it is just because I have a very active mind!  And I cannot wait to check out of an apartment hotel and into my own home, so that I can dedicate more time every day to my work, and a new Magick Garden .

My wonderful father

A special shout out to my dad, for his extra support lately – emotional support, first and foremost, but also very last-minute help from his own very overstretched purse to help me with securing that permanent address, that has come two months into my arrival in Vancouver!  I remain close friends with roomie, but must live by myself, as I do take up quite a lot of space – not physically, but mentally.  I have faith that s/he will understand.  I need to get back to where I was two and a half years ago when I moved here, when I had my very own unshared place for a glorious six months, before I made a mistake, as us humans do, and let someone else in much too quickly.  My dad and I have had some pretty spectacular arguments, but I think this is just a “symptom” of the fact that we are both incredibly passionate people.  We both desperately want our voices and opinions heard, which can get incredibly tense, and testing.  However, dad, your strength and unconditional love amaze me and have shaped the person who I am.  I know that time will only bring us closer, as we finallyhave the chance to learn more and more about one another, as my ear is yours, not that of any other man…and there is many a “Pancake House” in Vancouver, including mine!