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2004-03-14 Trying for Positive Thoughts I woke up this morning feeling really dizzy and blah. I meant to get up at 9, but I ended up dozing until 10 because everytime I tried to sit up, my head felt really heavy and gravity took over. I was a little worried since we were up north and I had to drive back, but thankfully with enough food, coffee, and some fresh air acquired while watching the annual St Patrick's Day parade go by, the dizziness lifted enough for me to drive home safely. But all morning I was wishing that my dream, that ultimate dream that plays out in my mind over and over again was true NOW - that I was a full-time writer and could work from home. If I was feeling a little blah, it wouldn't matter so much (although it'd still be annoying). I wouldn't have to worry about how I'll feel tomorrow morning because I wouldn't have to go anywhere. All this thinking ended up formulating a bit of a tentative plan; that is, if all goes the way I want it to. Awhile back I was reading about a young girl who is having something published (if memory serves, it is her memoirs). She's young, just out of high school or something ridiculous like that, and she's getting an advance of $100,000 US. An advance. That's not book sales people. That's what the publishing house gives you for your work. I don't know what the usual amount is with American publishing houses, if getting that kind of money upfront is a rare event. But if not, then wow. I could stop working, at least for the time being (my day job, that is). If I lived modestly and didn't go nuts buying a bunch of stuff, I could live quite well for 4 or 5 years on that kind of money (if you figure that people make ends meet on 20K a year). And honestly, I think I'd do just that, because my writing and my dream is worth it. That thought has been with me for awhile, but today I realized that I'd probably, maybe, move up north and live with my nanny in her house. I could bring up the bedroom set that I got from my other grandmother's house that's being stored in a section off my nanny's main house. Take the twin beds out of my room now and set up the beautiful set. I could move my desk and shelves, etc. from my room here in Montreal and set up an "office" (or writing room, as I prefer to call it) at the head of the stairs - it's a fairly good-sized space with a window and I've often thought it'd be perfect for writing. What's shocking is that I'd actually like to live in that small town. That yearning has, I now realize, been growing for the past couple of years, but I never really admitted it to myself. When I was younger, I would've given anything to live there because I was always playing outside and it was fun. But in my late teens, I started to prefer the city. Although I've never been a bar-hopper, I wanted to be able to go out to clubs, and be among highrise buildings. But a couple of years ago or so, that all started to change. I'm growing alienated with the city. The hustle and bustle of Montreal is getting to me, making me stressed and tired. I don't want to see these huge buildings that mankind foolishly thinks is such a wonderful accomplishment. I don't want to see the polluting smoke billowing out of factories. I don't want to hear about how I have to be careful because of smog in the summer. I want trees, and waterfalls, and nice cozy little houses, and birds chirping and a sense of community. I'm not saying that I want to 'settle' up in that village - I seriously doubt I'll be living in Quebec forever. But for now, it'd be nice. I'd only be an hour from Montreal, and half-an-hour from a bigger town with a shopping mall. But, for now, I have to deal with the city. I have to go to work tomorrow and deal with the 101 projects and tasks that await me. I wish the alternative - the quiet country life as a writer - were the present reality, but it's not. It's something to work towards. Whenever I wake up in the morning at 6:30 and grumble about having to rush around getting ready to do work for someone else, I have to remind myself that this is not IT. This is not where my life has been leading. At the risk of sounding very cliché, the journey doesn't end here. Although it's a part of who I am to always do a good job, my day job is not the most important thing to me. It's a way to pay the bills. What's important and fundamental for me is what I do in the evenings and on weekends: writing. Working towards the goal. And maybe, if I work hard enough, I'll get there. |
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