I have been spending the past year or so, since starting freelance writing full time, building up contacts, writing queries, researching magazine archives, googling, wiki-ing, taking classes and being published. Many times. I always thought I wanted to be a regular contributor to a big glossy or major paper. I write non-fiction articles for the newspapers, parent magazines, web sites, and magazines. They mostly pertain to parenting, some on personal financial issues (like renting or buying a home), and some on children's health. I have been successful, while not being able to exactly retire on the money I make, it's been great publicity, some extra latte money, and has led to more and more jobs.
/>The blogging started as a hobby on the side as a place to use my creativity and "practice" my writing. It has been invaluable in doing that. I am able to be totally free on my blogs – no standards, no editor's list of requirements, no NOTHING. Just me and my soul. My voice. My spirit.Soon, I noticed I was blogging more and writing (for $) less. Then, I was never writing – I had no desire or passion to write any more. That scared the hell out of me.

I have always written. It is my talent. My calling. My sickness and my addiction. I can't NOT write. Why did I lose it? Where was my passion?

Well – I figured it out – I was BORED out of my MIND with the "business" of writing. And, I just can't do it anymore. I can't. I am selling my soul (art) to the devil. My voice was being muffled and, eventually, I was mute. Silenced.

I was caught up in the sentences, paragraphs, style, tone, voice….and had lost my own. Funny thing is, they all say how they want to see YOUR voice – don't make it up…be yourself. Yeah, right.

They don't want your voice…they want their voice in your mouth. And it was making me sick to my stomach.

I am not just a writer. Some people are…and that's awesome for them. They can be copywriters, journalists, business writers…whatever…and make a ton of money. I can't. I am not a writer – I am an artist. I always have been.

If any of you are writers (real true writers) – you might know what I mean. I am an artist in spirit. My whole demeanor and attitude and vision is artistic. Artists are a different breed than the rest of the world. We are manic – sensual – sensitive – sexual – dramatic – compassionate – always sad – addictive – torn and blessed.

I am so incredibly grateful to be an artist. I love the mania and the obsession of it. I love that I can listen to music and it can literally carry me away. I can feel things other people can't. I can take in a painting or an aria until I feel my hairs stand on end. I can get off on the smells of early morning dew, newly cut grass, children coming in from the sun….I love it.

So, I can't compromise. And blogging has done this for me – set me free. Mostly because I realized how I was being chained into "that world" and because of the great comments I have received on my blogs from people all over the world saying my post was "brilliant" or my voice was "strong" or how it really touched them.

Yep. I am an artist. And damn proud of it. The pain, the tortured soul, the wine and cigarettes, all of it.

Writing is not something I do…it's something I am.

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