The Love Story

I knew he was going to die.

My client told me ahead of time that the memoir she was sending me was written by a young woman who shared 10 beautiful (and crazy) years with her husband before God decided his time on earth was up.

I devoured every word of her love story. My eyes eagerly waited to read the last line of each page and then move on to the next. I was standing in the room when they yelled about half eaten French fries and who was going to tell the Abercrombie pants story. I hid behind my laptop screen when they made love in cheap hotels and in the secret nooks of the dark highways in Lubbock, Texas. The cream colored fur of their kitten Max’s coat was as real to me as the faded blanket on my bed. The infatuated love addiction of my past hugged me tight. Sweet moments in my unhealthy relationships flooded my mind. Her love story would have been my life story had I married my ex-boyfriend.

When I read the title Losing Mike,* I knew that he would die somewhere in the last three pages. I pushed all my nervousness away and continued reading. I kept telling myself to focus on the task at hand – I was not to be swept away by the relationship I was reading about. I was to edit the memoir – that is what I was getting paid to do. A page later, she wakes up to the sound of her husband screaming and headlights coming straight at her. Just as I was reading the words “Mike was ejected from the car,” everything around me went pitch black. Literally. The electricity in my entire apartment complex shut off. The only thing that stayed on in my entire apartment was my laptop, showing me Mike’s story. I believe in God, in Christianity, in death, in ghosts, in all of that. I could hear her screams when the cops told her her husband had not made it. I could literally see God’s plan for Mike’s death even months before it happened. Her descriptions were so specific that after reading the story you had to believe that it was Mike’s time to go – this wasn’t a haphazard event or the mistake of a driver heading west. His death had purpose. Why did my lights go out as I read that he left this earth? Why was my laptop on when it had been previously running off of AC power? I know why. I leave it up to you to find the answer.

After this my thought was that I should just embrace the habits of writers and editors past and present. Next time I should go to Starbucks and get a grande caramel macchiato with extra caffeine or take a couple of shots of whiskey during my writing breaks. If I had done this, maybe my analytical and spiritual self would not have had a temper tantrum in my mind. Since I don’t drink caffeine or whiskey, though, maybe those parts of me that I have been neglecting were suppose to have a temper tantrum. Anything to wake me up to the reality that her story, like all stories, has one ending. It is what happens after the ending that matters more than what happens before it ends.

Eating cereal and waiting patiently

Honey Nut Cheerios and Cocoa Pebbles. This has been my dinner every night this week. I sit in my room eating cereal from a (very cool looking) green bowl waiting for at least one of the checks I am due to receive sometime this month to come in.

Completing five projects in a week and a half was hard work and quite stressful! I learned that most people understand what it is like to have a full plate of work to do – and they will agree to move deadlines if you ask. (Tip for writers: Don’t overwhelm yourself. Be honest – tell them it is 3 a.m. and you are a crazed maniac dying from eyestrain and research.)

While I am waiting for my checks, Time Warner has decided I don’t need internet access, I mean, I did finish my projects for now right? Cingular Wireless has been gracious enough to give me time to relax and spend with myself. They turned my phone off so that I have no access to the outside world. Thanks Time Warner and Cingular Wireless.

If you are wondering if I am being sarcastic, I AM. For a writer to have no Internet or phone access is, well, scary. I don’t know what to do with myself. Sure, I need to relax and relish in the fact that I have no upcoming deadlines, but I can’t. There are more articles, newsletters, memoirs and book reviews to be written. I must write! Okay, I am slowly stepping off of my soapbox now. Slowly.

I am now in the beginning stages of writing for a living – ONLY writing for a living. No bosses, no clock-in clock-out, no asking if I can take a vacation or be sick, no sitting in a 5 ft. cubicle with no windows. By the end of next year I will be working for myself. I imagine I will wake up at dawn, have a spinach and feta cheese omelet (I have not tried this but it just sounds so good!), write in my pajamas in a room full of open windows until I am tired, manage my money, and wrap everything up by the time the mailman comes so that I can focus on how many checks I get. This will be a good day. Most days will probably be me waking up, drinking decaffeinated tea, still sitting in my pajamas but writing vigorously, being constantly interrupted by the phone and e-mail, realizing I have something due that day, writing more vigorously, frustrating myself, stopping after I am so stressed I am shaking, and watching the mailman smile as he hands me a stack full of bills and no checks.

To be honest, I don’t care what kind of day I have. It will be the day I can say I’M FREE of corporate America.

Would you like writer or state job, Miss Brandy? Writer, please, thank you.

The truth. The whole truth.

I'm delirious. Last night I managed to stay up until 5 a.m. in order to complete a 15 page review. The book was good but around 2 a.m. even good books start losing my interest.

So why am I delirious? Well, for one, I am trying my best to function off of two hours of sleep, which wouldn't be so bad if I was in a deep, deep, deep, sleep right now. Unfortunately, I have three more projects due tomorrow. (I overextended myself. Remember? I admitted this in previous post.) My philosophy was to complete the hardest one first....so I attempted to tackle the 17 page review I was assigned to write on a biography about dying. (Yes, the pay is equal for the amount of pages I write -- for those who are in shock about the page count.)

The book, in short, is a confusing essay full of scientific and technological jargon written in response to questions from the most overanalytical person I have ever read. I am overanalytical and love to argue for the sake of arguing, so I can stomach many things, but Tim's (his name) biography I just cannot. His theories are ______ (I left a blank because I actually cannot find a word to describe his theories). He spends an entire chapter defending the use of drugs and their positive effects on human beings (including heroin, which is proud to say he has tried). What I found most appalling -- yes it gets worse than him urging the President to legalize all drugs -- was his description of Jesus Christ. Let me quote this here:

"The other theory is that life was designed by ananthropomorphic police-power freak named Jehovah. He's an all-powerful desert-macho dictator who runs around interrogating, arresting, and condemning anyone who doesn't follow his rules or bow down to him regularly."

The entire book is Tim's ramblings. He states all of his opinions, sites no supporting evidence to back up his opinions, and (in my opinion) talks about so much scientific and psychological garble that the reader thinks he is just doing this on purpose.

Did I mention that Tim is dead? He died in the process of completing his book (which I said was on dying, remember?) I wanted to have sympathy for him, I really did, but after reading his description of Jesus Christ, now all I have for him is pity and curiousity -- wondering what he makes of heaven and hell now that he has had a chance to stand before this Jehovah he speaks horrible of.

I am rambling... My point is that I couldn't complete this review. It wasn't really because of his opinions -- everyone has an opinion. I am not threatened by those who believe differently than I do. I couldn't complete the review because I was delirious from completing the previous projects. I am so stressed right now that I am exhausted, weak and almost fainted two hours ago.

Now I can add fear to the list of emotions going chaotic inside of me. I had to write the editor a letter of truth. I asked her to assign me another book before I jump off of my balcony trying to figure out Tim. What will she say? I don't know. Will she be angry and give me a poor rating (I am rated for this. I have turned in two previous projects for her without any problems.)?

I am constantly reassuring myself that things will work out fine. I am an editor by day too. It's a pain to have someone not write on something I assigned, but I applaud those writers who are honest enough to tell me instead of just missing the deadline and not even bothering to call and at least try to lie -- even if to make me feel better and make me think they actually care (you know who you are!). Hopefully this editor will applaud my honest and continue to give me work.

In the end, good or bad rating, I have no regrets. I did my best. I told the truth. That is all I am responsible for.

Okay, now who wants to be a writer? Don't all raise your hands at once. Anyone?

Cornered in the Creative

GOD grant me the serenity to accept the people I cannot change,
the courage to change the one I can,
and the wisdom to know that it is me.
-- Anonymous


The Interrupted Artist Speaks:

Before light kissed the sky
and left its rays drooling down her bottom lip,
my fingers walked past the bright fuscias,
deep periwinkles,
ash fabric.......
and fondled the faded absence
of color losing more of itself
in the spin
I cycle
I re-cycle
to erase stray hair, dirty fingerprints
and the reason I charged $50 on my Express card.....
The fade against my skin
brings out the muted fear
bitter opinions of the
beholders
playing on repeat in
my head
I shed
the restless night
and put on the darkness
I stand in the mirror
deny the washed out image
her place in my closet
and admire my funk
I decided to wear today
© Miss Brandy


The Interrupted Artist Speaks displays EXCERPTS of the poetry, works of art or stories I have written. All of these works are original and inspired by God and the creativity within me. If you see phrases that fade off like this….. this means a part of the poem was deleted. Some people take pride in stealing other peoples works and claiming it as their own. For this reason, I won’t publish the entire work. I have a copyright for all excerpts and poems – so if you are one of those people that steals others words– just know that if you use my work, you will not get away. God has given us all enough creativity so that we don’t have to steal others.

Pat on the back

I turned in the business journal I spent countless hours working on -- the one I complained in my 1:43 a.m. revelation that I was not getting paid for. The dean told me to name my fee -- he would pay me for my work. Through this project I learned a lesson and made money.

God has smiled on me.

My name is Brandy. I am a workaholic.

Bursts of laughter normally escape from me when I read the words “writing can be a lonely profession.” This month, I stopped laughing.

In February I unintentionally buried myself in ten big editing projects: a few books, book reviews, and the infamous university business journal I was swearing about two days ago. Because one of my goals this year is to save up enough money to live off of so that I can quit my day newspaper editing job and concentrate only on freelance writing, I was eager to complete every project I had on time. Turning in ten projects on time meant that I had to hibernate – literally. For weeks I did nothing but stare at my laptop and write or research from the time I got off work until I fell asleep at the computer. About 3 a.m. I would decide it was time to shut the computer down and get my four hours of sleep before showing up at the newspaper. Maybe I would eat dinner, maybe not. Weekends were my time to catch up on sleep and work on more freelance projects.

I haven’t seen or talked to too many people during this time. This wasn’t intentional either. I was just so focused on getting the projects done.

This month, let’s just say few people are happy with me. People close to me have demanded to know why I have not been in contact for more than a month (around the time the projects picked up). When I try to explain my 1:43 a.m. revelation [that I didn’t realize until it was too late that I overextended myself this time, and that although it is okay to take on 10 projects, agreeing to complete them all by the same day – March 10 – probably wasn’t the smartest thing], very few listen. The fact that for the first time in my life I could accurately be called a workaholic is no excuse for disconnecting myself from people.

I don’t know what to say to this. I agree I have done a really crappy job of keeping in contact with people since taking on more and more projects, but what comes after that? Writing is something I have to do by myself. I can’t talk on the phone and write for a project at the same time. I have to concentrate on the work itself – especially because people are paying me to do my best. Do I take less projects so that I have time to spend with others? I won’t have a dime to my name (whoever tells you newspapers pay well is telling you a bold face lie) but I will have time. Am I wrong to work so much and not call people like I use to? Am I really too busy to pick up the phone and have a 10 minute conversation? (I think I am but am I lying to myself?) Does this make me a horrible friend?

I don’t have answers for those questions. I just know that for me, right now, writing is a lonely profession. I am saddened. I don't know how to completely repair relationships that have suffered.

All I know is that I have to keep writing.

Creative Corner

FOCUS OR FOLD.....that is what hip hop artist Common says.


The Artist Speaks :

I AM
I’ma jazz
song
-played loud and only once by unknown artists in a New Orleans juke joint.

-born into a generation whose ancestors (on my daddy’s side) told
stories of hardships, misfortunes, and mistakes while picking cotton in Mississippi
fields.

My life walks against the melodic, predictable verses society sings,
my feet continually march off–beat in a military whose men all step at the same
time……

My melody, my destiny
I invent out
Loud………

You will dance and snap your fingers when you hear
my melody
you will applaud me-and forget
that I am complicated.
(c) Miss Brandy

The Artist Speaks displays EXCERPTS of the poetry, works of art or stories I have written. All of these works are original and inspired by God and the creativity within me. If you see phrases that fade off like this….. this means a part of the poem was deleted. Some people take pride in stealing other peoples works and claiming it as their own. For this reason, I won’t publish the entire work. I have a copyright for all excerpts and poems – so if you are one of those people that steals others words– just know that if you use my work, you will not get away. God has given us all enough creativity so that we don’t have to steal others.

1:43 a.m. revelation

At 1:43 a.m. random swears about the dean of a local university swarmed my brain, trampling any moral, decent and relaxing thoughts in their way. My brain demanded answers – demanded to know why I agreed to lay out the new university department journal due the same date as my other four current editing projects for no charge.

I choked up like a red-faced politician caught having to give an answer to a question not mentioned on the neatly written speech he clings to for dear life. Like him (the politician) I have no answers. If I silence my inner being and dig deep for the answer psychologists say already exists within me, I will admit I overextended myself.

It is quite exciting when people acknowledge and request my writing and editing services after previously ignoring me when I asked, even begged, for contacts, mentors, even people who would agree to just stick their toe out and crack open the door to writing opportunities. The Chicago Manual of Style, AP Stylebook, Strunk & White’s Elements of Style and grammar books I bought on sale for under ten dollars at Barnes & Noble crowd my “interesting read” bookshelf. I guess they wised up –figured a girl who read those books and works as an editor of a newspaper by day might just be worth paying.

In December, the month I decided that my career would move at lightening speed no matter the cost or work, I started to take my freelance writing career seriously. Procrastination and myths that writers make no money were left behind. It worked. I have made more money writing in the past two months than I have ever made off of writing. Ever.

I learn daily by trial and error – mostly error. At 1:43 I learned that God has moved me past the novice phase. I don’t have to stand on business street corners holding my “I am a new writer... I need writing projects to fill up my resume and portfolio... Will work for free” sign.

My random swears were my writer talking – telling me to let go of the free projects. After this project, I plan to do just that.

Of course, this project is holding all of my energy hostage and I am only halfway finished....