Six years ago I got my very first paid writing gig. I was ecstatic. I labored for days over the article and thought I was a shining star when it was approved, with no revisions. After that happened 3 months in a row, I began to suspect that the reason no one was editing the work was NOT because it was good writing. It was because the people who hired me didn't care enough to read it.
I put my theory to the test with a holiday article entitled: It's All Norman Rockwell's Fault.
If my company's legal department had gotten their hands on this, they would have fired me on the spot. But, they didn't. Because they didn't see it. In fact, nobody bothered to proofread it and whaddyaknow, it got published. Up until blogging was invented, it was the only heartfelt piece I'd ever written.
And that's because it is Norman's fault. Idealistic Norm and his happy housewife and grinning family and big, fat turkey (you know the painting I'm talking about...) If he'd never painted it, we never would have known what we were missing!
From blues to bliss and back again, I have been riding an emotional roller coaster and I'm not sure why. Can it be that being an orphan is that big a deal?
All I know is... I've lost the will to attend. I've been invited to more Christmas parties this year than ever before and I'm running out of lame excuses as to why I can't go.
I'd like to call off Christmas but that, like most things in life, is beyond my control. So, I'm trying. I really am. I hauled out the ornaments and plugged in the lights. I even bought a real Christmas tree, in hopes of finding my blithe spirit. (Though so far all I've done is grumble at the price.) Stay tuned...