Open Your Man-Eyes… It’s RIGHT THERE!
- At May 12, 2012
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Roxanne Writes On
- 0
My husband, Mr. (Always) Right, likes to says I’ll die in the dark, surrounded by garbage. (You know, ’cause no one else ever changes light bulbs or takes out the trash. Riiiiiight.)
Well, he’s going to starve to death, surrounded by food that he can’t see because it’s BEHIND SOMETHING!
Synchronicity, the Search for Epic Meaning and Making a Living
- At March 29, 2012
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Roxanne Writes On
- 0
I think I first learned the word “synchronicity” from the book The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. The Artist’s Way is a kind of self-help program for blocked creatives, you know, the socially-challenged introverts who slouch around moaning “I don’t know what to do with my life!”
The gist of synchronicity is this: the magic is already in you, and when you are willing to do the work to find it, the universe will support you. Kind of a Dumbo’s-magic-feather thing. (Or as Morpheus taught Neo, “Free your mind!”) It’s a particularly good book for would-be writers, and god knows there’s no group more prone to slouching and moaning.
Anyway, the first time I did the program, my freelance income in one year went from about 10K to 30K. Pretty good when you consider that the overall average income for writers hovers below the poverty line. Sad, I know. Why do we do it? (Cue the s and m.)
The second time I did it, I sold my first non-fiction book, which was quickly followed by six more, plus a novel. Needless to say, I’m a pretty big fan of Julia Cameron and The Artist’s Way, and many of the lessons I learned wove themselves into the fabric of my creative life. When the student is ready, the teacher arrives! Leap, and the net will appear!
Then the economy tanked, and took a lot of publishing houses with it. I, like millions of ordinary working stiffs, entered a dark period of fiscal and existential uncertainty. Lucky me, I went peri-menopausal right then, too. Hormonal chaos. Oh, my kids started leaving the nest then, too. Maternal clutching and tuition bills. Oh, my husband started graduate school then too. More tuition bills. But no clutching.
A dark period indeed.
I was ready to learn, but there was no teacher. I leaped, but there was no net. In fact, I fell on my face, to the tune of tens of thousands of dollars in lost royalties when my publisher went belly-up. (And just when my laser hair removal bills were ramping up, too!)
However, I kept writing. (Really, what else am I going to do? I’m virtually unemployable. I have the attention span of a gnat. Plus, I tend to go off on tangents…) I went to writers’ conferences I couldn’t afford, but had a great time at. I attended writing retreats that had no apparent consequence, but at which I met great people. I pitched ideas that had minimal traction in the industry – but kept my name out there. I finally hired a professional web designer to give me a proper web presence, even though it pretty much broke my writing piggy-bank.
My tank was on Empty, out of hope, purpose, direction, meaning… yup, s and m all over the place. After all, if nobody’s buying what I’m selling, well, What Am I Going to Do With My Life? I needed something with Epic Meaning, on par with raising exceptional young women, a task at which I excel, but which utilizes skills that translate poorly on a curriculum vitae. Also, I demand compensation commensurate with my experience. You heard me. Pay the writer, man.
And then one day an email popped into my in-box.Well, really it was a Facebook message, which routed to my inbox. Which I accessed by my iPhone because I was on vacation at the time. (Tangents. Gnats. See what I mean?)
Anyway…. a woman I’d met a year or two ago at that writers’ retreat I couldn’t afford – a woman I’d have bet wouldn’t have remembered my name! – had recommended me, via my new website, to someone she knew who knew someone else who was looking for … you guessed it, a writer. And not just any writer, but one with a very specific combination of interests, combined with – get this – an ability to go off on creative tangents. TANGENTS? I am so there. And then, around the same time, my agent and I found some potential homes for the numerous manuscripts I’ve got collecting dust on my hard drive.
Slouch and moan? Who has the time?
All of which is to say that after a very long dry spell, synchronicity has struck again, reminding me that the first rule for success in any creative endeavour is to just hang in there.
Eventually the competition will give up. Or die.
Then they’ll have to publish me.
You Know You’ve Made a Bad Career Choice When…
- At March 22, 2012
- By Roxanne Snopek
- In Life, Roxanne Writes On, Uncategorized
- 0
So, I was in the pharmacy line-up the other day. I wasn’t picking up a prescription, and it wasn’t urgent, so I could have gone through the regular check-out, but after a few moments, my curiosity was piqued. The woman ahead of me sounded like she might give me some material and boy, was I ever right.
Just think: pharmacists go to school for this…
WOMAN: (middle-aged, matronly) Hello? (banging on bell)
PHARMACIST: (young, earnest, harried) Yes, how can I help you?
WOMAN: That girl told me she’d get my pills, and then she disappeared.
PHARMACIST: Let me take a look. Hm. (Picks up the bag on the counter.) These?
WOMAN: No, not those! I’ve already paid for those. A different one.
PHARMACIST: I don’t see them here. When did you drop it off?
WOMAN: I didn’t drop it off, I called it in.
PHARMACIST: Oh. Did you tell her that?
WOMAN: I don’t know! Are they here?
PHARMACIST: When did you call it in?
WOMAN: Earlier today. Or maybe yesterday. Is that important?
PHARMACIST: Here we go. Thyroid medication, correct?
WOMAN: Yes! Good, I need my pills. Here, I forgot some other things, too.
PHARMACIST: Certainly. Do you need a bag for five cents?
WOMAN: No. I’ll pay debit.
PHARMACIST: That’s a credit card, Ma’am.
WOMAN: Oh. (switches cards, fumbles with machine)
PHARMACIST: It’s a chip card, Ma’am. You’ll have to insert it at the bottom. (ahem) The other way. (pause) Let’s try again. It looks like a PIN error.
WOMAN: This isn’t working! I’ll pay cash. (exchange of bills and change)
PHARMACIST: Here you go, have a nice day. (reaches for the ringing phone)
WOMAN: Wait. You forgot my shampoo. (removes it from behind her other purchases)
PHARMACIST: Of course.
WOMAN: I’ll pay debit again.
PHARMACIST: That’s a credit card, Ma’am. And you’ll have to turn it around so you can insert the chip – the little shiny square – into the machine. The other way, Ma’am.
WOMAN: So complicated. There we go. Oh. (Looking down at her prescription while pharmacist prints receipt). Wait. What’s this? It says here that I have to take this twice a day.
PHARMACIST: Yes?
WOMAN: I can’t remember that! How am I supposed to remember that?
PHARMACIST: One in the morning and one at night.
WOMAN: But I only take my pills in the morning! And, oh, what’s this little label? “Do not take within four hours of eating.” I’ve never seen this before. How am I supposed to do that? I can’t skip breakfast!
PHARMACIST: Well, maybe you could take your pill a little earlier? Or eat breakfast later?
WOMAN: I get up at 7:20 and I eat breakfast at 8.
PHARMACIST: If you could hold off eating until 9 am, that would probably be enough.
WOMAN: But it says four hours! That’s not four hours. I don’t understand.
PHARMACIST: It works best on an empty stomach, so the closer you can get to four hours, the better.
WOMAN: And look! “Do not take with dairy products.” I eat yogurt for breakfast! When did this happen? Why can’t I have dairy products? Does this mean my thyroid pills aren’t working?
PHARMACIST: (looking anxiously at the ringing phone) It’s a matter of optimal absorption, ma’am. It’s a standard precaution. Milk products, vitamin and mineral supplements, they should all be taken separately from prescription medications.
WOMAN: Wait. VITAMINS TOO? I always take my vitamin pill at the same time as my thyroid pill! At breakfast! With my yogurt!
PHARMACIST: Perhaps you could take your vitamin pill at night, ma’am.
WOMAN: How am I supposed to remember that? How do I even know my pills are working? Maybe I’m wasting my money?
PHARMACIST: Your doctor will check your thyroid levels and change your dose if necessary. She’ll probably want you to be on it for a few weeks, first, though. When did you start the medication?
WOMAN: 1996.
PHARMACIST: (pause) You should be fine, in that case.
WOMAN: So I can take it with my breakfast, then?
PHARMACIST: (gathers her patience) The longer you can wait, the better it’ll be absorbed into your system. If you can avoid dairy products and supplements, it’ll be absorbed better into your system. You’ll have the most consistent results if you take it twice daily, twelve hours apart.
WOMAN: Twelve hours? What? I’ve never heard this before. Do I have to set an alarm?
PHARMACIST: (eyeing the line-up nervously) Morning and night, ma’am. Before breakfast, and before bed.
WOMAN: Oh. But you said not within four hours of eating. (counting on fingers) Am I supposed to get up at 3 am in the morning to take my pill?
PHARMACIST: Ma’am, if you took your pill the moment you woke up, and then waited as long as possible to eat, that would probably be fine.
WOMAN: So I can still have yogurt?
PHARMACIST: (helplessly) Ma’am? Perhaps you should talk to your doctor.
WOMAN: Oh, I’m not worried. (laughs) I’ve been doing it this way since I started, after all.
PHARMACIST: If there’s nothing else then…
WOMAN: Oh, actually, I need toothpaste, too.
PHARMACIST: (facilitates transaction silently, but with extraordinary speed) Have a nice day then.
WOMAN: You know what? I think I need a bag, after all.
PHARMACIST: Of course you do.
WOMAN: Let me see if I can find a nickel.
PHARMACIST: Don’t worry about it. Here’s a bag. On the house. Good-bye ma’am. Can I help the next person in line? PLEASE?
Alright, strictly speaking, I shouldn’t have eavesdropped on the conversation, but, really, would YOU have walked away?