There were no mullets at the fair. I KNOW, what kind of a rip-off is that? I was, needless to say, very disappointed.
There were, however, large cows– one specifically that tried to eat my mother’s coat. No worries, we got it all on camera– coming to an embarrassing web-post near you sometime later this week.
The other thing about being upstate– aside from the cute toddler and the home-cooked pie and my father’s stories– is that everybody knows me.
I don’t say that to sound vapid, or self-important. Anyone from home can attest to the fact that you can’t go to WalMart, church or Flo’s Diner without at least three people recognizing you, asking about your life and your parents. The question that I get the most, that I never expect, that always throws me off guard and sends me stammering– “So… are you writing?”
I falter, every time. Am I writing? Well… yes. But I don’t count Moxie Missives as writing so much as it’s emotional catharsis into an electronic Moleskin diary sort-type-thing. The reality is that I’m not writing as steadily or as heavily as I want to be. I wanted to have my MFA application in to Stony Brook by now. I wanted to have heard back, and rest peacefully at night knowing that the grand stories that roll through my mind all day, the great follies of my imagination that put the light into my eyes… That they won’t be trapped there forever.
I had a friend from Pace comment awhile back that the Doubtful Little Voice that chirps on behalf of my insecurity– it’s what gets us all through Graduate School. The problem is that my MFA isn’t just Graduate School. It’s my dream. My Dream. The big dream, the one I’ve always been too afraid to chase, the one that I really hinge my self-fulfillment against, the one that I’ll tell all my stories about.
My Moby Dick. My Holy Grail. My Mr. Darcy.
I stammered an uncertain “Uhh… yes.” before realizing that Moxie World Media is technically me writing for Wedding Photographers. I backed up my uncertain answer by explaining that the company was new– but I have to confess it feels like a lie when I say I’m applying to go back to school.
This week is the big week, the heavy-lifting week. I’m laying out all the weddings and engagements I need through the end of the month for Jayd– and I’m taking the end of the week and all of next week to really whip my writing sample into shape. I’ll take breaks to humbly ask professors for letters of recommendation, and find a way to simply force through all the doubt, all the uncertainty, all the tethers I have to the success of this leap directly equating to my self-worth.
I am more than just my words. My stories are good, my talent is there… It’s time to take this step.
So this week, when people ask me, “Are you writing?” I won’t feel like a hack when I tell them that I am.
Whatever comes, or doesn’t come of it… I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. But I’ll never arrive until I take that first step, and anyway it’ll feel good to finally know– Does my writing make the cut?
Am I writing? Why yes. Yes I am.