After a year and a half at Barneys I am about to trade down. I've become lax and hateful towards my job and the company. Commission retail is daunting, especially at the onset of another minor depression in the economy. All the desperation, the fighting for sales, it's exhausting. That and because of a stupid mistake with an international send that potentially could have cost the company $79 (but actually didn't end up costing them a thing) my livelihood is in jeopardy and right now I find myself caring less and less. However the prospect of going back to $13/hr is terrifying to me. I am worth more than that, but no one I would like to work for can afford to pay me much more. I can't go back to Beacon's Closet with my tail between my legs after living the high life at Barneys. Then again, I can't fathom being a shop girl somewhere else either. I need to do my own thing, but how does one start a business when she is A.) broke (somehow despite my giant paychecks) and B.) lacking in tangible ideas and C.) terrified.
Ever since I was able to read, all I've wanted to do was write but I find myself doing anything but writing in my day to day life. The world of magazines no longer excites me. I am not terribly good at selling myself either. Maybe if I were a little more like Julia Allison or even the evil Emily Gould I could shove my way into the world of the blog, however I don't wish to make my living making fun of things. It's a problem in my generation I believe, that the brightest minds waste their time on triviality. Sure, it's fun, but more can be done. Look at Vice Magazine, it's on the verge of actually giving a fuck and all the more fun because of it. There is no guilt involved in reading it anymore and while a lot of it's fanbase thinks it's fallen off in recent times, I believe it to be stronger than ever. A sort of tabloid with taste, roaming the globe finding the craziest and most fucked up stories they can find, and sneaking in a cause here and there. The cause, is an assumed one, which is why it's successful. They don't ask you to agree with them, they just assume you will and suddenly you do. Maybe it's because they object to the obviously objectionable, blasting off mountain tops, native rights, sex trafficking. Still even the overarching tone of that magazine bothers me. It's a sort of know-it-all-ness. A writer needs confidence, sure, but the "hey we're in on the same joke" vibe gets old to me.
So then what about fiction? Do I dare? Talk abotu a fear of rejection. I can handle my take on reality being shunned, but being told that my imagination is lacking? Hell no. My voiced dreams and alternate reality, something entirely of my own creation...wow...hmm...so every day I write and think about writing and every day is another that goes by without me even thinking of attempting to get published. My harddrive is full of stories not quite finished, because once they are finished then I'll have to move on to the next step and you can't get rejected if you don't have anything ready to be published, no?
What I need to do is save my money (like that'll happen) and take some time off and not work and go somewhere and write. One of those writer's retreats upstate. Except I'd probably waste my time once there and just read and sleep and walk around like I did this past weekend in Georgia, but maybe not. All I know is that working two jobs will not afford me the time I need to write. Neither will spending every non-working moment hanging out with my friends. As winter approaches I feel the pull inward to becoming a hermit. Then again, I'm sure I'll have a multitude of excuses as to why I am not writing.
That's where this blog comes in. It's a personal exercise in putting my words out there, in writing things that will hopefully be read, whether they be self-pitying rants or short stories or recaps of adventures. It's trying to figure out my voice in relation to this big bad world.
