Frustration

I am writing a Father's day article about a local San Diegan who might be one of the most amazing men I have ever met. The only problem is that I am having one hell of time writing his story.

Capturing his spirit in the piece without making it too sappy is proving to be challenging. Also, I feel a tremendous amount of pressure to make it spectacular. His family is super excited about the article. His daughter is even flying home father's day weekend so they can be together when the article comes out. Lastly, this article is breaking my heart. The guy I am writing the story about reminds me of my father in so many ways that it makes me incredibly sad. He even smells like saw dust.

My deadline is Friday and I have about 200 words. Sigh.

Uncomfort

I am sitting in Cosmo’s, my favorite coffee shop. I come here in the afternoons often to work on my novel. Yes, I am writing a novel, and yes I am aware how ridiculous that is. I almost always sit on the black leather coach that faces the window because I like to watch the people walking by and those sitting on the patio out front. Currently there is a woman with cropped red spikey hair sitting out there. She is wearing fingerless gloves, Madonna style, and drinking an ice tea. Across from her is a two-toned blonde smoking a cigarette. I am equally fascinated by both them. Everyone fascinates me.

The man sitting on one of stools to my left is thumbing through a San Diego Reader. I am on the cover of this week’s Reader. I wonder if he will notice. I hope he will not. A handful of people have picked them up while I have been here. It mortifies me for two reasons, the first being that I look like an idiot. My hands look crippled and my face chubby. The second reason—I think the story is ridiculous.

I always feel this way the moment the Reader publishes something of mine. Before it comes out in print I am okay with it but afterwards the very idea that something I have written is being read by other people makes me feel silly and exposed. I wish I could be more normal about it. I think I really need to branch out and stop writing about myself.

Studs

I wrote this week's San Diego Reader cover.  This story was the bane of my existence for nearly two months because I got so caught up in trying to make it perfect.  I awkwardly interviewed numerous western world enthusiasts and pretended to be professional.  I loved/hated every minute of it.  I am super proud of this article because it was way out of my comfort zone.  It was the most challenging article I have ever written. I learned so much.  The best part--I got paid to do something I enjoy. 

Giddy up

Humble Pie

Lately I have been really lucky to have scored a number of freelance writing gigs. I think it started to go to my head a little. I started wondering if I really needed to suffer through all of those pointless classes I have been taking lately. I began stupidly thinking that maybe I could give up the whole school thing and find work without having to get a silly piece of paper to prove my credentials.

Last night I had dinner at the home of my new employers. The whole staff from BK was there. When things deviated past work, Rafael, the videographer asked me where I went to college.

I am certain my face turned the shade of a stop sign. The fact that I do not have a college degree has always been a profound source of shame for me. I blurted out “I don’t have a degree.” and didn’t bother to mention that I’m working on it. I just wanted to get the attention off of me.

I started out the night super confident in my abilities as writer for the project they have hired me for but the end of the night I sort of felt like white trash.

This morning in my e-mail inbox I received a description of a San Marcos college winter intercession creative writing workshop for my old journalism Professor. It proved the point once again that I need to get all this silly general ed stuff behind me and continue on with the hopes of soon enrolling at San Marcos.

I like the idea that when I start getting overly confident something mortifying happens to ground me. I think humbleness is a quality I will never grow tired of even if at times I am humbly shamed.