*Here’s To You Mr. and Mrs. Working Writers of the World*
~nominated to the “Real Writers of Genius” hall of fame by your ‘bud’ Jenny
Have you ever heard someone sing so well it gave you chills? Have you ever looked at a painting and been amazed at the richness of color, the depth and vibrancy of each brush stroke? I have heard how the vocalist caressed every note, owned it, held it, made it live inside of me. I’ve seen the sensual shapes and the merging of vision and color beneath the tender touch of an artist transforming a moment into awe.
As I reflect on my week, how feeling poorly and the stress of my husband’s layoff in this tough economy effected my ability to work, I’m humbled by a new insight. While I’ve always felt exceptionally blessed and grateful for having a life that allows me to write for a living, I have never truly connected with the words of friends, peers and coworkers. When they shared the pain and frustration of attempting to tap into their creativity after a stressful day at work, I thought I understood. I may never be able to understand fully, but I have a deeper appreciation for these writers than ever before.
In the old days, artists were apprentices, living humbly as they studied under the guide of the masters. They weren’t expected to spend more than forty hours a week being ridiculed by clients or customers, yelled at by bosses, or engaging in the drudgery of a daily grind. They were allowed to immerse themselves in the craft.
Every day I’ve sat down to work, taking advantage of having my husband home to run the household. Every day, I’ve felt like I’ve been pulling teeth to be creative as my health and financial worries ate at the back of my mind. That changed today. This morning, I heard the song, “Arms of an Angel” by Sarah McLachlan and as usual, it gave me chills.
I thought about all the beauty in the world. The works of Michael Angelo, Da Vinci, Rembrandt, Monet, Norman Rockwell, the sounds of Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Strauss, and my favorite, Vivaldi (his guitar concertos are fabulous.) And as writers are wont to do, my imagine ran away with me a little. What might have it been like if Da Vinci had to flip burgers at McDonalds and paint in his basement without the master Verrocchio to guide him or much respect for his pursuit? Or how well might have Strauss composed his Blue Danube if he had to bartend all night and work on cars during the day?
How in the world do my friends, peers and coworkers manage to evoke such extraordinary works from themselves when they work in government, teaching, medicine, accounting and any other myriad non-writing careers? I am absolutely humbled. But even more so, I want every one of you to know how truly heroic your efforts are to follow your dreams and passions. I see now. My hat’s off to you with sincere admiration.
I also owe you a thank you. No telling how much time I would have wasted pouting about my situation if I didn’t have such wonderful examples in each and every one of you. I only regret that I didn’t recognize your efforts sooner. Know that you are appreciated and also, that you’re supported!
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