So I’ve been giving myself permission to work on things that go nowhere. I have been working on things just because I want to work on them. It feels absolutely irresponsible but also absolutely necessary.

When I was a teen-ager and in my early 20s I wrote because I wrote. There wasn’t any reason — it was just something I did reflexively. I was prolific and unencumbered by immediate ambition (all of my ambition was of the “someday” variety). Then, very appropriately, I was thinking more concretely. I didn’t just want to write; I wanted to be published. Now I’m published but not quite as published as I’d like to be. And I’m writing but not writing quite what I want to be. Still, I feel balanced now because I’m enjoying working on things that may never see the light of day and I’m enjoying working on other things that are strictly for the paycheck and I’m enjoying having the very occasional thing that’s both. I’d like to have more that’s both but I don’t think I can get that if I go too far one way or the other.

If I spend too much time on writing what I want without getting published, I start to feel like a loser.

If I spend too much time on writing what will get me published and paid, I start to feel like a sell-out.

If I have a little bit of both, I start to have a little fun with only occasional bouts of feeling like a sell-out loser. See? Balance.

Ok, back to clearning out my work inbox. To make it more palatable I’m at the bookstore drinking too-sweet coffee and listening to showtunes. Caffeine makes me feel optimistic.

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