Eleven years later

5:31pm, pacific standard time, apartment in Chandler, Arizona, USA, Tuesday evening, June 7, 2022. This afternoon I read the manuscript of a novel I stopped working on eleven years ago. Perusing it brought back memories; who I was when I wrote it, what I hoped to accomplish when it was finished and, ultimately, what I failed to achieve when I stopped working on it. That novel was, by far, the most time and effort I had put into any piece of work, before or since. Ultimately, I gave up when I moved to California before my 40th birthday. It has been left unfinished all this time. For years, I avoided revisiting it, simply because I was convinced all I would feel was disappointment. However, that was not the case. This afternoon, reading it again, I felt two distinct emotions; first, pride, for having written something so good and two, excitement about finishing it. I am happy to say I have found my new project; I am going to clean up that piece and finally give it the ending it deserves.

Writing

9:36am We are getting ready to leave for the activity center. It should be a fun time. Right now I am thinking about the creative pursuit of writing and what I do for work. I have come up with a new perspective. In the summer of 2002, well before my daughter was born, my wife and I moved to Valencia, California from Evanston, Wyoming. My wife kept her corporate position but I quit my job as a religious consultant for the state of Wyoming. We moved so I could be an actor and my wife could be closer to family. It was a rash adventurous decision we made as newlyweds who were sure we could conquer the world. The move was not free of tension. My wife was supportive but skeptical. While she looked forward to spending time with her sisters she wasn’t sure of my new plan for work. But I was confident. I envisioned myself auditioning for parts and easily getting jobs to pay my share of the bills. As soon as I got to California I began submitting headshots. I auditioned for some student films and got some parts but not nothing else. By the fall I realized I had neither the drive nor the talent to be a successful actor. I wasn’t terribly heartbroken. I tried and it didn’t work out. I accepted the failure but was left with a creative void. I needed to find a new pursuit. 3:09pm hanging out at the activity center, picking up where I left off. I decided I was going to be a writer. It wasn’t too much of a reach. Starting years earlier in seminary I had written some stories and started a novel. In fact I had just finished an autobiography of my youth titled “The Journey and the Destination.” In the moment I was happy. Writing was my new identity. This is noteworthy because it was during what I consider the most vibrant period of my life i.e. the time I was a hospice chaplain. In reality being a hospice chaplain was not my career choice. It was the job I did to support myself while I wrote. I loved being a chaplain. I cherish the time but I identified as a writer more than a chaplain. Just saying that reduces my anxiety. It changes how I approach work and purpose. For so long I have viewed my situation as facing a choice between sales/operations or being a chaplain. In reality I am facing a choice between sales/operations and writing. I know who I am, what I want to be. I want to be a writer. I am a writer. I simply realize I can’t expect writing to produce sustainable income. So the question I ask is, “What do I want to do to support myself while I write?”