This blog is mostly about things that I make and sometimes about things that I remember.
Three years ago or so my then-employer euthanized my job. After my job went away, and with it 15 years of my identity, I found that making stuff made me feel better. Like, a lot better. I wrote some, baked some, gardened some. I did some legal consulting for a while. Sometimes I also sew, in a desultory, impatient fashion.
I started to write more. My job has always required a lot of writing, but I also wrote some things (linked on the “other stuff” page). Instead of memoranda, project plans and letters rife with carefully calibrated snark, I write about current events from a progressive feminist perspective. Sometimes I even get paid.
Now I have a day job again, so I do no consulting and less of everything else (including parenting my own children). It’s tough, but I missed having a job, colleagues, and the sense of professional space and identity that comes with my particular trade. But it means writing, baking bread, and my garden will get less of my scarce brain time.
I’ll see how that goes.
The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something
I’m not a big fan of Vonnegut, but I guess what the dude says is pretty much accurate.