“Find a job you enjoy doing, and you will never have to work a day in your life.” – Mark Twain attempting to quote Confucius.

 

What do people do when they don’t have a specific task to work on?

Typically, based primarily on observation and conversations I’ve had throughout my entire life, they’ll do nothing. That is, if they’re adults. Kids might try to play. Teens and young adults might find a restlessness and/or a drive to do something. This isn’t true for all adults, but most adults, especially those that have been, to some extent, out in the world, they want to do nothing, even if only for a moment. At some point we find ourselves desiring, craving this freedom to not have to do. I get it. I really do. I’m the same way.

Currently, I have no assigned projects, with exception to what they give me at work, and those are neither creative nor writing assignments. Occasionally, a free-lance gig might fall into my lap, but those are rare and often non-paying. I’m less inclined to take those on top of my preexisting, paying job. With that, nine out of ten times I am tired. Or nine out of ten times, I find myself without motivation to do much of anything. Despite the relatively arbitrary percentages, it’s still a serious thing.

We’re not all fortunate enough to get any jobs. Some of us have to find a way to persevere on our own. It’s difficult but doable.

You may be wondering or yelling, What do you do? I’m getting there, I swear.

I used to ask myself that, what I should do.

On top of everything I just mentioned, as I touched upon in my MFA piece, I also have a lack of structure to deal with. Getting out of school, it’s a shock to the system. Surprise! Life doesn’t have as much structure as we like to think it does or might. There is a good chance that this will be what gets you, what defeats you. It’s more than just the burn out you might experience from being in school. The real issue occurs in the contemplation of How do I keep going? The simple answer is: It’s structure.  Why would I mention it if it wasn’t? You’ll have to create a structure to your life, in your life. It may seem obvious, but it’s anything but easy.

It’s also important to find motivation, even if that motivation is derived from pure stubbornness. Although, I won’t explicitly recommend that either, regardless of my own hypocrisy. I digress.

People will compliment me on my drive to write. I find it strange but flattering. As previously mentioned, I’d prefer to do nothing. Of course, it wasn’t always like this.

There was a time, when I didn’t have to work every single day like a normal person in the US, I would take four hours a day to write. Just write. Whatever I had at the end, I would review. Anything I liked, I kept. Whatever I didn’t, I discarded. My writing had effectively become a part time job. I think what’s most impressive, to me at least, is that I was keeping this routine throughout college and grad school too. Well, maybe not as consistently as I’d like, but better than you might think.

Now, I can’t do that. I work an eight hour day job, not including breaks and the time it takes to get to and from work, what with not being able to afford my own car, as well as when I have to get to work, I really don’t have the time to put in four hour days. What I do is schedule a time when I get home, usually after I’ve eaten and finished anything I have to do, and I write.

Normally, I would tell you that this is a form of time management called, “Blocking.” Blocking is where you take chunks of time and devote them to specific tasks. You don’t allow yourself to get distracted. You do the work until either it’s done or the time you’ve set aside ends. It’s important to know that I’m not really Blocking here. I’m setting a chunk of time aside, yes, but it’s whenever I can as opposed to the same time everyday. Still, if you think it is hard, it is. So, how do I do this? It might sound simple…

I do this by telling myself that I have to, that I don’t have a choice. At first it’s difficult, but it gets easier and you’ll find yourself more inclined to doing it than when you started. Eventually, you won’t have to force it. If you do this, don’t forget to forgive yourself when you simply cannot do it. We all get exhausted or distracted. Just don’t allow yourself to take too much time, or else you risk stopping indefinitely. Don’t make up ridiculous excuses. If you want to write, then write. If you want to create, create.

But I don’t write with reckless abandon as I once did. Time is precious, too precious. That’s why some of my time that I blocked for writing gets subverted to reading and taking notes on the material/story, or I use it to brainstorm and map out what I’m going to write. I’ll even set up interviews from time-to-time. This gives me focus and purpose. I know what I’m going after, what I need to do, and, hopefully, I do it.

Sometimes things go awry. My mind will blank despite all my preparations. This is fine. This happens. I don’t stop writing. I write something else, anything else. It’s effective for me because it allows some other part of me to work out what I need to do, and it supplies me with something else to work on later. I try not to spend too much time on this side piece if I can help it. It’s important to continue what you set out to do. If you can’t, don’t worry. It’s not the end of the world. Well, this time it isn’t.

Even if I do stop writing, I’m not actually stopping. I’m taking a break. I always get back to my writing. Don’t give up! You can do it!

You may or may not be wondering if there’s any point to working on something that you probably won’t be seeing income for. I have to say, if you are wondering this, how capitalistic of you. There are several reasons. One of them, the only one I’ll mention, is that you need to keep yourself sharp. Setting up this schedule and actually doing it will help. If you keep up at something, then you’ll most likely get better at it. I mean, you can’t get any worse, right?

My real secret is understanding that it’s not the writing I don’t want to do, it’s the work, the effort that goes into it. This is why it’s important to do something you want to be doing. Being paid is a good motivator, but when you don’t have that, you should have your own enjoyment to lean upon in order to accomplish your writing or creating goals. I do this. I make sure that I’m working on something I like. I’m not just doing it to hone my craft. It makes the whole endeavor easier and provides a feeling of being worthwhile.

The only thing I have to say here, at the end, is do what fits you best. Try out different things, and then decide which works better than anything else. Or don’t just do one thing, do many, if that suits you. If you think my way would work for you, then I say do it. I encourage creating and hard work, and I try to do it too, despite myself, despite everything.

All the best. Keep creating!

 

Nathan

I have a problem with taking on a lot of projects at once. This can be good for getting more done. It can also be good for overwhelming yourself. Sometimes, I don’t know when to stop.

Two, maybe three, summers ago, I sat in the backseat of a tiny, blue, four-door, listening intently.

James Magruder was driving and Marion Winik, author of ten books including her then latest, Highs in the Low Fifties, was in the passenger seat, her feet propped against the dash. She began to ask him about his then latest collection of short stories, Let Me See It: Stories.

“How did you end up putting this together?”

“Well,” James said, “for about a year or so I was working on a novel that I started out really being interested in, but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t finish it. So, I put it to the side hoping to one day get back to it. Then I started these short pieces thinking I’d be finishing the novel. But they started getting published, and I realized that I had to scrap the novel and continue with the stories. I realized it wasn’t right. I was devastated for a while.” Marion made a sympathetic sound of agreement.

I was genuinely intrigued, but I didn’t want to say anything for fear of missing parts of the conversation. It was short lived as the car pulled over and both James and Marion got out, James walking down the sidewalk, Marion replacing him at the wheel. Most of the time afterward, in that car, I was thinking of what James had said, giving up something you’ve been working on for some time for something that seems more worthwhile. It’s always an option.

At the time, they were my professors at the University of Baltimore, and they have always been talented writers. They are the kind of people you admire and silently, or not so silently, wish to be like.

I’ve learned many valuable lessons going through undergrad and graduate school. This one recently sank in.

I realized I have a few unpublished pieces at my disposal. On top of that are dozens of pieces in jump drives and external servers that had once been listed under, “Living Projects” but are now, “Unfinished Works.” Despite how heartbreaking that may sound, I have come to a point where I know that’s ok. Not everything will work out. Eventually most creators will be here too.

 

After I was finished with school, I had no plans. I couldn’t seem to gain momentum. Getting a job in a related field didn’t seem possible, and it’s still tricky. I couldn’t break into any reading series. I couldn’t seem to do anything right. I thought I was a failure.

Then, one day, I was perusing Facebook, social media being one of the major procrastination tools, when I came across a friend’s post showcasing their schedule for the year. It was filled with readings and workshops and all sorts of successful sounding things. I was proud. I mean, I know that person! Then I felt a tinge of jealousy and self-doubt. I felt bad. I felt guilty. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, where I was going to go next, and it didn’t help that I couldn’t seem to keep feeling proud for my friends.

 

So, I asked another friend what they thought I should do. This is something I’ve found is very helpful to me, asking for someone else’s perspective. We get so caught up in ourselves, what we’re doing, that we often lose sight of chances we could take, feelings that we are allowed to have. It’s also good to lose the bias you might have for someone or thing else or against yourself.

 

A few things friends instructed me on doing:

1. Get out of academia.
2. Get out of Baltimore.
3. Write a Blog.
4. Screw the system.
5. Submit everywhere.
6. Write for people you know.

 

 

In the end, I told myself to just give it up. I figured the least I could do was take a moment to look at my options and see what I liked best. Really, I needed to catch my breath. You have to do that sometimes — give up, lose, fail.

 

I had to begin to understand why I write and why I was going to keep writing. The possibility of stopping for good is always there. I knew it. I thoroughly considered it too. Anyone who is going after something difficult, anyone who has failed more times than they care to remember, knows this.

 

What Conclusions I Had:

1. I’m writing for myself, for personal, often cathartic and selfish reasons. Did I mention that I’m originally a memoirist?
2. I’m writing for anyone who will listen. Yes, it’s important to know your audience and usually write for a specific group, but this goes beyond that. I feel that I have stories to tell, advice to give, and I think people should hear/see it. What they do or don’t do with it later is up to them. And I’ll only accrue more the older I get, the more I live, the more others around me live.
3. I’m writing it to see what I can put together in a format that will garner some attention. See number two.

 

It can be challenging. Sometimes it can feel impossible, but those are the things we have to deal with. In this instance it’s more than overcoming myself to achieve something. It’s about learning and growing. That always seems to be the greatest cause, it’s not the destination but the journey etc. And that journey will have many roads, many ways that I’ll have to miss, often on purpose.

I’m still in Baltimore. I still have a few ties to academia. I’m still writing. I’m writing this blog. I’m writing for myself as well as everyone else.

The fact is, you can always give up. It’s not a bad thing, not always, but I’d recommend exhausting your options before you do that. Giving up is often seen as the easy out. But it can be the most difficult choice we can make. Of course, giving up isn’t always giving up, it’s changing direction to continue something else. There’s value in that. I hope you can see that, and I hope you are able to pursue what you want to.

 

 

All the best,

Nathan

Got any good ideas?

Ideas? What about them? How are you going to discuss ideas?

Well, imaginary reader voice, I always feel like there are small yet important issues, ones often overlooked by most, which are thrown aside as being akin to common knowledge or whatnot. I think the concept of ideas needs a good talking about, if you ask me. If you didn’t ask me, I don’t care. Ideas are one of these things.

For me there are two issues I seem to have at any given moment:

1. Too many ideas or
2. too few.

Both of these can present a problem to anyone, let alone someone who leans towards more creative ventures.

Let’s face it, ideas are important to have, and there are things to consider and think about when it comes to ideas. So, what am I going to do here? I’m going to start with where ideas come from. Then I’ll discuss what to do if you have too many. Lastly, I’ll talk about what to do if you don’t have any. If you’re wondering why, let’s just say that an idea struck me and I decided to go with it.

 

Where do ideas come from?

When a mommy and daddy idea love each other A LOT they get together and a stork comes cradling an infant idea wrapped in swaddling.

Seriously though. Um… Your brain? What do you want? No, I kid.

Typically, the only place you get ideas from is your life. I honestly can’t think of a better source or any others, for that matter. Your life is the wellspring of whatever you want to work on, even the style you are going to work on it with, and I mean this. I can guarantee Picasso went through a blue phase in both his art and his life. Whatever happens to you will impact your ideas.

This also goes along with the adage, “Write what you know.” You could argue that certain things like science fiction or fantasy don’t follow this, but if you’re writing people or humanoids in situations, you’re more than likely basing it off of your reality. Besides, how do you write what you don’t know? Don’t answer that.

Equally so, when producing visual arts, you base it off of what you know and see. Whether that’s nature or various geometric shapes that you may or may not tweak etc. Or it could be something you read about as well.

I digress. Now, moving on.

 

Have too many? What do?

Sell them? I’m sure you could make a profit from an overabundance of ideas, abstract as some of them are sure to be. Then you could take that profit and turn it into a principal investment. Are you familiar with stocks and bonds? Dividends? I don’t know what I’m talking about anymore.

Again, something resembling humor.

The truth is once life gives you those lemons, you should do something with them even if it’s only to squeeze it in someone’s eyes, but please don’t do that. Now, it’s not mandatory that you take action, but I would encourage it as long as it doesn’t harm anyone else.

The first thing I’d recommend doing when your head is swimming with ideas is to jot them all down. You don’t need to have any order to them unless you want to. Just get them out there, make them one step closer to existing. See them.

Once they’re visible, discern which are keepers and which are not. This can depend on you when making this decision. Most importantly, what are your intentions? Do you want ideas to make money? Do you want something you can do that would be good for you? Not that those two concepts are mutually exclusive, they tend to be, is all.

Once you’ve decided what ideas you want to pursue, you need to put them in the order of which you want to do going first, which is most important to you, followed by those that you think can wait or possibly be discarded as well. This requires further discernment. Then you go to it, tackling each one as you finish the one before them. There’s more to it than that, but that’s the gist of things.

 

Not Enough? I Know That Feel.

We’ve all been there, one way or another, in an idea draught or famine or other natural disaster where people are without something. This is a frustrating dilemma to be in, especially if you need an idea for work you are being paid to do.

I only have one recommendation for this: live. Stop trying to create, give yourself some space to breathe, and then do something unrelated to what you’re trying to do. That is, if you can afford to do so.

I’m not saying you need to risk your life and do something like skydiving. You don’t even have to fall in love for inspiration. Do chores or see a movie, for instance. This is similar to what I mentioned previously in this piece. Live! Everyone has to do it, and it’s the best muse you can have. I may be a bit biased, what with the whole being a nonfiction writer and all, but it’s a truth I’ve stuck to since I’ve started this crazy adventure. Writing.

Other options for those with deadlines include: Go for a (long) walk. Exercising is also helpful. Physical activity! These things help with creativity immensely. I know a lot of people have an aversion to these suggestions, but they do help. Studies have even shown a correlation between walking and creativity. Just look at this article published by Stanford University http://stanford.io/2393pff.

 

 

Concluding thoughts. Ideas?

I’d wish you all the best of luck with your ideas, but some of you may be competition for me. So, I hope you don’t fail miserably? Is that ok to say?

Anyway, Ideas are, as I said before, important to have. They’re important for literally everyone. I hope that this has helped you in some way, even if only as a form of amusement.

 

All the best,

Nathan

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The average person in the U.S. has a 9 to 5 job or some equivalent, right? The average hours worked in the U.S. is about 34.4. Surprised? The average work week in Mexico is 42.85 hours. For Germany, it’s 26.37.[1]

You get up early. How early? Let’s say 6 o’clock EST[2]. You get ready, eat, finish the getting ready process, and then you leave.[3] You do it in this order exactly every day. You work 8 hours, maybe you work more, but not necessarily including a break. It could be you stock shelves, maybe you populate excel spreadsheets, or perhaps you teach people[4]. Whatever it is you do, you work. That’s for sure. You do this all day, every day[5].

Some are fortunate with a reprieve from the weekend. Hopefully you get at least one day off, but maybe you don’t. Maybe you don’t get any leave at all. Whatever the case, at the end of the day you come home, maybe you rest, you eat, perhaps you do a couple chores, you sit or lie down, watch a movie or television show, or you read. What you do, you do in the exact same order every day.

Occasionally you somehow manage to have the time to get out your computer and write. Or you get out your clay and sculpt or throw. Or you take out your paints and canvas and, well, paint. You do something creative. If you’re an artist, you’re going to have a normal, day job[6]. Some will have a night job, but a lot of creative types like to sleep. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

The greatest downside is the damper a day job can place on your art, your craft, your passion, your life. You can feel so burned out when you come home that it’s difficult to muster the motivation to do anything. Or maybe you have a job you enjoy, but in this instance let’s assume you don’t. So, you wish you didn’t have to supplement your income this way. But the way a lot of countries have structured their economies, you have to do this. You know it’s mandatory, you weren’t born with a silver spoon in your mouth. No, no trust fund for you. You work hard, pay bills, play hard, create hard, hopefully. Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully…

You may find that when the day ends and you return home, you can’t create. Don’t worry. It’s not you. This is perfectly natural. And you won’t need to contact your doctor about creative dysfunction. You’ll need a break. What you may need is a vacation from work or a momentary lapse in art.[7] Another possibility is to create a schedule and push through the block, the burnout, the fuzziness.

If you find it too difficult or you feel too out of it, you might also want to consider getting a different day job. You can look through the internet or paper or etc. Do not feel ashamed. Your job isn’t your life, neither is your art, contrary to what a lot of people might think, and you can leave both if need be. That is, not your life but your job and your art/craft.

As a creative person, we all have to come to terms with this. You won’t always get that dream job[8]. And if you do, you’re probably an adjunct anyway. You will have to get another job or 2 somewhere else because the one you wanted doesn’t pay enough for you to survive. At no point in time will this not be ok.[9] You’re allowed to make a living and provide for yourself or other people, if you have any.

 

There are many thoughts on this. All are welcomed and encouraged. Share!

Epilogue/Post Script

You can look at the U.S. Bureau of Labor to see the average incomes of various types of artists. You should see how you compare. You should also know it doesn’t matter. It’s here [10]. Maybe one day you can claw and scratch enough to get up to these incomes. It’ll take a lot, especially if you’re not connected and considering all the competition, but it’s not impossible. It’s just not easy, and you have a high chance of failure. All that can be said is keep trying. What’s the point of giving up?

 

I wish you all the best of luck,

Nathan

 

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[1] http://fortune.com/2015/11/11/chart-work-week-oecd/  It’s kind of crazy. You might think Germany would have ridiculously long and strict hours, but you have to remember that they’re European. They can only stick to one stereotype at an issue.

[2] I get up every day at 5:45AM. Even on weekends when I don’t work. Force of habit.

[3] Even when you leave a job, you may find it difficult to give up the routine.

[4] Indifferent people, most likely.

[5] Except for weekends for a lot of us.

[6] Most likely.

[7] I don’t recommend the latter, but I have seen it help people.

[8] As previously mentioned in the, uh, previous paragraph. I can tell you from experience that any sort of writing job is the hardest thing to break into. If you’re applying and don’t know at least one person, you’re, most likely, not getting that job.

[9] With exception to those that degrade your art or are illegal. I can’t really condone either.

[10] http://www.bls.gov/ooh/arts-and-design/home.htm

Passion n. (ˈpaSHən)

1. Strong and barely controllable emotion, 2. A state or outburst of strong emotion, 3. Intense sexual love, 4. An intense desire or enthusiasm for something, 5. A thing arousing enthusiasm.

Why do I create?

It’s a heavy question with an important answer. I was recently asked this.

“I don’t know,” I said. I stared at the blank page. You know, Hemingway found it trickiest to tackle the blank page. He also said it was easy; all you need to do is bleed. He even said it would help you to empathize with God. Then again, he also killed himself with his favorite gun.

That went dark. I digress.

I came to the conclusion that I could list every reason I heard from others, but couldn’t pinpoint my own, and I found this troubling. I mean, I’ve devoted a large chunk of my life to writing and creating. My dad writes and my mom paints and makes ceramics. All of my grandparents have written something. It runs in my blood, right? Surely I can choose someone else’s reason. I mean, I have to know. I just have to.

 

Reasons Other People Gave That Aren’t Mine (or ROPGTAM):

1. They didn’t have anything better to do.
2. They don’t want to be forgotten.
3. Religion.
4. Politics.
5. Saving the world.
6. Passion.
7. Money.
8. Fame.

 

I had to think long and hard about this. Despite my best efforts, I drew a blank. Then I was scared; worried, really.

I remember meeting with editors/designers from the Block Island Times in 2013 to “interview” for an internship. I only ever wrote two things for them. One was about what the young people were doing over the summer, and the other was about people’s dogs. Turns out Block Island dogs have great longevity, and some internships fizzle out during busy seasons.

Two women sat across from me, blank faced. I knew their credentials made them true professionals. I was sweating. My throat was dry, and my palms were wet.

“So,” one of them said, looking down at my printed out resume, “seems like your background is in creative writing. Why do you want to intern here? Doesn’t look like the kind of place you’d want to work.”

She wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t prepared.

“Well, to be honest, I don’t care what I write. I just want to write. I have to write.”

“Good answer,” the other said.

It was a brief moment of clarity for me in the midst of a panicked response. You wouldn’t have gotten a better answer out of me with torture.

It came to me that a lot of people write or paint as a tool for a passion or reason they have. I write because I like it. It’s me migrating to a page. And here I am, doing it again.

I always wanted to give excuses. Like my dad was the one to tell me I should apply to MFA programs, but that was because I didn’t know what the next step was. I didn’t have a plan. He had started a low-res program, but ended up dropping out of it. I hesitated to finish my applications, because I was uncertain like I was starting this piece. Knowing what I know now, I needed the program, and I would do it again. I don’t have good excuses or reasons, just the truth.

 

What’s yours?

 

Nathan

 

 

 

 

*Image from http://cebutte.ucanr.edu/4-H_Program/Rainbow_Craft_Day_/

For a lot of my life, mostly while I was in school, I played a sport. I can say I have nine, arguably eight, sports under my belt. They are as follows:

1. T-ball/Baseball
2. Soccer
3. Wrestling
4. Football
5. Softball
6. Volleyball
7. Bowling
8. Jiu-jitsu (does this count?)
9. Rugby

 

Why did I play sports? Why does anyone?

Now, other people may have different reasons like it’s all they were good at. There’s even the rare, “I think it’s fun,” person who genuinely means it. There’s always at least one. And some dreamed of making it big. I just dreamed of something to do beyond being alone in my room, which is something I inevitably found myself doing anyway.

But it’s a complicated question. They both are. First of all, unlike many of my friends, my parents never made me play, with exception to football where they forced me not to quit. I never fully enjoyed sports, but I didn’t hate them either. There are two reasons why I really played sports: 1. I liked competition, or I thought I did, 2. It would help me to fit in.

 

How does this tie in with creativity?

I would like to say something nice about how sports contributed to team activities and being an acceptable member of society, but, honestly, I’ve got nothing. I do a lot on my own. I’m a bit of a loner. I never really felt like I belonged, not completely.

I will admit that it seemed to somewhat benefit my ability to create though. Specifically, with football in the eighth grade.

Everyone was doing it. Football, that is. I played for the Woodland Middle School team. We were the Wildcats. Very original. Typically, the kids started on the team as early as sixth grade, but I went in with a couple of friends. Well, more like acquaintances, but I digress. They put me on second string, O line, left tackle. I still got to play some, I swear!

Training, at times, was brutal. You see, I had what is called Exercise Induced Asthma. It didn’t help the whole exercise aspect of sports.

What I recall most vividly is The Hill.

We approached it in full gear after an entire evening of practice. At the end of the day, the sun was beginning to descend behind nearby tree line. We separated into groups of five, each peering down the 90° slope, the green grass worn to brown from previous runs. The whistle blew a shrill staccato note, reverberating off the boxy, brick school building behind us. Then we did suicides up and down that hill until everyone had gone at least once or five times. Sometimes they’d make us do it again after it seemed like it was over. I could barely make the one.

I’d emerge at the top by the end of my run, my breathing sharp and shallow.

They’d yell, “Place your hands above your head,” because that was apparently a way to open up your lungs. I always thought I was under arrest. I’d fall to the ground, sprawling for my inhaler, feeling my airway constrict, my chest tightening, burning. Occasionally, my vision would turn to black for a moment and I’d fall on my face, coming to seconds later with a concerned parent, usually someone else’s who’d arrived early, hovering above my head.

All my memories of football are like that, dramatic.

Here’s the tie in. Yeah, I wanted to quit. No, my parents didn’t let me. It was a good case of, “When things get tough, the tough get going.” I had to be tough. You usually have to be tough in sports. And sometimes you have to be tough in life. It’s something I use now when I’m creating. Sometimes, after I’ve been working on a piece for a while, I’ll have the urge to scrap it. That can be acceptable, but not for every one of them. I have to use discretion and force myself to persevere. It’s a quality.

 

But there was a transference! Maybe.

To say there’s a correlation, a moral, or something along those lines, I think, would be somewhat misleading. I don’t know if there’s really a transference here. But if there’s anything people are good at, it’s reasoning.

I see my fellow writers and artists succeeding and I want to succeed. In fact, I want to be better. I will admit that this is partially human nature, but also a sense of competition that only grew through the years. Sports will do that to you. I’m motivated in this regard.

And I can work in groups, I just usually don’t. It’s a personal preference as previously stated.

 

[Insert Conclusion Here]

I want to tell you a happy sports story because sports can be fun, but they usually weren’t for me. I only have a handful of pleasant memories, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

How about this? I’ll give thanks for one thing sports gave me, beyond the knowledge to hold something resembling a conversation with other men: Thank you, SPORTS, for teaching me to not fit in. I know that’s the opposite lesson attributed to team sports. I mean, I wouldn’t have played them if I didn’t want to fit in, as I mentioned earlier. I’ll admit that there were some sports that ended up being somewhat pleasant for me like soccer and rugby, but I consider those outliers. It was the less-than-pleasant experiences, seeing how everyone else reacted that gave me confidence in not needing to be with other people, not all of the time. It’s so much better to be myself, a weirdo with a penchant for writing, than a jock, because I’m not that. And you don’t need to be either.

Nathan

 

*Image used here was an original production by Becca Hollaway. That’s the same person who illustrated my book.

 

P.S. Other aspects to be touched upon in future sports related posts.

This is what you should do besides paying off any loans you may now have, or continue to tell people why you got it and what you can do with it.

 

Most common phrases for when achieving long(ish) term goals:

1. Yes! Time to Celebrate!
2. I think I need a nap.
3. Now what?

 

At the end of August (2015), I successfully completed a program for my Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing and Publishing Arts at the University of Baltimore.

I’m fortunate, and I’m aware of it. I have a book that I created and self-published, some new friends, a place to live, and food to eat. I also have a full time job (outside of my field). I recently and successfully applied for income-based repayment for my student loans, which there are plenty of.

Not many people leaving graduate school can say all of these things, and I know this well.

 

Most people after grad school are:

1. Working somewhere outside of their field.
2. Going back to school because they couldn’t find work.
3. Nothing.

When I graduated, I was approaching the end of an employment contract with a job that I only got because they liked that I was a student. With the fear of losing my job before my loans kicked in, I began to feverishly apply to positions in my field of writing and some design positions as well. And then I applied to everything else that came up as hiring within a certain livable price-range.

Honestly, I thought that with some editor experience and my Masters, I was a shoe in for something, anything. I only ever received rejection letters from potential employers, if they responded at all.

 

BUT!

It was late November. I sat in a half-wall cubicle behind two monitors, inputting numbers from one spreadsheet onto another. My boss’ office door lay open, her desk out of sight behind a wall. I wasn’t paying attention as she suddenly appeared beside me.

“I wanted to let you know that we’re hiring someone for a position to take on some of your responsibilities,” she said, “and then in January we’re converting you to regular employment.”

“What?” I said, looking up and thinking she was telling me that I was fired, but then I realized what she was saying, “I mean, thank you!”

She laughed.

 

Q&A Time!

What is the most common problem that occurs after you complete an MFA?

1. You become a homeless professor.
2. You become too successful for your own good.
3. You feel burned out and/or stop writing altogether.
4. Nothing.

If you answered 1, you’re probably a cynic. If you answered 2, I think I’ll have to write something about being a writer in the future. If you answered 3, well, just no. But if you answered 4, then you’re absolutely and unfortunately correct.

I’ve known some beautiful people with great talent give up the craft. It’s a difficult one to try and tackle, and it’s not rare for people to be discouraged or realize it’s not for them. The thing about the MFA that I think makes it so common to stop writing is how much you’ve been doing. It’s a lot. There’s also an issue with going from something that is highly structured to keep you constantly writing and then going into a world where it is difficult to find time to do anything at all.

Let’s not forget that the job market for writing is challenging, if not impossible, to break into. That is, unless you know someone somewhere who also knows a few people, your chances are slim.

It’s easy to see why someone would stop, especially if you have a book already. Why do you need to do anything else? And that’s dangerous. Pretty soon you might start thinking that there’s nothing else you need to do in your life except work, grow old and die.

 

An Aside—

I am a perfectionist. Nothing satisfies me. Not my book. Not this.

 

What did I do? In case you were wondering.

Here are some things:

1. I networked. I reached out to the head of my communications department at my place of employment, joined the list of freelance writers, and am in talks with starting a blog with them. I even have my first assignment with them coming up this month.

I also recommend going to local reading series. I suggest striking up a conversation with anyone who looks like they’re a part of it or anyone at all, and see if there’s any way that you can join in or start something yourself.  If you need help finding one, you can usually look on Facebook for nearby events or local coffee shops. No, seriously.

2. I motivated myself. I told myself stopping now would be as good as failing. Not that that’s a bad thing, but I was not ready to give up on writing altogether.
3. I was motivated by others. I saw how other people succeeded and wanted to do the same.
4. I bought pocket-sized journals that I could fill out, and then determined to write in it every day for at least a page or two.
5. I asked a friend what to do. Hence what you’re reading.

 

 

Because I didn’t want to list more than 5 things:

I also gave myself time to want to write again. It’s important, I think, to do this after an MFA. You don’t want to risk that writing burnout. But you shouldn’t let it go on too long either. You don’t want to end up putting it off for the rest of your life.

Use and benefit from all that hard work you put into that degree or the work that you’ve done already. It can be challenging, but it’s worth it. Another great aspect is that if you do go into an MFA, you will produce more writing than you will know what to do with. You’ll have the time to write, and you’ll have to write. If you attend one, take advantage of this.

 

And you can do all that too! If you have any suggestions to add to this, please post them in the comments.

 

 

Epilogue

Here’s the thing:

In regards to those considering, I don’t want this to influence anyone one way or another. I don’t want people to be persuaded into or dissuaded out of attending an MFA program. But I’m still going to touch upon my experience nonetheless.

Would I do it again?

1. Yes.
2. No.
3. Maybe?
4. Ask again later.

Without sounding too much like a Magic 8 Ball, I’ll tell you the answer is A.  I don’t want to be misleading here. It’s not a difficult yes, but it’s still a yes. I have new skills, experiences, and relationships that I would have never had without going into a program. I will never forget these times, and I will cherish all that I’ve gained.

 

But there are important things to consider before going. There are important things to ask yourself before you even think of applying. This is a major life decision and you shouldn’t make it lightly. I didn’t.

 

The real questions are:

1. Where you are in your life/Are you ready for this?
2. Do you think your writing would improve with this program?
3. What are your goals?

My answers:

1. I was ready for a challenging commitment.
2. I didn’t feel that I could learn much more about writing on my own.
3. My goals were pretty simple, to write.

 

Thus, the stars did align. How do they look for you?

 

Nathan

 

Snowmageddon is a twitter novel I wrote while living through snowstorm/blizzard Jonas in Baltimore, MD. All accounts are based on real events. Parts of this have been dramatized for your amusement. Other parts have been hyperbolized for mine. I hope you enjoy.

 

Chapter 1: Baltimore morning

I awoke to smog skies & coffee, fully equipped for whatever monstrous perdition was coming.

 

Chapter 2: Shuttle

Took off with me standing slick-shoed, nearly busted my head open. Streets bustling as incoherently as ever.

 

Chapter 3: Office

Empty cubes like they forgot to plant seeds in this farm. No windows to witness impending doom; a ringing in ears.

They ask the impossible and then shorten the day. Haven’t seen the sun yet. Racing time. The snow(man) cometh.

Day ever shortens. Sirens scream to me outside street side. Still snowless. Still gray. Still in suspense.

 

Chapter 4: Shuttle Revisited

Cold air pierces me; lungs burn in icy inhale as I run to catch the last before being stranded.

Pinned into my seat, spoken to from behind, thrashed by bumpy roads, I grow ever anxious. Where is the storm?

 

Chapter 5: Home Again

These walls hold warmth. I sit. I wait. I plan. I’ll have to burn the table if the lights go out.

My father’s knife and a can of soup. Search before snow for forgotten supplies, watching urbanites lose their minds

 

Chapter 6: Beginnings

Outside. Cross paths with pit bull, jovial. Owner mean mugging me. Pick up spirits for improved incarceration.

Few flakes descend. I curse the sky as a white hell opens above, a wintry damnation.

Exercise while animal flesh cooks on what might be the last chance at electricity. Sky swirls milky. This is it.

 

Chapter7: Evening

And the night fell on me. A haze mixed into the blizzard. Those dumb enough to be out, scurrying blind.

I hear the futile scraping of shovels on sidewalk. I can only imagine the battered faces, defeated, struggling.

And then there was silence. Snow and silence. Silence.

 

Chapter 8: Day Two

Sounds of sleet and gusts batter my window. Flashes of light with thunder. The city is caked in white.

I stare at this interminable storm. When the winds begin to fade, I will go out to it. Clench fists, white knuckle.

And the pale roads ran empty, the air churning a frozen mist. A single soul scutters inside, escaping wind’s wail.

Lights flickered, vanished. Clocks in the kitchen were suddenly faceless. The apartment dim. Time to burn the table?

 

Chapter 9: Chaos

And I watched them wander the streets as the cold sunk into me. They were ants.

I stand in the doorway looking down darkened hall. A shadow flits across distant wall. Where is everyone?

I slinked the black stairwell 20 flights down for water. I grasped another hallway to sit candlelight w/friend.

 

Chapter 10: Camaraderie

Soon I took to shiver, the dark enveloping me. I ventured out to wander roads, hidden by depths of snow.

Winds blew snow mounds throwing icy dust in my face. The bar was a welcome relief with friends all around.

I opened my eyes, I was on the floor of a warm room with a gash upon my leg and a cat curled up beside.

 

Chapter 11: The Return

I stumbled outside, slipping on snow but catching railing. The streets remained covered, densely packed.

I squinted from the glare of the ground, searching. Dozens of people were trudging through snow, with blank faces.

Avoided roving zombies of shocked blizzard victims and returned home to heat and light, a short lived joy.

Again, I was home. All seemed well. I immediately went back to sleep to wake to a lack of water & hallway black.

My shin wound inflamed, pain crawling to my thigh. It kept me locked in my room, my mouth growing ever drier.

 

Chapter 12: The End

Sweat poured. I rushed to the bathroom frantically looking for ointments. I slept, praying for salvation.

I rose to sun behind clouds, weak. I checked for lights, water. All in order. Rode elevator. Found outside in frozen disrepair

I followed the footpaths etched in the snow, all roads & sidewalks seemed to have either disappeared or changed.

And I saw it, the pharmacy, windows lit & open. But I stopped, an obstacle in my way.

There I was. There it was. Truck stood idol, growling; another truck in its bed. Walls of white on either side.

It approached, that leviathan, and I stood my ground with nowhere else to go or desire to try.

It came within inches, breathing mechanized heat, giving way to me. I stepped around it and hobbled on my way.

And as I made my final return, the sun was made visible, the skies watched blue, the wind’s scream almost melodious.

 

*Announcer voice* Is this the end of our intrepid narrator? Is this the end of Snowmageddon? For now, it is. But tune in next time it snows!