I've worked for you for almost two years now. At first, you seemed like a sweet, laid back person who would be more than happy with my constant tardiness and general lack of structure. Our relationship felt so natural; so effortless. Granted, in the first few months of working for you, I showed signs of extreme laziness and complete lack of creativity. I realize now that I didn't produce the stories you wanted me to in a timely fashion, but Boss, I had so much going on.
You of all people should know the things that have were on my mind back then. Planning a wedding, applying for a green card and buying a house felt like a full time job, and writing was the last thing on my mind. You understood this, and put little pressure on me to be productive. While I appreciated this, Boss, I now realize that while I wasn't being a very good employee, you weren't being a very good Boss either.
So when I told you that it might be a good idea for you to give me deadlines, challenges and critisism, I figured it would make me more focused. What I didn't envision, however, was that you would go from being a relaxed employer to an authoritarian bitch. Before, you let me watch Gilmore Girls and eat Cherry Garcia frozen yoghurt, and now you make me work long hours every day. I write because I love writing, Boss, I really do, but if you could pay me sometime that would be really nice. And while discipline is a good thing, I think your new regimen of having me attempt to write a whole chapter every day is a little bit harsh. I mean, yes, it would make me finish my novel in a month, but let's face it, I have other things to do too.
By other things, Boss, I mean doing dishes, Swiffering the living room, complaining about the upstairs neighbor and surfing Amazon for interesting books. When I do these things now, you get really disappointed in me and coax me to return to my writing. If I get up to refill my water, you question my thirst. If I need to use the bathroom, you question the size of my bladder. If I need to take a break, you question my commitment.
So, Boss, if you lighten up just a tad, I will try to be a good employee and finish my novel for you. Just promise me one thing, Boss: every day when I look into the mirror and see you, please give me a smile. I deserve it.
With Love,
Ina
April 8, 2009
April 7, 2009
Dear Reader
Welcome. You may have been wondering what I've been up to since I last dabbled in the world of blogging. You may have been worried that I was hospitalized with a severe case of Writer's Block, or you may not even have noticed that I was gone. Well, Reader, whatever the case may be, I have resurfaced and I'm finally ready to share my thoughts with you again.
What have I been up to, you ask. Besides graduating, getting married, navigating US immigration laws and curbing my TopShop addiction, I've been busy trying to become the writer I know I want to be. After months of feeling like every word I wrote stared at me as though I was not worthy of its presence, I finally decided it was time to get my shit together.
Now I spend my days cranking out chapters of my first young adult novel, while consuming unreasonable amounts of green tea and blueberries. See, Reader, the beautiful thing about being a writer is that you can show up to the office (aka the couch) still wearing your pajamas. You can write in complete darkness, Google ridiculous things for no apparent reason (you're researching, right?) and if the phone rings you don't have to answer because you're feeling 'inspired'. In between my novel writing, I intend on making regular posts here, but let's face it, Reader, I am the Master of Procrastination and I rule the Land of Distraction.
In this blog I will present a series of letters that I would love to send to people, but never will. You see, Reader, I'm not a person who enjoys confronting people. I will happily point out that your fly is open or that you have spinach in your teeth, but rarely will I tell you what is really on my mind. In this blog, you will be able to find out what I would say to a number of people if I had the guts and the stamps to send them a letter.
Finally, I would like to thank you, Reader, for sticking to your role so well. I'm sorry I drifted from mine for a while, but I appreciate your persistence. As long as you are around to read, I will write. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to the office.
With Love,
Ina
What have I been up to, you ask. Besides graduating, getting married, navigating US immigration laws and curbing my TopShop addiction, I've been busy trying to become the writer I know I want to be. After months of feeling like every word I wrote stared at me as though I was not worthy of its presence, I finally decided it was time to get my shit together.
Now I spend my days cranking out chapters of my first young adult novel, while consuming unreasonable amounts of green tea and blueberries. See, Reader, the beautiful thing about being a writer is that you can show up to the office (aka the couch) still wearing your pajamas. You can write in complete darkness, Google ridiculous things for no apparent reason (you're researching, right?) and if the phone rings you don't have to answer because you're feeling 'inspired'. In between my novel writing, I intend on making regular posts here, but let's face it, Reader, I am the Master of Procrastination and I rule the Land of Distraction.
In this blog I will present a series of letters that I would love to send to people, but never will. You see, Reader, I'm not a person who enjoys confronting people. I will happily point out that your fly is open or that you have spinach in your teeth, but rarely will I tell you what is really on my mind. In this blog, you will be able to find out what I would say to a number of people if I had the guts and the stamps to send them a letter.
Finally, I would like to thank you, Reader, for sticking to your role so well. I'm sorry I drifted from mine for a while, but I appreciate your persistence. As long as you are around to read, I will write. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to the office.
With Love,
Ina
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