This post has proven one of the hardest I’ve written. Since
the first American Dirt post, I’ve pointed my finger at the many problems I see
within American politics, culture, and pop-culture. Many fine insights and
allegories exist within the words written here. This time, I’m pointing the finger
back at myself. In doing so, I’m revealing my fallibility.
I’m laughing too because, on my original (now defunct) blog,
RoosterWords, I had no problem pointing the finger at me. I laid out every mistake
I was making, hoping somebody else would read it and not make those same
mistakes. I’m afraid to do that on American Dirt. I’m afraid, now, that a
person will read about me and call me a fool. I’m afraid you will point your
finger…at me.
See, I wanted to introduce myself and show how poignant my
points can be. How I’ve learned to set each word to impact the reader, set
their mind on fire, and get them thinking about the subject I’m writing about.
Instead, it seems I’m setting myself on fire in the digital street.
Five years ago, I began taking my writing seriously. My
novel’s first draft was near completion, and blogging was introduced to me.
Despite having no idea what blogging “is,” I discovered I had a natural knack
for writing “to” people rather than “at” people. Five years ago, I felt my
writing would take me everywhere.
I finished that novel, Of
Blood and Blade, posted on RoosterWords, and eventually started worrying
about my “brand.” Y’know, that big, buzzy word that every corporation and
celebrity knocks around? Yeah. So despite the fifteen people following my blog
at the time, despite my words touching somebody enough to want to read more, I
deleted RoosterWords. I pretended that fifteen people wanting to read my words
wasn’t going to make or break me. Maybe I was right…I think now I was a horrible
person, and wrong.
By this point, my “true” professional life was in the
toilet. I worked for a Rent-to-Own company that I despised (and for the second
time, mind you), and they treated me, and the rest of my coworkers, like rag
dolls. There came a point, and this was about two years ago, where I’d had
enough. The company managed to push me, a father of two, far enough to quit.
That’s a story for another day. I called my fiancé, and told her I was done
with this job. I told her I’d make money freelancing because goodness, I’m just
so good with words.
So I stayed home, I got on the freelancing sites like Guru
and Elance, wrote up offers and…and nothing happened. Literally nothing. And
now, two years later, I still haven’t’ managed to hustle up some business.
Well, I created two logos and a book cover that I actually got paid for, but
not a dime for my freelancing. And, because of that, I can’t afford to buy the
courses that could make me better. I’m not taking care of my family
financially. I’m the deadbeat dad I promised I never would be.
It didn’t have to get this bad. I could have put my ego to
the side, did what the experts say, and found a job to get me through “the
rough patch.” A few family issues aside (my fiancé works overnights, childcare
is $1600/mo, etc) I could have done better. But I thought I was a special
snowflake, I thought that if I gave myself no other option, I would succeed.
Maybe I special, but I certainly don’t feel it now.
So I’m getting a J-O-B. I’m going to continue blogging. I
will write fiction I know is decent. But so far, I’m no freelancer. It’s time I
stop acting like a freeloader, as well. Maybe, if I put my ego to the side for a bit, my writing could still take me everywhere. I've got some work ahead of me yet.
Now, you can point the finger at me, or
join me in solidarity by commenting on your foibles below. Trust me, I’d love
to know I’m not the only one.
Interact! You can find James Neal in
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