Five Years a Writer

Schedule is just another word for commitment. At least that’s how I see it. The freedom to do whatever I want whenever I want, without limit or constraint, is (a) nothing I’ve yet experienced in life and (b) not something for which I (currently) long. What I do long for is the freedom to set my own schedule. And that would be a schedule that has my own writing at its core, the promotion of my own writing as a major component, and the development and delivery of my own workshops as a key priority. Ah, well. I’m not there yet. So. What can I do in the meantime? Duh! Set my own schedule within the constraints of my full-time job commitment, of course. This means, first and foremost, taking myself seriously as a writer, as someone whose words can and should be carried out into the world for readers to find. I’m working my way towards this state: slowly, steadily, surely. With each post I publish, I own that identity a little tiny bit more. And it’s all connected, of cour...

Dateline Winnipeg, Monday, October 29, 2018:  Her pink hat caught my attention and drew my focus to the rest of her - the stance was more planted than a regular transit user normally takes when waiting for the bus, and the space between her and the other woman was a bit closer than I would expect in a public place. Then I noticed that the second woman was rooting around in her bag. Ah, I realized what was going on. A panhandler. Female (the pink hat gave her away, though it had no pussy ears; it was just a pink toque). With more than an edge of assertion. A hard tension emanated from her. The transit loop was not empty of other people, but it was still early morning dusk, and an encounter long in the past with an aggressive glue-sniffing woman has put me on perpetual guard, so I moved along and away towards my own stop. From a distance, I kept an eye on the pink hat and, eventually, saw it move with its owner across the street and away. This was my second encounter in the s...

There’s something about a byline I simply and truly love. There it is: my name at the top of a bunch of words that I’ve put together in a way that makes them worthy of being read. Of course, a self-published blog is a bit of a cheat, as I’m in charge of the words and the publishing of them. (But, then, we know that the power of the press sits with she who owns it, right?) In any event, I’ve been thinking about bylines recently and reviewing the ones I have had over the past few decades. My byline has appeared in numerous community-level newsletters, a few regional publications, a national magazine, and one national newspaper. I particularly love that last one – my byline on the Facts & Arguments essay in the Globe and Mail. Oh boy, was that an exciting day for me. But it was an exciting day more than eight years ago now, and I’m still trying to produce a second essay worthy of getting my byline into that national newspaper. I’ve made several attempts, but none of the...

My body is like a book I've had around so long it’s part of my personal furniture. I've read this book over and over, for many years, in different cities, in different homes...it seems to be just always there, within my reach, giving me ease, possibly; comfort, maybe; familiarity, definitely – and, with luck, support. It's not always the perfect book for the moment in which I find myself, but it is, actually, the only book that’s mine to own. My body is like a book I know so well the pages virtually turn themselves. I have a sense of how the story unfolds from start to end, yet I continue to reach for the book when I want, precisely, that well known, thoroughly understood, experience. I expect to get what is already familiar to me. And yet, my body is like a book that, sometimes, surprises me with what I discover in its pages. I thought I’d known it completely. But then a turn of the page reveals an unexpected (forgotten?) image. Pearls of wisdom hang in phrases...

Years ago, I described myself to someone as a writer. She hooted with near-laughter in response and said, But you don’t write! And she was right. The corporate writing job I had was a way to earn a living, but the writing for which I was paid was more task than craft. And it was always on someone else’s agenda.  I wasn’t a ‘writer’ in that job; I was an employee whose writing skill was useful. I was a capital W Writer in my head only. Of course, that’s where all identity begins, but it is in action that it becomes real. And action means practice. Which brings me to this blog, Five Years a Writer: I've created it as a place to put my own writing and, with luck, to connect with readers.  I’ve been reading a lot about writing, since returning from #Bouchercon (an international convention of readers and writers of mysteries) last October. And to a one, every author says writing is about discipline, routine and persistence. “I shouldn’t be on Facebook,” says one (on ...

At age 13, I wrote my first story. In high school, I fantasized about becoming an interpreter at the United Nations. In university, I earned degrees in translation, journalism, and applied communication. In my early and mid-career professional life, I translated my education into corporate writing gigs. In my late-stage career, I became a college writing instructor. I have loved it all, and what has there been not to love? My chosen line of work has always included a creative element; my skills have evolved and improved over the decades; I have had some writing published, some of it even for money; and I’ve been successful as an educator. Today, with all my combined skills and experience, I am becoming comfortable describing myself as a writer, and I am ready to look ahead to the next chapter of my life. As I head towards my 60 th birthday, I want to ensure that my transition into ‘retirement’ – whether two years or five years away – is deliberate and satisfying. This is...

The best way to arrive at a specific and desirable future point is to define it and then to build the road to get there. My specific and desirable future point is that time when my life does not include a daily job. Some might call this retirement. The road I am building to get there is informed by a plan that I am developing, which has writing and writing projects at its centre. To support my planning, I have established an online presence through this blog, Five Years a Writer , and I am working with my friend Deborah to prepare and deliver two writing-centred projects: (1) for anyone interested in learning about writing as a tool in self-discovery and (2) for anyone wanting to deepen their understanding of, and skill with, the process of writing . If you’re curious about my plans, please subscribe to this blog to receive updates on my progress and for invitations to events along the way. Amanda #amwriting #amplanning #amgrowing