Saturday, October 22, 2011

Close, But No Career


The best part of the story is this sentence:  I remember doing lines of coke with a hooker in the smoking section of an airplane flying from Elko, Nevada to Salt Lake City, Utah to go to a Readers' Digest workshop put on by my Uncle Dick.  The point of this sorry little tale is that, once again, I made an attempt to enter a world of writing and publishing, but didn't come close.

I vaguely remember the woman.  She looked more like a card dealer than a hooker.  Having grown up in Elko, I thought I knew how to distinguish the two.  On the flight, she named the cathouse where she worked.  I knew exactly where it was.

As an adult, living on the California North Coast in the 1980's, I knew something about the recreational use of cocaine.  I wasn't a pot smoker, but I liked the energizing rush of coke, and the fad among my husband's carpenter friends lasted a couple of years.  However, I was in my late thirties.  We had two young children who needed me to pack nutritious lunches and pick them up after school.  I had a part time job teaching remedial English at a small branch campus of a community college.   I couldn't be too wild and crazy.

The kids were staying with their grandparents in Elko while I went to the weekend workshop.  To celebrate this freedom from parenting responsibilities, I chose the smoking section of the plane because I thought it would be more interesting to sit in the back with the smokers than up front with the Mormons.  

For two days I listened to writers and editors talk about writing for trade publications, travel writing, writing query letters, the art of interviewing, pitching stories.  It was a tremendous opportunity to launch a freelance career.  I went home enthusiastic about the articles I could write and my bright future as a freelancer.  I said, "sorry little tale," didn't I?  Of course, nothing came of it.

Three decades later, I am at a time in my life and in a place as conducive to writing as I could imagine.  My drive to write is as strong as ever, but I'm having to face the fact that I'm weak when it comes to the desire to be published and a sense of a readership.  My publishing consists of three blogs.  I like the way they look in print and that it is a public space. 

 I wish I could remember more about that woman, about her story.   I do know that the brazen me who sat in the back of the plane--she's still here.