The moment I questioned everything
It wasn’t meant to be an existential crisis, but there I was … staring into space, still clutching a cup of lukewarm tea.
Before jumping into my usual #5amWritersClub work this morning on my latest novel (68,290 words and counting), I opened an interesting-looking newsletter (about writing) and decided to read through it while I sipped my tea.
I feel less urgency to dive straight into writing on the weekend mornings, when I know I have hours to mess around. So reading about writing counts as professional development. So does Wordle. đ
Anyway, so clicking through and reading the newsletter led me to reading other posts on this particular site, and then I came across a startling piece about the BLEAK publishing industry, how hard it is to get published traditionally (believe me, I know this intimately), how little money authors make (an average of … get this … nine thousand dollars a year?!) and so on.
Um.
Oh my god.
Read MoreRejected
If you want to be a traditionally published author, the route looks pretty much like this:
- Write a book (the easiest part of the process)
- Edit your book (woof)
- Query your book (pitch it to literary agents)
- Get lots of rejections (agents don’t like your book, and therefore dont’t want to represent you)
- Sometimes do an R&R (Revise & Resubmit) when an agent is somewhat interested
- Land an agent
- Your agent pitches your book to publishers.
- More rejections, possibly
- Your agent sells your book to a publisher
- Your book is published
- Your book is sold in bookstores
- You live happily ever after (well, that’s what I’d like to believe, anyway).
A different kind of 12-step program, you might say, but one that’s also filled with pain, discomfort, and uncertainty. (Also joy! But I have not gotten to those steps yet.)
So far, I have only made it as far as Step 4.
And then *right* back to Step 3.
After many, many, many months of querying agents in Canada and the U.S., I had a “bite” on Sept. 8, 2021 when an agent was “intrigued” with my pitch (synopsis, first chapter, and query letter) and asked to see the full manuscript.
She was the FIRST agent to ask for this. *happy tears*
Read MoreSimplified Christmas gift system
Back in 2010, when our son was only six months old, I bought a package of wooden door-hangers and painted special Christmas gift tags.
I also adopted the idea that we’d do a Christmas gift system:
- Something you want
- Something you need
- Something to play with
- Something to read
- And a new pair of jammies for Christmas Eve
I liked the idea that there was a consistency to gift-giving — that our son (and later, our daughter) would always know exactly how many gifs they would get from us, and what categories those gifts would fall under.
The kids love being able to easily spot specific gifts under the tree, and deciding which categories to open first or last.
Read More… and back to the beginning?
I was a columnist for a long time.
My DIY column, My Handmade Home, ran for five years and 11 months before getting canned in the earliest days of the ‘Vid. (Newspaper, yo, we were hit hard.)
My parenting column, The Mom Scene, ran for seven years and seven months before I chose to stop writing it to preserve my kids’ privacy.
(Shout-out to my LinkedIn profile for providing me with such exact dates. If it weren’t for reading about my own job experience on LinkedIn, everything would be a blur of “two thousand and something” and “before kids” or just … blank confusion.)
I was a freelancer for a long time.
It was my livelihood for a decade — living from one assignment to the next, chasing down interviewees, juggling different deadlines, and hoping I’d get paid before I was really strapped for the cash from a particular invoice.
I’m still a freelancer, in theory, but only for a handful of clients I just can’t quit. I’m now also a full-time content marketing manager, which means I get a guaranteed paycheque direct deposited in my bank account every two weeks like clockwork, and I must say, WOW, it’s pretty amazing after 10 years of never knowing when I was getting paid. I still marvel at it, almost a year in.
The last time I was a full-time employee was when I went on maternity leave with D. Twelve years ago. TWELVE!
When I started this blog in January of 2009, my life was weirdly similar to how it is today.
I was working full-time.
I was getting up early to write/edit novels.
I was sending out pitches (and collecting rejection letters).
I dreamed of being an author.
I had a small brown dog.
I was weirdly obsessed with chicken wraps and Twilight soundtrack. (Holds up.)
Oh, and Michael also had a buzzcut.
Of course, a lot is different now, too.
We own a house in the country, instead of a condo in the city.
We have two amazing kids (something I blogged about wanting, desperately, back in 2009)
We have two vehicles. (Ironically, lately I’m missing the Jeep we had back in 2009. Don’t tell my husband*** because he’s been pestering me to talk about trading vehicles or something, and I just don’t have the bandwidth for that kind of discussion now … or ever.)
***No worries about him reading here because the goof doesn’t even read my Instagram posts, which are way shorter than this, lol.
My life is different than it was in 2009, but also kind of the same.
My goal in 2009 was to have beautiful babies — check! check! — and have a house I could decorate and organize to my heart’s content — check!
My goal in 2009 was to make a living with my writing, and I did! I’ve made a living with my writing ever since my maternity leave in 2010, actually, and now I make a living on my writing but also the related skills that come with that — like editing and management.
My goal in 2009 was to be a published author, and that’s still my goal. 2021 is drawing to a close in a couple of months, but hey, there’s always 2022.
If not, maybe twelve years from now, I’ll be writing another post about how 2033 Heather also weirdly likes the playlists, red lipstick and Smoky Bacon chips of 2021 Heather. đ
The end of an era
After a decade of parenting columns, I will no longer write about my kids
Over the last couple of years, itâs become increasingly difficult to write about my children for this column.
What are they comfortable with me sharing? How much do I feel I can declare, publicly? Am I writing something that might embarrass them, now or in the future?
Our son was barely a year old when I started writing a parenting column called Mommy Diaries for a local magazine …
… and when I started writing The Mom Scene for SaltWire Network newspapers, he was three and our daughter was one.
Now our son is 11 years old, in his second year of junior high school. (They renamed it a âmiddle schoolâ over the summer, but he refuses to be demoted.) I can tell you he loves YouTube, Harry Potter, taekwondo, running and K-pop, but heâs creeping up on being a teenager, so I canât tell you more than that. He deserves his privacy.
Even our âbabyâ is far from a baby. Sheâs nine going on 16, with highlighted hair and a brand-new set of braces. I can tell you she takes four dance classes a week, loves to act, and shines the brightest on any stage, but she rolls her eyes when I embarrass her, so I donât dare tell you more than that. She, too, deserves her privacy.
When I started writing about life as a mother, it felt like there were thousands of things to write about â baby food, cloth diapers, potty-training, naps, sleep deprivation, tantrums, first words, speech delays, ear surgeries. I loved reading âmommy blogs,â and couldnât get enough of parenting content because it summed up my whole world.
When my kids were in preschool and elementary school, there were entertaining stories to tell about screen time, playdates, birthday party drama and ER visits because of swallowed screws. (He was fine, and hopefully learned a lesson about dissembling and snacking on Happy Meal toys.)
There were serious topics, too. I wrote about struggles with postpartum depression, the crippling anxiety of raising children during a pandemic, and the enormous mental toll associated with parenthood. I wrote about the backlash our son experienced when he grew his hair long, and what it taught all of us about misgendering.
One newspaper edition at a time, I wrote the story of our lives â not all of it, but a decent snapshot of what the last decade has been like for our family.
And while I know many people believe parents shouldnât publicly share anything about their children, including photos, I have been happy with my decision to share bits and pieces.
I donât regret the years I spent telling these stories, and neither do the kids â so far, at least. They enjoyed when their school bus driver taped up a column for everyone to see, or when a teacher stopped them in the halls to congratulate them on something theyâd read.
My children have grown up smiling through the pages of newspapers across Atlantic Canada, and now they have a thick scrapbook of brightly coloured newspaper clippings to look back on â a storybook of their younger lives, captured forever on newsprint.Â
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Heather's Handmade Life 