The Working Writer

I arrived at the office expectant today. The past several months have been focused on crisis control and keeping a volatile and demanding client happy. The company basically depended on it. All of this anxiety was a far cry from my original purpose at this office - to write.

Being hired as a writer was a dream come true for me. It marked my first step to feeling validated as having talent. There have been so many projects and skills I've tried a hand at, excelled slightly and quickly let go for the next fleeting interest. Writing, however, has always been an arching theme in my life. It was the goal I had been afraid to set for myself, because failure at this one would really hurt.

It wasn't until I had spent a few months at this company working as writer, event coordinator, project manager and several other tasks as they came across my desk, that I finally made the decision. I was going to be a great writer some day. I even made the choice to tell a few people, all of whom were very supportive. Goals kept secret almost never come to fruition.

Shortly after that day, my career life exploded. I started working 50 to 60 hours a week, plenty of weekends and was attached to my Blackberry. I was presented with a new problem every day.Once we finally began to feel as if the world was settling, another meteor would hit. There was always an email to send, a phone call to make, a client to pacify, a meeting to have or a team to coordinate. Things were constantly changing. Nothing was stable. Nothing was calm. I hadn't written in months.

Today was supposed to be different. After a recent reorganization of the company many of us realized we weren't in the right place. Our skills were being applied to the wrong sectors. Talent was going to waste sitting in meetings. A new team was created; one that would focus on creativity, energetic planning and the future. Today was my first day being a writer again.

Most previous attempts at writing ended with crises, meetings and phone calls. I painstakingly blocked off my calendar, sent notices to coworkers of my absence at meetings and rushed to accomplish assignments early. I was merely waiting for some small amount of basic information to fuel my pen. Expectant, I opened the long-awaited email the moment it flashed across the bottom of my screen.

Inside were five prepared documents already attached and the note, "Let's use these."

They were months old and stale. They were too long. They held plenty of gold, but it was muddled by another writer's hand for me. They could have been the best, most expertly written documents in the history of the company, but I would not have been satisfied. This project was no longer mine. I was banished, again, to the problematic world of placating people. For me, this was a new kind of writer's block. I spent the rest of the day wallowing in emails about projects gone unfinished, as others were able to revisit the creative worlds they loved.

I am not as good a writer as I should be. What I need is practice and the simple truth is that I feel drained by the time I leave the office. I had hoped to accomplish two goals at once - exercise my skills as a writer and further my career.

My career is blossoming. My dream is falling behind.