On writing from the heart and reminding myself why I do this

Lately, whether between the move or my impending 40th birthday or who knows what, I've been feeling stuck creatively. Even though I have a to do list that seems to get bigger every day, I don't always know where to start, or, more importantly, why to start. What am I doing? What does it matter? I love putting my books out in the world, I love the process of crafting a specific set of writing and submitting it, but sometimes, I don't even get started before I'm questioning what the point is.

But this weekend, when The Mid published my essay "Why I'd Trade My Dream Career For A Baby", I was reminded that writing from the heart, writing our truths, matters. I've seen such an amazing, blossoming, fascinating discussion about it in the comments on my personal Facebook page, ranging from fertility options to whether adoption actually costs an exorbitant amount. I've had people share their fertility and pregnancy stories, good and bad. I've heard about adopting and fostering and advanced maternal age and gotten heartwarming advice.

Last night, I saw someone I haven't seen in person in maybe a decade. She was waving at me in a room full of people and I was actually certain she was waving at someone else, mostly because I wouldn't have thought she'd remember me. Lo and behold, she did and had read my piece and shared some encouraging information and I was so touched that someone who, because of my own insecurities, I think I'd have pegged as "too cool" to care about little old me was so genuine and heartfelt. My essay became a talking point, a moment of connection, a way of, via my own sharing of personal details, inviting other people to share theirs.

It reminded me that, while of course not all of my writing is about that kind of intimacy, that's what I want more of from myself, from my work. That's the guiding principle I want to strive for: deep truths, not partial ones. Risky ones, scary ones, truths that might unnerve or upset someone but that demand to be told. Truths that take courage, truths that invite others to tell theirs. I've missed that, been looking for it, been feeling listless and nervous about where I am, in my life, geographically, pretty much in every way. I don't have an exact plan of how to go from that restless, unfocused place to one where I tell deep truths every day and make a sufficient living, but that's where I'm heading, where I want to be heading, and I want to infuse the rest of what I do with that same passion. So thank you to everyone who read the piece, who took a moment to say something encouraging, who made me feel less alone.

Why all I want to do in my new home is get knocked up

While the title of this post is not strictly true, neither is the title of my first piece at The Mid, "I'd Trade My Dream Career for a Baby." More accurate would be the title I submitted it with: "I’m 39 and Sad That I Have Books Instead of Babies" but both are true in their way. If someone said to me, "If you stop ____, you'll get pregnant" and the blank was writing one of my columns or editing anthologies or, ahem, writing extremely oversharing personal essays that probably embarrass my boyfriend, I'd probably do it. After all, nothing else has worked so far, right?

But of course I have career goals, and this year one of mine has been to write for at least 12 new publications in 2015 (I'd love more, if you're an editor who wants to work with me!), an average of one a month. I've done my best to be both a specialist in the fields of sex and dating and erotica, but also a generalist, and am incredibly proud that my new work this year is mainly focused outside of bedroom activities because I have plenty of other interests. So I write about hoarding and Google alerts and libraries. I've got a few others in the works about my life and assorted passions, and for me, writing about an array of topics helps me not get burned out writing about sex and leads me down paths I wouldn't have discovered otherwise.

So no, I'm not only focused on having kids, because I know that certainly won't help, and some of what I've been reading about just how unhealthy stress is on the body, especially for pregnant women, has been quite sobering. That more than anything has made me think hard about how I want to live, how I want to work, what I want my days to look like. The last few weeks have been stress city between moving and money and what's felt like not enough time. The bottom line is that if freelancing isn't a good fit, I will have to find another way to make a living. I don't know yet and won't really know until the fall what the best path is. Some will depend on outside forces, but as a Serenity Prayer devotee, I'm trying to look inside and ask what I'm capable of, what feels right, and what's sustainable vs. what's pie in the sky. I don't know yet, but I do know "dream career" can't mean "work as much as possible, and think about work whenever you're not working." That hasn't been healthy and isn't worth it, and wouldn't be doable with a kid anyway. So I'm pulling back a little and trying to plan a summer that is fun and filled with love and friends and travel and searching and openness.

Not related to any of this, savor for love and enjoying the moment, because they made me smile yesterday, here are some heart shaped scones, which were very good (though I thought they were chocolate chip and they were actually blueberry, so had a little surprise bite the first time):