Hi, My Name is Aimée and I’m a Creative
Can’t stop, won’t stop
I feel like it’s time to accept my weakness, which is also my strength. I’ve attended my fair share of open 12 step meetings in my life to show support. I’m familiar with the round-robin of “I’m [insert name] and I’m an [insert addiction].”
Well, I’m Aimée and I’m a Creative. The first step to healing is admitting/accepting what’s out of our control.
My creativity is wild. She’s a beast. The more I neglect her the more sour and angry she becomes. I’m a Creative but I can’t give up my Creativity. It can be an obsession and it can be good for me. It helps to have the support of other Creatives to courageously veer off the beaten path — but be called back when it’s for our own good.
This may feel dramatic. I am dramatic. It also feels right on. I mean, writing is in my marrow. Like many other writers, I’ve been writing since I could write. Little comics, stories, letters to family, Dear Diary entries, notes to pass to friends at school, poems, plays, creative nonfiction, memos, emails, and what-have-you.
I love to write. I love to connect. It’s a burning desire — nee, a burning need — to be listened to. To process my life experience. To teach. To contribute art and humor and beauty to the world.
I am a Creative.
Yet.
At one time, I imagined I’d be a high-paid food critic, journalist, poet (ha!), and/or a tenured professor.
That’s not what happened. Long story short: I earned two degrees, worked part-time jobs, had two kids, and never worked a “successful” career — successful meaning high paid. My most soul-rewarding career was as a part-time gardener at my local botanic garden.
For over ten years, I quit.
I quit reading after reading a disturbing passage in a book that triggered my OCD, which I didn’t yet know I have. I quit writing after having my first baby because it would be unfair to invade his privacy.
I want to quit quitting.
I’m done quitting.
Now, I’m writing.
My mental health is being cared for and my children have given me permission to write about them from time-to-time. Also, I have let go of being perfect. You see, a huge part of what held me back before was knowing I’d screw up, piss people off, and regret some of what I wrote. I’d appear human — because I am human.
In 2020, I finished the first complete draft and revision-plus of my memoir. I wrote content and SEO as a freelancer. I blogged. I helped develop grants. I collaborated with an illustrator friend on a commissioned project. I completed my first ghostwriting assignment. In 2020, I wrote.
It felt great.
It also felt awful.
Who in their right mind would enter a field in which you have to “pay to play,” as in pay entry fees for literary contests or subscription fees to participate in a blogging platform? Who signs up to write a book knowing there’s a great chance it won’t get signed and if it does it will likely sink into oblivion? Who signs up for a gig in which rejection is the norm?
Writers. We sign up for that.
It’s worth it to channel one beautiful sentence, one alluring paragraph, one compelling article. It’s worth it to forge connections and intimacy with our readers.
In the 21st century, writers are lucky and screwed. We’re lucky because we can quickly connect with our communities — that of readers and of other writers. We’re screwed because many people think they’re writers and the industry is oversaturated with contractors who sell ourselves short. Why did I use “our”? Because I’ve used Freelance Hiring websites and sold my hard work for well under minimum wage.
Freelance writing is gig work. It’s not easy.
Are professional writers ambitious? I think the answer is yes — we have to be. It’s a requirement at this time in history if this is the job you want.
Am I naturally ambitious? Not really.
But, when it comes to writing? Ever since I cracked open a Word document in 2019ish, the words keep flowing. Can’t stop. Won’t stop.
This is me. This is us. We are writers.
I love to write. I love to connect. It’s a burning desire — nee, a burning need — to be listened to. To process my life experience. To teach. To contribute art and humor and beauty to the world.
