It's not exactly a literary post so to speak, but it concerns my writing, something I have been wanting to share with people coming here.
Today was actually the first day I led an interview for a magazine I temporarily work for. First interview in about two years. In 20 minutes, I realised how much I had missed it, and also that I wasn't actually so lame when it comes to interact with people. I don't want to sound contemptuous here, but when one has passed the last 5 years to doubt oneself, it just feels good to actually realise that one can do something in a nice way. I used to write stories, novels, poetry ever since I was 10. For some reason, inspiration dried up along with adult problems coming in my life; or maybe I just spend too much time self-pitying instead of listening to my imagination. However, last year I decided to write again, and consequently spend more time at it, when I entered the PhD program. But so far I hadn't had the possibility to do so on a professional level. By the way, doesn't it sound very weird to you that when one spends months writing an academic article, the utmost reward is being published...for free, whereas writing a press article is financially more rewarding even if it requires less time and effort writing it? Anyway, two events led me to reconsider my views on my writing and pushed me to go ahead, and do what I want as a leaving, meaning writing. Academics, journalism, poetry, I don't make any difference as all of that makes me feel complete and alive. The first trigger was given when a friend of mine actually told me about her issues dealing with having been "let go" at work. She was looking forward, to the next step of her life, and managed to put that event behind her so easily that it just baffled me. I almost became suicidal when I was sacked, and it took me a good while and great deal of effort not to consider myself like a useless parasite on Earth. But at the end of the day, it did me good to have been sacked: the job was anyway not my cup of tea, and most of the people here very vain and uninteresting. It was good while it lasted, to feel part of a crowd of 9am to 5pm people. Coming back to this person, watching her dealing with her life helped me to sort out a lot of things in my mind: why, with 7 degrees from universities, and as a PhD student, do I always feel compelled to apply only for shit jobs requiring no qualifications? Couldn't I do more? Why was my friend, who had a similar education level, so positive about her future whereas I didn't even dare to ask my share of professional success? Why was I afraid to just be me and do what I'm good at and write for a living? So I decided to contact some journalists here in Berlin, to see whether it would be possible for me to write as a free-lance, while devoting my days, and nights, and dreams, and week-ends, to my beloved PhD. Then I met this journalist woman, who seemed to have pretty much the same existential problems I had encountered, but who kept moving ahead, and wrote successfully for a number of medias. Oddly enough, we had both written our masters dissertations on more or less the same subject (something that might interest only a couple of nerds worldwide). It's funny how I always felt totally embarrassed and thick when I listened to her, so I guess she probably found me a little slow and tart. I suppose coming from a period of several months of isolation from the rest of the society, words just didn't come very easily to me,and we were at different stages of our expat life, so the connection between us wasn't really easy to establish. But for the few couple of times we met, it was good to hang out with a clever person who had opinions about everything. I have to admit, on one hand I hate smart-ass people, but on the other hand, I face the fact that I'm pretty much one myself for others. Still, I think our relationship seems to go on smoother on an epistolary level. Anyway, it struck me as how important every encounter -even short ones - can be. And now I'm going back to "professional" writing.
Today was actually the first day I led an interview for a magazine I temporarily work for. First interview in about two years. In 20 minutes, I realised how much I had missed it, and also that I wasn't actually so lame when it comes to interact with people. I don't want to sound contemptuous here, but when one has passed the last 5 years to doubt oneself, it just feels good to actually realise that one can do something in a nice way. I used to write stories, novels, poetry ever since I was 10. For some reason, inspiration dried up along with adult problems coming in my life; or maybe I just spend too much time self-pitying instead of listening to my imagination. However, last year I decided to write again, and consequently spend more time at it, when I entered the PhD program. But so far I hadn't had the possibility to do so on a professional level. By the way, doesn't it sound very weird to you that when one spends months writing an academic article, the utmost reward is being published...for free, whereas writing a press article is financially more rewarding even if it requires less time and effort writing it? Anyway, two events led me to reconsider my views on my writing and pushed me to go ahead, and do what I want as a leaving, meaning writing. Academics, journalism, poetry, I don't make any difference as all of that makes me feel complete and alive. The first trigger was given when a friend of mine actually told me about her issues dealing with having been "let go" at work. She was looking forward, to the next step of her life, and managed to put that event behind her so easily that it just baffled me. I almost became suicidal when I was sacked, and it took me a good while and great deal of effort not to consider myself like a useless parasite on Earth. But at the end of the day, it did me good to have been sacked: the job was anyway not my cup of tea, and most of the people here very vain and uninteresting. It was good while it lasted, to feel part of a crowd of 9am to 5pm people. Coming back to this person, watching her dealing with her life helped me to sort out a lot of things in my mind: why, with 7 degrees from universities, and as a PhD student, do I always feel compelled to apply only for shit jobs requiring no qualifications? Couldn't I do more? Why was my friend, who had a similar education level, so positive about her future whereas I didn't even dare to ask my share of professional success? Why was I afraid to just be me and do what I'm good at and write for a living? So I decided to contact some journalists here in Berlin, to see whether it would be possible for me to write as a free-lance, while devoting my days, and nights, and dreams, and week-ends, to my beloved PhD. Then I met this journalist woman, who seemed to have pretty much the same existential problems I had encountered, but who kept moving ahead, and wrote successfully for a number of medias. Oddly enough, we had both written our masters dissertations on more or less the same subject (something that might interest only a couple of nerds worldwide). It's funny how I always felt totally embarrassed and thick when I listened to her, so I guess she probably found me a little slow and tart. I suppose coming from a period of several months of isolation from the rest of the society, words just didn't come very easily to me,and we were at different stages of our expat life, so the connection between us wasn't really easy to establish. But for the few couple of times we met, it was good to hang out with a clever person who had opinions about everything. I have to admit, on one hand I hate smart-ass people, but on the other hand, I face the fact that I'm pretty much one myself for others. Still, I think our relationship seems to go on smoother on an epistolary level. Anyway, it struck me as how important every encounter -even short ones - can be. And now I'm going back to "professional" writing.
I love being a smart-ass girl ;)) If I remember well, you were sick, not slow! Keep writing, it feels good, you Hungenote-nerd!
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