A New Direction

(A private joke between me and Sarah. I jet that phrase but it's appropriate here.)

I'm announcing a re-purposing of Pretty Cat Flower. I'm not sure exactly what the format is going to be but I am going in (see title above).

The thing is, I just want to write. That was the original purpose of this blog anyway - to get my writer's mind working again. I loved the mail project. It was fun and I still use the good ol' USPS every week. But, after our last big family trauma, I somehow lost my steam over it. I'm tired. The mail blog was an outward expansion of self towards friends and community. I want to turn inward for awhile. I intend to try to find that balanced place where I stay energized, excited and productive without putting too much pressure on myself to show results. I have enough to stress over without creating artificial deadlines and made-up reader expectations.

I was recently asked to submit a sample blog to the Huffington Post's new wedding blog - HuffPost Weddings. It was an awesome opportunity and an invitation I took very seriously. I struggled with what I wanted to say before finally submitting a weak and watery version of a 'basically, most bride's suck' blog entry. The editor asked me to flesh it out a bit with actual anecdotes and examples of the kind of behavior that makes me rant and rave and swear off weddings (over and over, again and again).

I wanted to do it. I had plenty to say. But how can we be a working, full-service florist - still doing weddings! - and also publish negative, bitter, angry posts about our customers? It's simple. We can't. Still, I couldn't believe I might let this opportunity pass me by. Haven't I always, always, ALWAYS wanted to be a writer??? Since as far back as I can remember? A poet, a travel writer, an interviewer, a lyricist? It has been my one, consistent childhood dream. Now a respected and popular news and entertainment site has invited me to hang out and I'm just going to say "Sorry, I think I'm busy that night"? Really? Don't I have to go for it, even if it means writing floofy balls of truffle fluff? I thought I did. Jen and I decided that, for the health of our business, I would write as 'Florabella' and relate goofy, sappy, happy tales of positive wedded and wedding bliss. That was our plan.

In the end, I couldn't do it. I tried. I did. I struggled and bungled and dragged myself through the mucky waters of my bad ideas and terrible writing. I just couldn't do it. I don't think I'm too cool and principled to write sap. I think I'm just horribly embarrassed by my crappy, stupid, juvenile writing. It could also be that I am so burnt-out on brides that I can't even summons a semblance of positivity in the telling of a wedding tale. If it's boring even for me I pity my poor reader. This is sad because I do love the actual floral work of the wedding. Unfortunately, with the flowers comes the bride but that's a story for another day. Keep your eyes open for our post-Florabella, Nanny Diaries-style floral culture expose. Winky face.

I sent the HuffPost Weddings editor an email tonight telling her I didn't have anything to contribute to her project but thanking her for her interest. I was a tiny bit encouraged that she hadn't initially rejected me outright but instead asked for a rework of my first submission. I mean, that's a good sign, right? If she didn't see any potential in my writing she could have just said 'Thanks. I'll get back to you' or 'Thanks, but HA!' or not responded at all. Instead, she asked me to work on it and send it again. I'm taking that as a clue that I can write, even just a little, and if a wedding blog isn't the venue for me, so what. I am not going to give up on this dream of mine. In some form or fashion I am going to write. I am.

I have these interviews stuck in my head. Do you know what writer's do? They are insecure and terrified every time a new draft goes out. They write, they re-write, they scrap the whole thing and start over. They cut out, and let go of, their favorite parts. They send their work off to their editors and then curl up on the floor, waiting in agony, until word comes back. It's a process and an obsession and a mind-fuck and thinking I suck cannot be reason enough not to write since that insecurity seems to be part of the game. I love the agony, I love the possession and I think I'm finally ready. I'm taking the leap - after I go curl up on the floor for awhile.